Heath spends at least two hours a day shooting the gun on their land. He offers to show Elinor but just the feel of it in her hands makes her skin crawl. She doesn’t trust herself not to accidently shoot herself. Or her brother. So, he goes out alone. When he is gone, she thinks of Flynn. They never loved each other the way she and Heath do, but maybe, in time, they could have. Flynn hasn’t tried to contact her, not once. She still has his jacket, the bouncy ball, and the purple stone, too. When she looks at them, she grieves what could’ve been. She thinks of the romance novels her mother loved – all those lovers spinning, wild and free and content out in the wide world – and jealousy snaps at her heels, momentarily eclipsing the grief. She rests her head on her knees and waits for the pain to pass. It does, ebbing away into the silence of the house, and she is once again struck by the rightness of things now that Heath is home.
She hears a door opening downstairs, her brother returning from his shooting, and makes her way to him. As her foot hits the bottom step, she is greeted only by silence. She stands still in the foyer and listens. Nothing. Maybe she was mistaken, but as she turns towards the dining hall, she stops, the hairs on the back of her neck lifting. She is sure she heard movement coming from the study, but trepidation has sealed her mouth so she does not call out for Heath. She moves towards the noise, a moth drawn helplessly to flame. Though she knows the study door was closed when she went upstairs, it is now ajar. Slowly, she pushes it open, already knowing it is not her brother inside. She stares at the back of her uncle’s dark head. Sensing her presence he turns, and she knows he is drunk. She can tell by his pink cheeks and unfocused, bloodshot eyes. He must’ve driven all the way from London to Ledbury Hall in his intoxicated state. His skin is sallow and he’s grown an unruly beard. He looks ten years older and somehow, smaller, than he did the last time she saw him. He turns back and pours himself a drink.
‘Want one?’
‘You need to get out of here,’ she warns him.
He chuckles mirthlessly. ‘Out of my own house?’
She worries what Heath will do if he comes back and finds Uncle Robert here. Her heart hums in her chest. ‘You hurt my brother.’
‘Survived, did he?’ He slurs his disappointment, then downs his drink before pouring himself another.
She checks her shoulder, looking down the hallway, knowing Heath is due back any second. ‘Please, just go back to London.’
‘Can’t.’ He stumbles across the room and slumps into his armchair.
‘Why not?’
He takes a swig. ‘Sold my flat.’
‘Why?’
‘Lost my job.’ He raises his glass. ‘Thanks to you and your wretched brother.’
Her stomach churns like a washing machine full of bricks. She moves further into the room to stand before him. ‘I’m sorry.’
He looks up at her sharply. ‘Goody.’
She swallows and clasps her hands tightly, keeping her gaze low. ‘Please, Uncle Robert. If Heath—’
He slams his glass onto the side table, sloshing amber liquid over the rim and making her jump. ‘He’s just like his father – an arrogant, lazy, entitled, sneering little fuck. My brother relied on his film-star good looks, too.’ He snorts. ‘And look where that got him!’
She has rarely, if ever, heard Uncle Robert talk about her father. When her uncle moved into Ledbury Hall, he removed all the family photographs and burnt them in the garden. That, she thinks, is the day Heath decided he hated Uncle Robert. Her brother had got down on his hands and knees, risking burns to try and save some of the pictures. Uncle Robert had just turned and walked back into the house, leaving the two of them to watch their memories, the only images of their parents, burn to cinders.
‘My parents were so proud of their golden boy,’ he spits. ‘It didn’t matter to them that I was the academic one. That I went to university. That I secured a position at one of the top pharmaceutical companies in the world, while their first born did nothing but marry rich and reproduce. They didn’t care about my achievements, my education, my career. None of that mattered once he married your mother.’ Uncle Robert hauls himself up and stumbles back to the bar cart. ‘And do you know the worst part?’ He sways a little. Elinor can smell the alcohol on him. ‘The worst part is it should’ve been me with Alison.’
And there it is. Elinor always suspected he’d had a thing for her mother. She’d seen a photograph of her in his wallet, years after he burned the others.
‘A parcel for Ledbury Hall had wound up at my parents’ address by mistake. My mother asked me to drive it over but when I went to do so, it was gone. And guess who’d taken it?’
‘My father.’
‘BINGO!’ he shouts. ‘Somebody give this girl a prize!’ His laughter is hollow. ‘That’s right, Nicholas fancied himself a trip to Ledbury Hall. The second he set eyes on this manor, Alison was his. She was too good for him, your mother. Endlessly kind. Always spoke highly of me. She quickly put an end to Nicholas’s belittling comments. My “little job”, that’s what he used to call it. Got our parents referring to it as such. The only thing I’d ever been proud of was my career and my brother was determined to ruin it, but Alison stood up to him.’ Elinor has always thought of her uncle as being cold and unfeeling, hard like granite, but when he talks about her mother, he becomes warm and inviting, like maple syrup poured over pancakes. ‘I’d have loved her for who she was, not for her money. Not the lifestyle. Not like your father did.’
Elinor feels as though she is his priest and this is his confession, so she stays quiet, hoping once he is done telling this story, she can usher him out of the house before Heath returns. ‘It was my brother’s idea to go out on that yacht, even though he didn’t know how to sail. All to impress our parents.’ Uncle Robert finishes his drink. ‘They died that day, too.’
Elinor is shocked. She knew her grandparents were dead but she never knew how they’d passed. She thinks drowning is the worst, most terrifying, way to die. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers but he doesn’t seem to hear.
‘Truth is, people like you, people like your brother, always win.’
She frowns.
‘Pretty people,’ he clarifies. ‘It’s a privilege to look like you.’ He reaches for another bottle but knocks it over. It lands on the rug with a dull thud. ‘I tried my best. Tried to teach the pair of you to use your brains, your minds, as well as your …’ he eyes her, ‘your beauty. Because beauty fades, Elinor, but your brother refuses to learn, refuses to fall in line, just like Nicholas.’
Elinor looks to the door again, sure her brother will burst through it. She crosses the room and lays a hand on her uncle’s arm. ‘Please leave before Heath comes back,’ she begs. ‘Call a taxi and—’
He starts to sob. He leans on the bar cart, shoulders shuddering. ‘All I had was my career. But it’s gone. All gone.’
Elinor has never seen him cry. She feels a pull of pity for him and lays a comforting hand on his back. He meets her eyes and for the first time she sees a fatherly love in the way he looks at her. ‘Your career is something to be proud of,’ she tells him. ‘Your company was lucky to have you.’
His face is tear-stained. He straightens but sways. He smiles at her with genuine affection. ‘You sound like your mother,’ he says fondly. His gaze roams over her face. ‘You look just like her, too. You have her eyes. She was the most beautiful …’ He reaches out and strokes her hair.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Heath’s shadow, cast in a square of sunlight. Uncle Robert sees it, too. Panicking, he jerks away but his fingers tangle in her hair and she yells out, startled.
Heath lifts the gun. There is a click.
Uncle Robert’s eyes widen. ‘Now, Heath ju—’
There is an explosion of noise. Of fire. Elinor feels warmth spatter across her face. Uncle Robert is flung backwards. He hits the ground, his chest split open like a pomegranate.