The Family Game by Catherine Steadman (83)

I shove the new clue in my pocket and leave Edward’s childhood behind me. After all, we all used to be different people, didn’t we?

And with that thought, my walk breaks into a run.





44


Stiff Competition


SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24



I emerge back onto the central landing and dart across to the blue room to grab what I need. Safely inside, I scramble through the pile of clothes gathered on the chair beside my suitcase and shrug on my warm puffy coat over my dress. Then, dropping back down to my suitcase, I forage for something else, and in among the shoes, hair tongs, and straighteners, I come into contact with its hard solid form. The paperweight. I slip it from the sock and hold it in one hand. I might not need it, but better to have it; who knows what I’ll find out there in the darkness. I slide its smooth glass into my coat pocket and fumble for the cold metal of my torch. I had a feeling it might come in handy at some point during this trip, and I was right.

I flick it on in the dim lamplight of the blue room and its bright beam fires out, flaring against the dark glass of the sash windows.

Shit. I quickly turn it off as its light tunnels out into the dark night air beyond the glass. The last thing I want is someone seeing the light and following my next move. I now know this game is competitive, but I don’t know to what extent. I’m guessing slowing other players down might be strategically worthwhile for some players, however, so best to avoid all contact with Holbecks until the game is over. If Robert is leading me to something that he wants only me to see, the last thing I need is an audience.

I zip up my coat, slip my phone into the other pocket, and head out of the blue room as stealthily as I can.

The house is quiet as I steal through it, silent save for the ghostly piano music and the soft crackle of the hall fire. No people stir; there is no movement at all. At the back door I ease quietly out into the sharp chill outside.

The white-sprinkled gardens sparkle in the moonlight. Around me the air is full of snowflakes tumbling down in slow fluffy clusters. Deep snow is setting in, and as I look down I realize what this means for me: footprints.

But there’s little I can do about that. If the snow continues to fall they should disappear before too long anyway. I can only hope no one stumbles across them before then.

Outside the main house, I head quickly toward the maze, casting a look back at the house, its insides lit up, warm and cozy, a toy house hinged open for all to see.

On the second floor I catch sight of Eleanor searching through a bookcase, illuminated in her endeavor. Below her, at the corner of the building, I see Oliver in the flicker of candlelight through the giant windows of the sunroom, intent on unearthing something from the fireplace. But I don’t have time for spying. I turn and break into a run but only make it a few yards before someone rounds the corner of the maze and propels straight into me, knocking me to the ground.

I look up and the figure towering over me is Fiona, her floor-length red silk dress hitched up over rubber wellies and partially covered with a waxed jacket. Her expression is as confrontational as the shovel grasped tightly in her hand.

“Of course. It’s you,” she says, rubbing her shoulder. She offers an unapologetic hand to pull me up. Her usually soft, open demeanor is gone to such an extent that I have to wonder if I imagined it in the first place. It’s funny how wrong I could have been about the type of person Oliver’s wife was. I guess I made the mistake of assuming all stay-at-home mums are cut from the same cloth. Fiona’s cloth is not quite as forgiving as I had supposed.

I give her my hand and she yanks me up to standing.

“Have you seen any of the others?” she asks with a directness that tells me we are not playing as a team.

“I saw Oliver and Eleanor through the windows. The others I don’t know.”

She nods, looking back toward the house, then seems to decide something. “Yeah, I think I saw Edward or Stuart a minute ago,” she says, absentmindedly casting her gaze toward the driveway. Then she looks me up and down. “And where are you going?”

“I’m not going to tell you that, Fiona.”

She laughs humorlessly. “Whatever. I’ll find out anyway.” I try not to focus too much on the shovel in her hands, or on the fact that she will be able to track my footprints in the snow and doesn’t seem like a very forgiving winner who might keep my secret. Something in my demeanor amuses her.

“Oh my God. You’re terrified, aren’t you?” she registers with a chuckle. “That’s hilarious. What have they got on you? What’s Robert got on you? God, it must be good.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fiona,” I say, walking away.

“Wait,” she shouts after me, pulling me up short, her tone aggressive. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’ll make you a deal. Your secret, if Oliver or I win, we’ll make it go away.”

Her eyes gleam in the moonlight, snowflakes catching in her tumbling brown hair.

“And what would I have to do in return?” I ask tentatively. “You want me to keep your secrets if I win?”

Fiona lets out a bright burst of laughter. “Oh my God, you’re not going to win, Harry! That’s so sweet. Did you really think—” She gives me a cartoonish expression of mock-sympathy. “That is so cute. You really don’t know who you’re playing against here, do you?” she says with a shake of her head, before adding seriously, “No, the deal is: if Oliver or I win, then you and Ed don’t have kids.”