“But then, you expected them to intuit what you needed and to give it to you,” Sara said. “I bet they demanded whatever they wanted.”
Meena laughed. “You have perfectly described the situation. But I didn’t see it that way.”
“I don’t believe in blaming the victim.” Kate’s voice was rising. “I hate when people say ‘If only you had done so and so, then he wouldn’t have been angry.’ In this case, you’re being blamed for not being as selfish as they are. They should have known that you needed love and affection. Everyone does.”
They were all staring at her.
“I like your attitude,” Meena said. “You want to come work for me? I’ll start you in a top management position.”
“What is your business?” Sara asked.
“Do you tell the ending of your books at the front?” She didn’t give Sara time to answer. “Don’t look so surprised. I know about all of you. Estate agent, builder extraordinaire and a supposedly retired writer. You’ve solved two murder cases that no one else bothered with.”
Jack looked up from a plate of scones. “We’re public record, but you’re a secret. How’d you go from Poorwilla to this?” The way he said it was flattering.
“After what Nicky said, I knew I had to leave. All through school I’d told myself that yes, I paid for things but they really did care about me. But it was like Nicky had taken a hammer and shattered the glass cage I lived in.” She took a drink of tea. “To say I felt sorry for myself is too mild. I was absolutely and totally alone. I couldn’t possibly go home. Beatrice was the most vicious of my siblings and she’d had time to make what happened at Oxley into a war. If I showed up there, they’d tear me apart.”
“So what did you do?” Kate asked.
“As Byon said, I cried. I had so much wanted to belong. I especially wanted to be part of that set of beautiful people.”
“And you were willing to do anything to achieve that,” Sara said softly.
“Yes, I was. Money, marriage—”
“Revenge on people who hurt your club members,” Jack said.
Meena smiled. “They told you about that, did they? Nasty little ants bit me mercilessly, but I felt it was a price I had to pay to get in.” Her eyes lit up. “And it worked. For a while, I was part of them. It was glorious!”
“How long before you stopped crying?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know. Six months? A year? I stayed in a little family-owned country hotel. They fed me, I watched old TV shows, I walked a bit but not much. I got even fatter than I was. I had crying bursts. I just didn’t know what to do. I had been surrounded by so much talent that by comparison, I was a dead fish.”
“So what happened?” Jack leaned back against the couch.
“My mother died and I had to go home. I had sent contact information to my family. Maybe I was hoping... I don’t know, that one of them would turn up and say, ‘We love you. Come home.’”
“Only happens in my books,” Sara said.
Meena smiled. “You’re right. No one contacted me until my father sent an overnight letter telling me about my mother. I was to return immediately. It was a command, not a request. I packed up, bought a small car and drove home.”
She paused. “My family home. I hadn’t seen it in a long time. It’s bigger than Oxley Manor, and thanks to my father’s money, it was in good repair. It was beautiful, but to me, it had always been a prison. A place of torture.” She took a breath. “When I got there, I drove around the back, hoping no one would see me.”
“I bet your little sister was watching for you,” Sara said.
“Oh yes. She most certainly was.”
Eleven
SUMMER 1995
Willa saw no one as she went up the back stairs to the bedroom she’d had as a child. It had been completely redone so she hardly recognized it. Her family had none of that useless sentimentality of keeping the room the way it had been when their daughter lived there. But then, Willa had no medals or trophies to display. She’d never hung posters of rock stars on her walls.
The only picture she’d hung up was one of Alice in Wonderland with a big pistol in her hand, her foot on a dead rabbit. Her mother had told her to take it down, saying it was “disgusting.”
Willa had tried to defend herself. “They hang up pictures of naked singers. Why isn’t that ‘disgusting’?”
“Because we are normal,” her brother Niall said. “You’re not.”