four

Stunned, I jumped at the sound of raised voices outside a door that suddenly wrenched open. Paris Vellender shot inside like a racehorse released from the start line at Cheltenham racetrack. Her hair, a glossy mane of gleaming chestnut brown, flashed like a banner behind her. Trailed by Georgia, she crossed the room in a cloud of dense perfume. Beneath a red leather three-quarter length coat, she wore a steel-grey cashmere sweater over straight-leg black jeans and boots. Her painted face failed to conceal dark shadows underneath her eyes, which made it all the more remarkable that she looked considerably younger than she did four years previously. It wasn’t simply due to her athletic figure, honed, no doubt, by hours of pumping and jumping. Fine-boned, skin taut for a woman in her late forties, her heart-shaped face retained an enviably sculpted jawline. Automatically, my hand shot up to the damaged side of my cheek, touching the not-so-smooth skin and ragged scar tissue that bordered what remained of my left ear, the vestiges of a childhood accident with a firework.

“What is she doing here?” Mrs. Vellender’s chilly question was addressed solely to Georgia.

I opened my mouth to respond but, like a ventriloquist with a dummy, Georgia answered for me. “I realise that this is an upsetting time for you, Mrs. Vellender, but as I already explained, Kim has a professional interest in Mimi’s case and—”

“She’s the reason my daughter is in this state.” Paris Vellender spoke in such a low, reasonable, and even tone, I almost missed the cold venom contained in her accusation.

Mimi let out a feeble rasp of protest and Paris Vellender, resting a hand on her daughter’s brow, told her not to worry, that the “nasty, stupid woman” would go away.

Barely able to process what Mimi had confided, I now had Mrs. Vellender using me as an emotional punching bag. Watching my accuser fussing over her daughter, I reminded myself of the enormous pressure she was under.

“I realise how distressing this is for you.”

Her head flicked up and her dark, flashing eyes met mine. “Don’t. Just don’t. You have no idea what this feels like. You think you do, but you haven’t a clue.”

Fear does weird things to people and deep down I knew that Paris Vellender was justifiably unhinged. It wasn’t pleasant and I wasn’t thrilled, but I understood her anger and the need to blame someone. The other silent, insidious part of me wondered whether her fear was for something else—fear of discovery, perhaps, fear that someone was about to shine a light on a dark and dirty corner. I didn’t have time to consider it, because she was back on my case. Relentless should have been her middle name.

“Had you done your job properly—”

“That’s neither true nor fair.” To my astonishment, the words were mine.

“Really?” she sneered. “Why don’t you do us all a favour? Go. Leave.”

I stood, or rather sat, my ground. Georgia flashed an awkward smile in my direction and made a shooing gesture with the tips of her fingers. Paris Vellender glowered, pouted, and sighed, in that order. Finally, she stared me out and said to nobody in particular, “Troy will be here at any moment.”

Whoever Troy was, I got it. Only two visitors allowed at any one time. This was the equivalent of giving me my marching orders. I wouldn’t be sorry. I gathered up my bag and, leaning in close to Mimi, whispered, “I’ll do my best,” then stood up and left.