‘He’s not a boy,’ Tristan spat, ‘he’s a goddamn criminal. And if he does get out, I don’t want him around my girls!’
Clem cut her eyes in fury, before the expression vanished.
‘It’s what Eugene wanted,’ Jeannie said, switching to her cold, corporate tone that didn’t invite discussion.
Fergus looked at George, as if to appeal to his brother’s better nature. George looked beyond angry, shaking his head and turning away. I realised that even he hadn’t been informed of Jeannie’s news. Fergus’s shoulders slumped, and he took the opportunity to down the rest of his drink and get another.
Miles headed straight for his mother and spoke in a low voice. ‘Did you have anything to do with Quentin getting out early? How on earth has he got off so lightly with what he did?’
Jeannie raised a brow and said curtly, ‘It was an unfortunate accident, Miles. As I said, it’s what Grandpa would have wanted.’
‘You think he would want a hardened criminal going back to work in the family mine?’
Jeannie shrugged dismissively. ‘It’s impossible to say what Eugene would have made of Quentin now. You knew Grandpa as well as I did; perhaps he would favour him all the more. Regardless, this was Eugene’s wish.’
As if on cue, a low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, and a flash of lightning illuminated the room for a moment. I shivered, despite the warmth from the roaring fire in the hearth.
‘Anyway… as I said, he won’t be getting out beforeChristmas, so you won’t have to worry about seeing him, will you?’ Jeannie added pointedly. ‘Artie and I really did try to do our best, but honestly, it’s bureaucracy gone wild. But enough of my yammering, let’s eat!’ she trilled.
Miles stood frozen to the spot until I gently took his arm and led him to his seat. Everyone found their places around the table and sat down to eat.
‘So,’ Martha said brightly from across the table, ‘who do we think is gonna die first?’
Jeannie hooted. ‘I’ve written down everyone’s names this year and put them in a bowl. That way, it will be completely at random who gets the murderer card.’
‘We all know I’ll win, though,’ said Tristan grinning, ‘I always do. No one beats me at bullshitting.’
‘No one’s going to argue with that,’ Mimi quipped. I snorted at her quick retort, but when I looked at her expression, she didn’t seem to be joking. Conversation managed to flow, despite the almighty nuclear bomb Jeannie had dropped regarding Quentin. I wasdyingto bring it up, though.
I had little knowledge of the details, but I had gleaned enough from Miles to know that what happened at the mine was no accident. Quentin Weiss, the only son of Fergus and Clementine, had been appointed manager of the goldmine several years prior to Eugene’s death. Quentin was undoubtedly Eugene’s favourite, his two sons, George and Fergus, proving to him time and time again that they were as useless and lazy as he deemed them to be. Eugene’s eldest grandson, however, displayed many of the attributes he cherished; hardworking, no-nonsense– and completely and unashamedly ruthless to the point of violence.
Eighteen months before Eugene’s death, Quentin’s temper came to a head. Miles strongly believed that he had murdered one of his workers in a fit of rage. Mercifully, I was spared the arduous court hearing, but due to a lack of evidence, Quentin was sentenced to six years for corporate manslaughter and for breaching the Health and Safety at Work act. I was not privy to how Jeannie managed it, but Miles was so angry he refused to speak to her for over a year.
We were finishing up our desserts when the true stars of the show arrived: Mimi and Tristan’s twins, Beebee and Ceecee. Dressed in vintage finds that would make most people look a hundred years old, the sisters sauntered in looking effortlessly cool.
They greeted us all with confident smiles, making a beeline for George and Jeannie at the head of the table, for proper hellos. As they then trotted to their seats, Callum and Martha eyed them with wary distrust, the twins mirroring their expressions right back at them. Despite their being cousins, there was no love lost.
‘How is Oxbridge, girls?’ Jeannie said, beaming, just in case any of us needed reminding that Beebee studied at Oxford, and Ceecee at Cambridge.
‘Very busy, Grandmama,’ they parroted sweetly. My fingers involuntarily gripped my knife so hard it scraped against the china. The insufferable bastards– you couldn’t make them up.
‘As it should be!’ boomed Fergus.
Thankfully, they sat away from our end of the table, while Mrs Harlow busied around them getting their meal and drinks served.
Mimi chided the girls. ‘Where have you been? Why are you so late? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.’
Ceecee– at least, I think it was Ceecee– beheld her mother with acute boredom. ‘Did you call me?’ she asked with irritation.
‘Yes, several times,’ said Mimi.
‘I don’t answer phone calls,’ Ceecee said bluntly.
‘What?’ said Tristan tartly. ‘What do you mean, you don’t answer calls?’
Ceecee looked down at what Mrs Harlow had put onto her plate with quietly concealed mirth. ‘Well, you know how to type, don’t you?’ she said, her smile asinine.
‘Yes—’ started Mimi.
