And if it was real, what was he avoiding telling me?
“The party seemed like it might never end. People slept where they sat, and woke up and started all over again. The bedrooms were taken over by guests too, but very few people were sleeping in them. The sun set on the second day, and still the party went on. Until…”
“What?” I asked, as desperate as always for the next part of the story. “What happened?”
Nathaniel refocused his gaze on me. “Like I said, the house was overflowing. It spilled out onto the terrace, into the gardens, and even out the front door onto the steps. It felt like the party might just keep growing and take over the whole land…until suddenly a scream cut through the celebrations.”
I flinched, and Nathaniel reached across to hold my hand. His fingers smelt like tobacco, and I knew mine would too, afterwards. I didn’t mind.
“All the guests ran towards the sound, and the man wondered for a moment if the sudden shift would cause the house to tip. Silence fell – an eerie, painful silence that rang in the ears – as they all stared at the figure of a man lying at the bottom of the white marble steps, blood streaming from a gash on the back of his head.”
Yeah, this one really wasn’t suitable for Caro. But what I wanted to know most was, was it true?
“And in moments, the house was empty. The party was over, and only the man and woman were left. Well, just them and the body and the police.
“And that was the last party they ever threw.”
His voice faded away, and all I could hear was the wind in the trees around us.
“Did that… Is it a true story?” I asked, half expecting him to laugh. Of course it couldn’t be true. Apart from anything else, I knew for a fact that Nathaniel and Isabelle had held plenty of parties at Rosewood since they moved in.
“Aren’t they all true, one way or another?” Nathaniel said, with a shrug. “It just depends on your interpretation.”
“Yes, but—”
“And now, I believe I have another party to attend,” Nathaniel interrupted. Bending over he collected his index cards, then stood up with a groan. “I’m too old for this, Saskia.”
“You’ll never be too old.”
He smiled, then leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “And you will always, always have a home at Rosewood,” he said. “Whatever you do. Don’t you forget that.”
With a final puff on his pipe, he placed it on the rickety shelf and descended the ladder, cards flapping in his hands.
How did he do that? We’d talked about his speech, about some mythical party at Rosewood and a possible death, and his age. Not a word about me or Greg or being home. And still he’d known, without even having to ask, exactly why I was hiding out in the tree house.
I just hoped that what he said was true.
I blinked away my tears and, after a few moments alone with the quiet and the stale smell of smoke, I followed my grandfather back down the ladder and through the woods to the house.
It was nearly midday, after all. Time for the party to begin.
Chapter Five
“A wedding day should be a magnificent affair,” Bella said, staring down at the small, sad bunch of wildflowers in her hand. “A celebration. A display of love.”
“Our wedding day is all of those things,” I assured her. The elopement was, of course, my idea. “And more. Because it’s us, for ever.” I kissed her forehead. “And so we don’t need anyone else. Ever.”
Biding Time, by Nathaniel Drury (1967)
I caught up with Nathaniel on the front drive, just as a large, black taxi cab pulled to a stop in front of the house, and Isabelle stepped out. Caroline had beaten us both, and was standing with her hands on her hips watching the proceedings.
“Nathaniel, darling, have you got any cash on you?” Isabelle asked, hooking her pale cream handbag over her arm. “Kia, my bags are in the boot, if you wouldn’t mind.”
I stepped forward automatically and opened the boot, as Nathaniel paid the driver. Isabelle, meanwhile, sashayed her way towards the house, looking for all the world like an ageing film star.
She’d obviously had peace and quiet and assistance to prepare herself for the party; her silver-blonde hair was perfectly waved and pinned at the back of her head, her make-up was flawless, and her cream shot-silk suit glittered in the sunlight. She looked every inch the bride she’d decided to be for the day.
The guests were starting to arrive, too, by the time I’d stashed away Isabelle’s bags. In just moments, the chaos of tents and family members shouting instructions at each other had melted away, and a real wedding-y atmosphere had emerged.
Over by the trees, the string quartet were settling in for the long haul, starting off with the ever popular Pachelbel’s Canon. Waiters in three-piece suits were circulating with trays of champagne, Kir Royale, and Pimm’s, which were being grabbed up gratefully by guests as they stepped out of their cars. Ribbons tied to chairs and tables and tents and flower arrangements fluttered in the slight breeze, as puffy white clouds floated across overhead. Mum and Ellie were standing alongside Isabelle to shake hands and kiss cheeks, and the air was awash with the scent of roses and too much perfume. Greg hovered at Ellie’s elbow, ready to cater to her every whim, I supposed. Every now and then she’d twist and smile at him, and the light that filled his face almost made me jealous. Not jealous that she made him that happy – I was past that. But just that I’d never had that effect on anyone.
Ellie and Greg were truly happy, and I was so glad that was the case. But it didn’t stop me wanting some of that happiness for myself, with my own right person. If I ever found them.
“Saskia!” I turned at the sound of my name, only to find myself suddenly accosted by a gaggle of women – old friends of Isabelle’s. I’d never been able to keep them all straight when I lived at Rosewood, so the chances of me remembering their names now was slim. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to need me to talk at all.
“Well, darling, this is a nice surprise!” A woman in a green straw hat pressed a powdery kiss to my cheek. “We weren’t at all sure that you’d be back for this little party you know.”
“Isabelle did say that with your very important job she wasn’t sure you’d be able to get away,” another woman, this one dressed in flamingo pink, said. Of course Isabelle wouldn’t have wanted to let on that she hadn’t invited me. That there was a potential, scandalous reason why I might
not be welcomed back at Rosewood.
Mrs Pink frowned. “What is it that you do again, dear?”
“I’m a reporter,” I said, but no one was listening.
“Never mind her job,” Mrs Green said. “What we all want to know is where your young man is!”
“I’ll be honest,” a third lady said. I dubbed her Mrs Poppy, as her dress was liberally covered in large poppy prints that did nothing to disguise her very ample curves. “I always thought that the next wedding we’d be attending at Rosewood would be yours, Saskia.”
“Well, it’s not really a wedding…” I started.
“So, where is he?” Mrs Pink asked, prodding me with a bony elbow. “Your young man, I mean.”
How to answer that one? Did I say ‘Perth’ and continue the Duncan fiction? But that would only lead to more questions about why he hadn’t come with me. Did I claim I didn’t have one? Or would that just earn me pitying glances or – worse – attempts to set me up with their grandsons. I’d already been through that when Ellie and Greg got engaged, thank you very much.
Fortunately, I had an unlikely saviour.
“Saskia?” Edward appeared at my side, and put a hand at my waist. Isabelle’s friends all awwed. In fact, I think Mrs Pink honestly swooned. I couldn’t really blame her. Dressed in a charcoal grey suit, his hair neatly combed, Edward was the epitome of a classic English gentleman. “I think your dad is looking for you.”
“Excuse me.” I gave the gaggle a suitably polite smile, then walked quickly in the opposite direction, my hand tucked through Edward’s arm. “Thank God for that,” I said, the moment we were a respectable distance away. “Is Dad really looking for me?”
“No idea,” Edward said cheerfully. “But you looked like you were about to rip that woman’s hideous green hat off and stamp on it, so I thought I’d better get you out of there.”
“Good call. Isn’t green unlucky for weddings, though?”
“Why would I know?” Edward asked. “Besides, this isn’t actually a wedding.”