His father turned to me. “What do you say, Nina? You can take a few months off, switch schools, and pick up where you left off, no problem. Are you ready to make a fresh start?”
Teacups rattled in the doorway behind me, and I knew Leonora must be standing there, hastily grabbed tray in hand. I gazed into the older man’s eyes, and I tried to communicate my real feelings to him, even as I opened my mouth to parrot Leonora’s words.
“I couldn’t bear to leave Raven Hall, Grandfather,” I said mechanically. “Please don’t make me go. It would break my heart.”
His blue eyes looked beyond mine into my skull, into my soul, and my skin tingled with the certainty that he knew I was acting—that he saw the real me underneath. And I wanted him to see me. I kept my gaze fixed firmly on his, and I pleaded silently with him, with all my might. Help me. Get me out of here.
“I understand,” he said slowly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. And then, in one swift movement, he caught hold of my hand, as if to give it a conciliatory squeeze, and he slipped a small rectangular card into my palm. “I’m sure we can sort everything out,” he said, without breaking our eye contact. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re happy.”
The clink of china came nearer, and Leonora set the tray down on the coffee table.
“Tea?” she said brightly.
But Hendrik was already rising. “No, thank you.” He frowned at Markus. “I meant what I said. I won’t put up with this any longer. Let me know Nina’s exam dates, and I’ll take that into account. But this house has been a curse on our family, and it’s going to be sold, whether you like it or not.”
He stalked from the room, and as Markus and Leonora hurried after him, I dropped my gaze to the small rectangular card in my hand. It was a business card, with hendrik meyer printed across the center, and several phone numbers. I now had the means to contact my supposed grandfather whenever I wanted.
I was still sitting there, feeling dazed, when I heard a new note of urgency in the voices from the hall.
“Is that smoke?” Hendrik said. “What’s going on?”
“My God!” Markus said, his voice rising to a shout. “Something’s on fire!”
I ran out to the hall. Thick gray smoke obscured the landing and billowed down the stairs. Markus was already disappearing into it, his arm held across his nose and mouth, and I couldn’t see whether he turned left or right at the top. A sharp, acrid smell filled my nostrils, and a moment later, I began to cough.
“For God’s sake,” Hendrik bellowed at a frozen-looking Leonora. “Phone the fire brigade. We could lose the whole house!”
Hendrik started up the stairs after Markus, calling his name. Leonora turned to me, white-faced.
“Nina,” she whispered, and the sound of her own voice seemed to snap her into action. Ignoring Hendrik’s instruction, she, too, ran up the stairs and was swallowed by the smoke.
The sound of crackling flames reached my ears, and I heard a choked shout from Markus, followed by a prolonged bout of coughing that could have come from any of them. My heart battered in my chest like a bird trapped in a chimney. Nina was up there, sick or asleep in her turret bedroom—and what if she couldn’t get out? Before I could change my mind, I held my sleeve over my own nose and mouth, and I ran up after them.
She didn’t know she had so many tears saved up inside her. She pedals furiously toward the village, feeling her heart shattering into thousands of tiny jagged-edged pieces. The Backstabber is Raven Hall’s new owner. And Markus is the Backstabber’s son.
She’s lost everything. Her parents, her home, and now Markus. All gone.
She swipes angrily at her eyes and swerves closer to the grass shoulder as a car approaches from behind. It slows, and she’s horrified to see Markus’s concerned face glide alongside her. The Backstabber himself is in the driver’s seat—she remembers, now, that his name is Hendrik. That’s what Daddy used to call him before Daddy started drinking, before everything went so horribly, terribly wrong.
“Lara, please,” Markus says, “let us give you a lift somewhere, at least . . .”
“Go away!” she shouts. “I don’t need you! Leave me alone, or I’ll—”
She looks around wildly, wondering if she should discard the bike and run into the fields, but a car is approaching from the other direction, and she feels a glimmer of triumph.
“I’ll flag these people down,” she shouts, glaring through the open window at both of the men. “I’ll tell them you’re trying to kidnap me.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Hendrik says loudly, and a moment later he accelerates away.
The second car whizzes past, and she focuses on the road ahead and continues pedaling. But Hendrik must have swung his car around in the farm track farther along; he and Markus are heading toward her again, this time on the other side of the road.
Markus leans across Hendrik and calls out, “Please, Lara . . . Leonora . . .”
She doesn’t even look at him. And a second later, they’re gone, heading back to the house they stole from her.
She cycles on toward the village, knowing she’s entirely alone now. There’s no one left in the world who cares about her anymore.
Her tears have run dry by the time the village finally comes into sight, and she hops off the bike in front of the B and B. As she slots it back into the bike shed, Stephanie appears at the side door again, frowning.
“Are you okay?” Stephanie asks.
She draws herself up, forces herself to smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She nods at the baby on Stephanie’s hip. “Is he yours?”
Stephanie presses her lips into the child’s chestnut hair. “He sure is.”
“He’s gorgeous. Thank you for the loan of the bike.” She turns away.
“Do you need help with anything else?” Stephanie calls out.
But a familiar car is drawing to a halt in front of the bungalow next door—a mink-blue Ford Capri—and her heart lifts.
“No, thanks.” She doesn’t glance back.
It’s fate. It must be.
She hurries toward the car, a tentative smile forming as she sees the young doctor spring out from the driver’s seat. He never misled her, she thinks. She always knew exactly who he was, and where he lived, and who his family was.
“Leonora?” The man’s startled gaze runs over her tearstained face, her sweat-soaked T-shirt, and the rip in her skirt where she caught it on the roadside brambles. “What on earth are you doing here? Are you hurt?”