The Family Game(64)

As of January 2020, Masri’s exact whereabouts are unknown, though it is thought the artist may now be residing in her native Lebanon.



I search for her name in conjunction with the Holbecks and my phone screen fills with pictures.

My breath catches at what I see.

Matilda looks back at me, from Instagram, beaming beside Aliza, her thick red curls and pale skin unmistakable. A photograph of the pair attending a gallery opening of Aliza’s work. Matilda looks beautiful, and so happy, her free hand tenderly placed on the small of Masri’s back in a gesture I recognize as entirely Holbeckian.

Aliza and Matilda were together. I look at the two of them, in love, caught in the amber of the moment. It’s undeniable – the happiness, the hope, in their eyes. So much ahead of them, and yet, somehow, it – their relationship – went wrong.

I pull my phone closer and zoom in on Matilda’s features, her intelligent green eyes, the soft curl of her lips. Could she have killed Aliza? Could she be capable of that? Did she kill them all? But there would be no reason for her to kill Lucy, Alison or Gianna. Besides, she was only sixteen when Lucy disappeared; younger than Edward.

The tape is trying to tell me something, but it’s not yet clear exactly what. I kick myself for not being able to piece it together. Unless, perhaps, the next name on the list might be connected to either Oliver or Stuart. Could each sibling have lost someone they cared about?

I google ‘Melissa Brown, 2021’, but the only online result is for a LinkedIn account. No social media, nothing. The account tells me she has been a personal assistant to the CEO of Lefroy Henshaw since 2014. A sliver of hope glimmers as I quickly bring up the Lefroy Henshaw website. There’s always a chance she could she still be alive.

Lefroy Henshaw is a hedge fund firm. I read the ‘About Us’ section until my hope curdles in my veins. Lefroy Henshaw is part of the Laurence Group. It’s owned by the Holbeck family; Stuart is listed as its CEO.

Melissa Brown was Stuart Holbeck’s personal assistant, and I’m guessing, being on Robert’s list, she isn’t still alive.

I look at Melissa’s photograph on their website – her soft, friendly features a far cry from Lila’s ethereal beauty – and I wonder if they might have been having an affair. All the other woman on Robert’s list got too close to his children. And whilst Melissa is clearly not a catwalk model like Lila, there is a soft, gentle, beauty to her. She might have made Stuart happy, made him laugh, understood him. But then I think of the way Lila spoke about Stuart and I’m not so sure he didn’t have someone to do that already. Perhaps Melissa simply saw too much, knew too much?

Robert said on the tape that she died in 2021, but she hasn’t been removed from the Lefroy Henshaw website.

The train rattles into my station. I grab everything and disembark.

Up on street level, I decide to cut to the chase and call up Lefroy Henshaw and just ask if she still works there.

After eight minutes I am plucked off the automated system by a friendly voice.

‘Hi there, sorry, you’re calling about Mel, right?’

‘Um, yes. Melissa Brown. I’m trying to track her down. Is she still working there?’

‘Technically, yes. But she doesn’t work from the office anymore. She’s satellite. Can I ask who’s calling?’

My mind scrambles for a story and bizarrely lands on, ‘Yeah, sure, I’m calling from her dentist’s office. We can’t seem to track her down. We have an unpaid invoice for… $270 that I need to get paid. She has Lefroy Henshaw down as her primary address for some reason.’

The other end of the line is silent for a second. ‘That’s weird. Really? I can email her?’

‘Yeah, I’ve tried emailing, but nothing,’ I add quickly.

‘How odd. She’s usually super on it. Maybe you’re going to junk. I’ll email now from here. She should get that.’

That’s interesting, I think. She must still be answering emails. In which case I definitely don’t need this call flagged to whoever is answering them.

‘Okay,’ I reply, ‘that’d be fantastic. Actually, why don’t I forward you her bill and you can pass that on to her directly too?’

The voice on the end of the line hesitates, clearly not keen on being dragged into a credit control situation. ‘Me? Um, actually, you know what, why don’t I just give you her postal address. What’s your office name again?’

‘Morningside Dental,’ I answer, using the name of a dentist I used shortly after moving to New York.

I hear the tap-tap of a Google search and a grunt of acknowledgement.

‘Oh yeah, I see you, perfect. I’ll give you the address I have listed for her. That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.’

‘That’d be great, thanks,’ I affirm, with the appropriate level of enthusiasm that I assume a dental receptionist might have for this offer.

As I pass a bodega, I grab a chained-up pen and carefully scrawl Melissa’s address and phone number onto the back of my cold hand.





33 Melissa




Thursday 22nd December

Edward has left for work before I’m up the next morning.

I lie in the warmth of the sheets a little longer, pushing my life and the facts of it away for another few more precious minutes before slipping a hand beneath my T-shirt and noticing the gathering swell of my tummy there. Twelve weeks tomorrow.