The Family Game(52)

I nod; her guard is still up.

‘It’s Harriet Reed,’ I say, introducing myself formally, and I note she bristles slightly at my British accent – another thing she wasn’t expecting, another potential barrier rising between us. ‘Thank you so much for meeting me,’ I continue, trying to exude a trustworthiness that I have no idea whether I possess. ‘I really appreciate you coming here today. I know it’s a pretty unusual request.’

I pull out my chair and sit, hoping she will do the same, and after a cautionary scan of the cafeteria she does. We face each other, two strangers, across a bright yellow table.

Something about me, or the situation, seems to have settled her enough to make her stay. She must sense I’m no direct threat and it’s glaringly obvious I’m here alone.

‘How did you find me?’ Samantha asks, leaning back into her seat appraisingly.

‘Using a very blunt instrument,’ I answer honestly. ‘I messaged every single Samantha Belson in her sixties that I could find online.’

Samantha chuckles in spite of herself. ‘Fair enough. I suppose it worked. Was I the only one who responded?’

‘No. But you were the only one who responded in the right way. You seemed concerned about being contacted in relation to the family at all, concerned about the questions being asked. The questions wouldn’t really have bothered anyone but you.’

She tenses as she realizes the truth of my words. Her own caution gave her away.

She toys with her empty takeaway cup. ‘Yes, well, no one had mentioned their name to me for years. They were ghosts to me. Ghosts I didn’t want to stir,’ she says, her voice gentle as a primary school teacher’s. ‘So, who exactly are you in all this, Harriet Reed?’ She looks at me with fresh eyes, as interested in what I might have to tell her as I am in what she can tell me.

‘Nobody. Just an observer. With concerns,’ I answer, deciding it’s probably best not to tell her I’m marrying directly into the Holbeck family just yet. ‘I’m not a reporter, or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about. I was just concerned about what happened to you after the accident. I thought perhaps something might have happened – after you left their employment.’

‘I see,’ she says, shifting forward in her seat.

‘The Holbecks are an unusual family, we both know that, but it’s hard to know exactly how unusual they are, if you catch my meaning. I needed to see to what extent they stray from the norm.’

Samantha gives a terse laugh that confirms she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

‘You want to know why I left the family?’ she asks, her expression settling into something more serious.

‘I do.’

‘I left because of what happened.’

‘With Bobby,’ I push.

‘You know I can’t talk about Bobby,’ she says curtly, her gaze flitting back on me, suddenly on edge. ‘You’re a wife, aren’t you?’

I flounder, caught out by the directness of the question.

‘No, I’m not. Not yet,’ I say carefully, and as I say it, the reality of that fact hits me for the first time in weeks. I have made no promises; there are things I might learn that might make marrying into Ed’s family impossible. ‘Why can’t you talk about Bobby?’

‘The NDA.’

I feel my eyebrows raise. ‘They made you sign a non-disclosure agreement – about Bobby?’

She looks irritated by the question. ‘No. Everyone who works for the Holbecks signs an NDA the day they start. It’s not unusual in wealthy families. It gives them a sense of security. Families discuss their private lives, their businesses, their family relationships, we hear it all,’ she breaks off, with a look to me. ‘I wish I could help; you seem like a nice girl, but I’m afraid I can’t speak to specifics. Especially around something as delicate as Bobby. If they were to sue – I have nothing except my house, Harriet. I’m sure you understand. I bought it with the payout they gave me.’

‘Why would they give you a payout if you chose to leave yourself?’

She looks at me mutely. I’ve caught her out.

‘Samantha, please. I just need to know what I’m getting into here,’ I beg, then quickly change tack. ‘Why agree to meet me, if you can’t or won’t say anything? Why come?’

‘Because you dusted off the past and presented it back to me. I needed to know who you were; if this might become a problem for me.’

And then, as much as I hate myself for doing it, I use my trump card. ‘It might become a problem for you. I’m pregnant and I’m concerned about my safety around these people. I need you to tell me about them. It will go no further, I promise you. I don’t want to put you in a compromising position.’

Her eyes drop to my stomach and I feel her take me in in an entirely different light.

‘Oh, I see,’ she says. ‘Well, at least now I understand why you’re here. That makes sense. One of the boys. Yes, yes, I suppose you had better ask me what you want to know and we’ll see where we get.’

‘Bobby. Was there something strange about the way he died?’ I ask immediately.

‘Strange how?’ she asks.

‘Did he jump or—’

‘Or was he pushed? He jumped,’ she says with a firmness that tells me this is not the area I should be looking into.