‘There was a reason why I sold you the house.’
Jim frowned.
‘I was having an affair with David Wyatt. Before Sylvia died.’
‘For how long?’
‘Not long.’
‘Did she know?’
Marion shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. But I’ve always wondered . . .’
He gave an encouraging nod for her to continue.
‘Sylvia had been diagnosed with depression. She’d taken an overdose twice in Jennifer’s final year at college.’
‘Did Jen know?’
‘No, they wanted to keep it hidden from her. They weren’t serious attempts. But still.’
She took a drink of iced tea and her hand was trembling.
‘That’s why David went into hiding after Sylvia’s death.’
‘The guilt?’ asked Jim softly.
‘He always wondered if he’d done enough to help her. Sylvia was a proud woman. She hated taking medication, and refused to go to therapy. Her condition got brushed under the carpet. It was easier to think that she was just a little bit difficult, and perhaps that’s why David kept the house. To remind him to be a better man. Yet for me it was always a reminder of how we betrayed her.’
Somewhere in the distance the band was doing the sound check.
‘I should probably go,’ Marion said quickly. ‘I’m sure you’re busy. I can come back another time.’
Usually he would have tried to convince her to stay, but he knew it was right to let her go.
‘I’m glad everything worked out for you. Truly,’ she said, and she lifted a tender hand to his cheek. He put his own palm over it for a moment, both of them united by the sadness of the past.
After he had walked Marion back into the house and said goodbye to her at the front door, he went into the library, which had once been David Wyatt’s study. A trolley of drinks, fine brandy and whisky in crystal decanters, tempted him. He never usually drank at work, but now he poured himself a measure of bourbon and tipped the lot down his throat before sitting down on one of the big cream sofas and tuning out the background noise.
Richard Steel, the Plantation House’s general manager, knocked on the door and stepped tentatively into the room, holding an old shoebox.
‘Have you got a minute?’
‘Sure, come in,’ said Jim, standing up and hoping he couldn’t smell the alcohol on his breath.
‘Liane said the previous owner of the house was here.’
‘She’s just left,’ replied Jim, glancing out of the window, but Marion’s car had already gone.
‘I meant to give you this before. One of the decorators found it a few weeks ago in one of the classic rooms in the eaves of the house.’
Jim nodded. It was strange hearing the nooks and crannies of the old house being referred to in such corporate and sterile terms. Jennifer’s old room was now the Magnolia Suite, redecorated and remodelled, all traces of its former occupant erased. The pink paint had been covered with de Gournay wallpaper, and the room had a canopied bed and a shelf full of artfully created books there to be seen but not read. This transformation had been replicated everywhere. Casa D’Or was gone.
‘Let’s have a look,’ said Jim with curiosity. ‘Where was it? I thought all the Wyatts’ belonging were moved out and put into storage when the sale went through.’
‘They were. This was found behind an air vent. We didn’t discover it until we tested out the heating system.’
Jim took the box and sat back down on the sofa as Richard left the room and shut the door. He perched it on his lap and took off the lid, which was covered in a layer of dust that coated his fingertips.