The Sanatorium(31)

“Maybe.”

Lacing his fingers together, he stretches out his arms. The gesture is relaxed, easy, but she knows it’s masking something else: he’s pissed off. Frustrated.

He doesn’t know why she’s dwelling on this.

Will doesn’t overthink. It’s a family thing. Elin’s even heard his sister say as much—the informal family motto. Deal with it. Move on.

She’s never quite known a family like Will’s before. He’s the middle child—older brother, younger sister, and all of them, parents included, are the hale-and-hearty type, never making a fuss about anything.

It’s not in a stiff-upper-lip way, brushing things under the carpet—they’re simply forensic in their approach. If an issue comes up, they’ll talk it through, endlessly, exhaustively, and then deal with it. A plan is made and then executed. Job done. No looking back. No regrets.

This is only possible because they’re all so open, in touch with their emotions and each other—lunch every Sunday, cozy chats and in-jokes. Holidays together each year. Elin sometimes wonders whether Will takes it for granted, all that love and affection.

She can’t help but be a little jealous, not only of how close they are, but how easy it seems—no weird silences or secrets, no game playing. A family life that’s completely opposite to anything she’s ever known.

“You know,” Will starts. “You’re overthinking this whole thing. It’s . . . weird. She’s only been gone for a morning. Like I said, I think it’s a massive overreaction on Isaac’s part. Don’t get sucked in. All this drama, it’s deliberate. She’ll turn up, and you’ll have wasted the first day of what was meant to be a holiday . . .”

He trails off. Elin knows what he wants to say, but he stopped himself. Even now, he’s tiptoeing around her. Struggling to tell her how it is.

“Thinking all this stuff,” Will finishes. “Let’s just enjoy this. You and me.” He smiles. “We managed it last night, didn’t we?”

Elin hesitates. “But there’s something else too. I’ve just spoken to the receptionist, Margot. She said that Laure and Isaac had been arguing, that she was worried about the engagement.”

Will shrugs. “That’s normal, surely? Making a commitment, it’s a big step.”

“But I think Isaac’s been lying. I found out he’s been sacked from his job at the university. Harassment. He told me he was still working there.”

“And how do you know all this?” His voice is dangerously calm.

“I”—she falters, cringing, knowing how her words will come across—“I rang the university in Lausanne.”

Will steps back, despair crossing his features. “You’ve been digging around for information about him?” A pulse is ticking in his cheek. “Elin, this was meant to be a chance for you to get away from all the shit haunting you at home, but this . . . you’re putting yourself back to square one.”

“But what if something’s happened to Laure?” Her eyes are smarting.

“For Christ’s sake.” Will’s voice rises an octave. “Nothing’s happened to her.”

“That’s not the only thing. When I was with Isaac, the police arrived.” She knows she’s gabbling, but why can’t he see what she sees? How it pieces together? “They’ve found a body, behind the forest. Margot said they think it might be the architect who went missing.”

“Daniel Lemaitre?”

“Yes.”

“And you think that’s to do with Laure?”

“I don’t know, but it just doesn’t feel right. Laure disappearing, now this.”

“Elin, look, even if something’s wrong, if something’s happened to Laure, it’s not your responsibility.” Will’s talking too slowly, too carefully. “I know it’s hard, in a situation like this, but you’re not a detective any—” He stops, flushing.

She blinks. She knows what he was about to say.

You’re not a detective anymore. The words hurt, but he’s right. She isn’t a detective and this isn’t her case. Isn’t a case at all. But still, it stings. The first time anyone’s said it out loud.

I’m not a detective anymore.

At what point had she stopped being that? Had other people stopped believing that? When the three-month break turned into six? Nine? It feels horrible, unnatural. Her job had always defined her. After Sam died, she knew it was all she wanted to do. Find the truth. Get answers. If she can’t do that anymore, what is she? Who is she?

She can’t keep the tremor from her voice. “He’s my brother. I’m trying to help.”

“You’re going above and beyond help, and if I’m being honest, I’m not sure why. Where was he when you needed him? When your mum was ill?” Will looks at her steadily. “The way I see it, you’re willing to put yourself out more for him than you are for us.”

“Will, come on. It’s not a competition, you versus Isaac—”

“It’s nothing to do with that. I’m serious, Elin.” His voice is soft. “I’ve seen more emotion from you about this, about Isaac, than I have about us moving forward.”

“Moving forward?” Elin repeats. Delay tactics. She knows what he’s talking about. Last month, he’d dumped a pile of magazines on the coffee table. Designery home ones. Talked about paint colors, storage solutions. Asked her opinion on terrace versus apartment.