The Therapist(19)

‘You can say that again,’ I say fiercely, because it’s obvious he knew. ‘Surely you should have told Leo, even if you weren’t legally obliged to?’

‘Can I ask how you found out?’

‘A neighbour told me,’ I invent, because he doesn’t need to know about the private investigator. ‘Anyway, why does it matter how I found out? We should have found out from you.’

‘Can I ask – have you spoken to Mr Curtis?’

‘No, he’s at work. He’s going to be devastated, because there’s no way we can live here now. I hope you realise that.’

‘I think you should phone Mr Curtis, Ms Dawson.’

‘I will, once I know why you didn’t tell him about the murder.’

‘I’m sorry, Ms Dawson, but Mr Curtis already has the facts. He knew the history of the house before he made his offer. He knew why it had stood empty for over a year, why it was cheaper than it should have been.’ He pauses, giving me time to absorb what he’s saying. ‘When he came back with his offer, I asked him if he was sure you were alright with it, because although we had a few couples who agreed to view the house, they said they wouldn’t feel comfortable living there. Mr Curtis assured me that you were fine with it, that you were willing to overlook its history because it meant you’d be able to keep your cottage – in Sussex, I believe?’ Another pause. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Dawson, but you really need to talk to Mr Curtis.’





Ten


I’m so numb with shock that I barely hear my mobile ringing. It’s Ginny. I don’t take the call, I can’t. My mind is too busy stumbling over what Ben told me.

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that Leo went ahead and bought the house despite knowing about the murder, it seems too incredible. How could he be alright with it? How could he think, even for a minute, that I’d be alright with it? He knows how squeamish I am, how I can’t watch a film without leaving the room as soon as I sense something bad is going to happen. Which must be why he didn’t tell me, because he knew I’d refuse to live there. What makes it worse is that he lied to Ben about having told me. And what makes that worse is he told Ben that the reason I didn’t mind living there was because I wouldn’t have to sell my cottage. How could he? He’s made me out to be both insensitive and mercenary, and I hate him for it. At least Ben knows the truth now. But it only makes me feel marginally better.

I can’t understand Leo’s motivation for not telling me. He must have known I’d find out eventually. Is that why he didn’t want to have people over for drinks, in case someone mentioned the murder? And why had no-one mentioned it, why had neither Eve or Maria, or anyone else at the party said anything?

Because they couldn’t, I realise dully. They presumed that I knew, that I was fine about it. They were hardly going to introduce it into the conversation – So, Alice, what’s it like living in a house where a murder took place? I remember Tamsin’s comment at the party about me being brave. She hadn’t been referring to my move from the country to London, but my move into a house with a terrible past. And then, this morning, the conversation I overheard when I went to join them. What had Tamsin said? I close my eyes and her voice comes back to me. ‘It’s amazing that it doesn’t seem to bother her.’ And Eve’s reply – ‘I’m beginning to wonder if she actually knows.’

I feel a rush of gratitude towards Eve, for realising that maybe I’m not as heartless as everyone must think. I’m surprised she’s been so friendly, surprised the people here have been generally welcoming. Maybe some of them were secretly judging us for buying the house but the majority had seemed interested—

Oh God. I lean forwards, my head heavy in my hands. I had paraded people through the house, I had taken them upstairs. What must people have thought? The ones who had been eager to see the bedroom – was that because the murder had taken place there?

My phone is still in my hand so I google the murder again and find an article written four days after Nina Maxwell’s death. There are more details: her body was found in her bedroom, tied to a chair. Her hair had been cut off and she had been strangled. A man has been arrested and is helping the police with their enquiries, the article finishes.

Bile surges in my throat. I knew how Nina Maxwell had died, it had haunted me for months after. But to see it written in black and white – I fight down the nausea, channelling it instead into anger at the people who had wanted to see the bedroom where it had taken place. Tamsin and most of the women hadn’t accepted my invitation to show them the renovations, it was mainly the men who’d been interested. Eve had already been upstairs, not at the party, but the day she came over to introduce herself, and I’d dragged her to the bedroom to show her our huge wardrobe. She had held back at first and I’d put her hesitation down to a desire not to appear nosey.

‘Alice?’ Lifting my head, I see Eve walking down the path towards me. ‘What are you doing sitting here?’ A frown furrows her brow. ‘You’re shivering! Is everything alright?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Are you ill, do you need me to call someone?’

‘No, I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, obviously,’ I say, trying to joke. ‘But I’m not ill. I just feel so humiliated, so angry!’