Camilla was sitting at the mahogany desk in the big bay window in her bedroom, the half-light of late afternoon bathing her in shadow. There was a bundle of files in front of her, along with an open notebook, and she was holding a pen poised to write. As she heard the door open, she turned to smile at Cate.
‘Look at me, trying to work,’ she said, slightly embarrassed.
‘Workaholic,’ smiled Cate weakly.
Camilla put down her pen and span around in the chair to face Cate. ‘So what happened in Paris?’ she said. ‘I thought you were going to call. Shall we get Serena and Venetia up?’
Cate stood awkwardly at the door and shook her head, unsure of whether to proceed any further into the room. ‘No,’ she said softly, ‘let’s just talk.’
Camilla frowned as she saw a look of unmistakable anxiety on her sister’s face.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
Driving back from the village, Cate’s confusion had turned to anger. When she had first read the letter, panic had gripped her. But, looking at it more closely, the idea that Camilla was behind it all seemed simply ridiculous. Surely it was more likely Leonard Graham had run over the poor man himself and now he just wanted to blame somebody else, deflecting a decade of guilt onto some poor innocent. But why Camilla? Why choose her? And did she know something about it?
Cate edged into the room and sat on the bed. She wanted Nick to be at her side to help her, but she knew she had to do this alone. She looked at Camilla sitting at the desk, composed and refined even in jeans and a T-shirt, and suddenly her faith in her sister wavered. Camilla had star quality all right. Not in the obvious ‘look-at-me’ way of Serena, but a cool, calculated, powerful presence that was totally suited to a respectable career like politics or the law: exactly the sort of career that would crumble with just a whiff of scandal. In a rush, the doubts poured in. Perhaps that’s why Camilla had been keen to hush up Loftus. She hadn’t exactly volunteered to pay him off but, looking back, neither had she stood up to him and told him to shove his blackmailing scheme. Cate felt sick.
‘Cam, I think you’d better read this.’
She leaned over and handed Camilla the old envelope.
‘What is it?’ Camilla unfolded the letter and began to read.
‘We met Mrs Graham,’ Cate said hastily, suddenly wanting to explain it all away. ‘She gave me the letter. I’m sure it’s all lies, Cam. I don’t know what Leonard Graham had against us, but I thought you’d better see it.’
As she watched her sister read, she saw the colour and confidence drain from Camilla’s face. Cate’s heart dropped like lead. ‘Oh Cam. You didn’t …’
Camilla folded up the letter and carefully placed it on the writing desk. She stared at the floor, concentrating on the red swirl of the carpet. It was a couple of minutes before she spoke.
‘One Friday night I was driving back from Oxford,’ she began slowly. ‘You were in the States at the time. Venetia had moved to London and Serena was still at school. Daddy had summoned me home, for some reason. One of his little soirées that he wanted one of his not-so-precious daughters to attend, probably. I remember it was the last day of Michaelmas term. I’d wanted to stay in college, but Daddy had insisted I return home.’ She stopped and glanced out of the window. ‘I hadn’t got far out of Oxford when it started to rain heavily. It became really bad – a horrible night. It was dark and I was hurrying because I was running late.’
Camilla’s eyes were beginning to well up with tears, her poise dissolving. ‘I had almost got to Huntsford when it happened. I remember that the windscreen wipers weren’t working too well, and were leaving a horrible smear on the glass. The light was bad, I guess I was tired too … The next thing I knew, I heard a thud.’
She turned to Cate, her eyes pleading. ‘I honestly hadn’t seen him, Cate, I hadn’t. I got out of the car. I had swerved up a bank right near the back of the grounds, you know, on Greenbank Lane. It was that man, that tramp we sometimes saw around the village. Old Tom, we called him.’ Cate nodded, recalling him. An old man in a dirty coat who was always drunk and who seemed to delight in scaring the children.
‘He was on the ground at the side of the road. I knew he was dead.’ Camilla’s voice was really trembling now. ‘There was blood on the headlight and a little trickle coming out of his ear.’ Camilla fluttered a hand up to her face as if to demonstrate. Cate noticed that her fingers were trembling violently.
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ she said, sobbing now, all composure gone. ‘I called the house from the phone box at the end of the lane. Daddy’s guests hadn’t arrived, and he came down twenty minutes later with Mr Graham – he was still the gamekeeper back then. Daddy told me to get into the car and drive home at once and that he would sort it out.’
‘You didn’t call the police?’ asked Cate, knowing the answer already.
‘I asked Daddy that when he came back to the house about an hour later. He said that he would make the situation disappear.’
‘So you didn’t call them?’
Camilla’s chin sank into her chest, as if her whole body was consumed with guilt. ‘I wanted to, I wanted to so badly. But I was so scared, Cate. Scared of everything. Scared of Daddy. He said I had the family to think about, that I would ruin things for everyone. And I wanted to believe him, I wanted to believe that it would all be OK if I kept quiet,’ she finished softly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Cate went over and gave her a brittle hug. The gesture made her feel guilty, but she had never once seen Camilla cry before.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Camilla, looking up, her eyes searching Cate’s.
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Cate, ‘we’ll sort it out.’
Camilla suddenly straightened her back, her eyes alert as she realized the wider implication of her confession. ‘Oh Cate, I know how this looks, but I did not kill Daddy.’
‘I know,’ replied Cate, trying desperately not to think about how culpable it made her sister seem.
Seeing Cate’s doubt, Camilla grabbed her by the arm. ‘Cate, you must believe me,’ she said urgently. ‘This thing crucifies me every single bloody day and somehow I’ve kept it a secret. But I would never kill anyone to keep it that way. I wouldn’t kill my father. I swear it.’
Cate believed her; wanted to believe her. For a second she thought about what she might have done in Camilla’s situation, a scared and confused teenager who in one careless moment had shattered the promise of her life, and who had been offered an escape if only she was prepared to keep quiet. It was a moral dilemma that Cate did not even want to think about. Finally she pulled her sister into a tight embrace.
‘I look so guilty, Cate, I look so guilty,’ she sobbed.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Cate, surprised by the defiance in her own voice. ‘We’re going to get to the bottom of this, we really are.’