It’s Tuesday evening, and I’m looking forward to hosting the drinks tonight, if only to feel a little normal for a few hours. It’s been two days since I received a third message and I’ve not heard anything more since. The wishful part of me hopes that whoever’s behind the emails has had their fill of tormenting me. That they’ve decided to leave me alone, now I’ve made it clear to Seb that I just want us to be friends. It’s hard being around him, not being able to reach out and touch him. I should never have given in to my feelings, but what with the wine we drank that evening, the way he’d listened so patiently to me, the longing I’d seen in his eyes that matched my own, it had been impossible to resist. I’m praying that, with time, things will get easier between us. We’ll just have to ride things out until July when our agreement is up and then I’ll ask him to leave. Hopefully, whoever’s watching me won’t have a problem with that, even though July feels like a lifetime away, and I still have no idea what they plan on doing with the items they stole from the safe in my study on Saturday. My journals. It has to be the same person who took them. Although perhaps they won’t do anything. Perhaps taking them was just another trick to unsettle me, keep me under their control. Make me suspect Seb, turn me against him. Come July, I’m determined to find out for certain who the hell this tyrant is, though, even if it means risking my secret coming out. I won’t act now, because I can’t bear the thought of another person I care for getting hurt. But the moment Seb’s lease is up all that will change, because I’ve come to realise this is no way to live. I just hope I’m strong enough to get through the next six months without going insane. Then again, maybe I won’t have to wait that long or act of my own accord. Perhaps the police officers looking into Dr Adams’s death will find something to nail the murderous son of a bitch. I spoke to one of them earlier. Told him about my recent visit to Dr Adams, and the fact that I was supposed to be meeting him again last Monday but that someone pretending to be him – presumably, his killer – had emailed cancelling our appointment late Sunday evening. The officer was grateful, said I’d been most helpful and would keep me informed of any developments going forward.
Dr Martin also rang, to ask how I was doing. I haven’t told him about the emails. I lied and said all was well, and thankfully he seemed content to leave it at that. Relieved that the email he received appeared to be a one-off. I felt bad for lying to him, and I do wonder if he secretly suspects all’s not as rosy as I made it out to be, but again, I don’t want to bring him any deeper into this mess. I can’t have him meeting the same fate as Dr Adams. I asked him how things went with Dr Adams’s ex-wife and daughter. He said they were understandably still in shock, but determined to bring the killer to justice. Apparently, forensics have been all over Dr Adams’s house and office, scouring every nook and cranny for any possible clue. I just hope and pray they find something soon. For all our sakes.
It’s seven p.m. and I’m in my bedroom getting ready. I’m wearing a deep blue Bardot-style knee-length dress. I’ve straightened my hair, the sapphire earrings Charles bought me for my thirtieth birthday completing the look. Aunt Georgie and Uncle Philip arrived around five. It was so good to see their friendly faces, feel their warm embraces. They’d reiterated how sorry they were about Dr Adams, and hoped I was doing OK. I saw the worry in their eyes, the fear that I might regress to a dark place, but I assured them that I was better for seeing them, despite the child in me bursting to confess that I was far from OK, that my every move was being watched and that whoever’s stalking me may well have killed Dr Adams.
At that point Seb appeared. They exchanged pleasantries and Aunt Georgie later took me aside when we’d gone to make some tea in the kitchen to say what a lovely young man he seemed. I said I couldn’t agree more and left it at that. I couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d think of me if I admitted to sleeping with Seb the day after he moved in. Like mother, like daughter perhaps. She knew what her sister had been like, and although we never discussed it in detail, she was also aware my mother had cheated on my father. I would never want her to know the hideous ins and outs of all that went on in our house, and I’d begged Dr Adams long ago to keep the truth to himself. Something I feel sure he did to his last breath. Aunt Georgie never knew about Ethan and me either. At least, I don’t think she did. The less people who know the better. If she knew, she might suspect his death may not have been an accident; that maybe someone disapproved of our relationship, and that might put her at risk from whoever is watching this house. I can’t have Aunt Georgie asking questions and end up being this maniac’s next target.
Just then, there’s a knock on the door. I go to answer it and see Aunt Georgie standing there. ‘Darling, you look beautiful,’ she says. ‘Just to say the first of your guests have arrived, so you might want to come downstairs. The catering team have things under control, so don’t worry about that side of things.’
‘Thanks, Aunt Georgie, you look lovely yourself.’
She does, dressed in a velvet green A-line dress with short sleeves. I notice she’s lost some weight, presumably the result of her starting up Zumba classes at her local gym.
‘Thank you.’ She hesitates, then says: ‘Are you sure you’re OK? I can’t help worrying, because I know you, and although you always look wonderful, my intuition tells me you’re not coping as well as you let on. I can see it in your eyes, can tell you’ve not been sleeping great.’ She takes my hand. ‘Come on, pet, a problem shared is a problem halved. Isn’t that what Dr Adams used to say?’
He did, and it’s then that I can’t stop the tears from amassing and rolling down my cheeks.
‘Come here,’ Aunt Georgie says, taking me in her arms and pulling me close.
‘I’m just so tired of it all, Aunt Georgie,’ I say. ‘Ever since Charles died, things have never been the same.’ It’s a lie. Really, things have never been the same since that godawful night. But I can’t tell her that. Too much time has passed, and she’d be appalled if she knew my secret. Plus, like I said, I can’t risk placing her in danger.
‘I know,’ she says soothingly, stroking my hair. ‘It’s been tough, I just wish you could find someone new to share your life with. I can’t help thinking that would help. I know you’re lonely and it’s why you have a lodger, but you need some romance in your life, someone who can fulfil your every need. And I think selling up and moving away from here would do you wonders.’
I could have moved a long time ago, I suppose. Destroyed the one piece of evidence that implicated me. But in truth, I was scared of being caught in the act. Particularly when Charles was alive. I couldn’t risk bringing his name into disrepute. And then, after he died, with time it just got harder. Keeping the evidence inside this house always felt like the safest option. Even if it was the most cowardly.
I break free from Aunt Georgie’s embrace, wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands, realising I’ll have to retouch my make-up before I go downstairs. ‘Maybe,’ I say, just to appease my well-meaning aunt. ‘I’ll think about it. Anyway, give me five minutes to sort out my face, and then I’ll come down if you can keep my guests entertained until then.’
‘No problem, darling,’ she says before turning away and leaving the room.
I go over to my dressing table and sit down. Stare at my reflection in the mirror, unsightly streaks of foundation and black mascara staining my cheeks. And that’s when my phone lying to my right buzzes. A text. I pick it up tentatively. Fear choking me.
It’s from Dr Martin.
I wonder at the urgency of Dr Martin’s request. Perhaps the police discovered something? They went public with Dr Adams’s murder last night. Then again, why not pick up the phone and tell me? Why the need to see me in person?
I trust that he must have his reasons, and text him back.
I see to my make-up, then get up and make for the door. Ready to put on my best face for my guests and play the part of perfect hostess.