At the end of the corridor, Wallace went right. I peered left then stalled at a strange sight. “Oh my God.”
Kane followed my gaze.
On the wall was a series of blown-up nude pictures. A beautiful woman draped over furniture and in poses that were somewhere between artistic and provocative, her breasts on display. Other parts of her, too. She looked horrifyingly like Mila, but my shock cleared and showed me the differences.
Kane shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell. That’s the grandmother?”
We shared a moment of shock and revulsion. My mind ticked over how Kane never claimed his Marchant family, never usingmygrandmother ormyuncle to describe them. It reinforced how far he held himself from their influence. If I’d thought today might change that, I was probably wrong.
A door cracked in the other direction, and we swung around to see Wallace beckoning.
“She’ll see you now.”
Leaving the unsettling display, we entered a darkened room. The late afternoon light barely pierced the shades, and there was no lamp on. Wallace shut the door and rounded the desk to where a frail woman sat in a chair that was far too big for her.
Ships’ instruments. Ledgers in a cabinet. This had to be the grandfather’s office from the desk and acres of highly polished wood.
Mila had loved him. So much she’d gone to great lengths for his business after he died. His wife hadn’t wanted to fill his shoes.
For a beat, nobody spoke. The grandmother stared at Kane, and he glowered back. With silver-white hair in a bob, she could be anyone’s well-off granny.
She raised a hand to her son, a faint tremble in her fingers. “It’s gone so dark in here. Fix the windows, will you?”
Wallace obeyed, raising the blinds on large panes of glass, letting in grey light, diffused through raindrops. The grandmother returned her attention to Kane who stood stiff at my side. Discomfort poured off him in waves. It wasn’t a small room, but the door was closed. He’d hate that.
“You look like my son, though Able wasn’t as tall as you. I must admit it surprised me to hear your mother called you Kane.”
I’d made the same connection to the Bible story of Cain and Abel. From memory, Cain’s jealousy led to him killing Abel, his brother, making him the first murderer. Surely it wasn’t deliberate. No mother would want that connection for their child.
Her gaze wandered to me. “Sit, both of you. Who is your friend?”
I settled into a cold, brown leather visitor’s seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Marchant. I’m Lovelyn. Your house is beautiful.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “It’s a mausoleum, but I’m not dead yet. And call me Primrose, please.”
She peeked back to mutter something to Wallace about tea, to which the man sighed and slouched off. I took the opportunity to better study the office now there was light to do it. Floor-to-ceiling cupboards of glossy dark wood made up one wall, filing cabinets with pictures above on the other. One was of theEden, the ship that had sunk. Mila had called it her grandfather’s pride and joy.
By the window, a plant hanger caught my eye, a cream macramé cradle of white rope suspending a trailing ivy. The knots were intricate and tight. I found myself staring.
Primrose clucked her tongue. “Ugly thing. Presley brought it the other day. He is persistent. Always has been.”
The name jerked Kane’s attention. “Presley?”
“Philip and Phylis’s boy. Philip is Able and Wallace’s cousin, so yours, too, once removed. His father was brother to Austin. They’d bring Presley for visits often when he was small. Now, he comes by himself when he wants something.” She rolled her eyes. “One sees so few young men interested in houseplants. A credit to his mother, I suppose. But anyway, you didn’t drive all this way to hear me insult my house. You came to talk business. We’re on opposite sides of the table when it comes to Marchant Haulage.”
Kane held the sides of his seat. “We are.”
“I want to close it.” Her simple words were delivered with a crisp edge. “For good. I want my family outside the shadow it throws.” Primrose gestured to the picture of theEden, her expression darkening. “You cannot paint decay and call it oak. The beams are worm-eaten. The deck will cave in. Better to bring it down ourselves and build something new.”
I leaned in, fascinated with the insight. She knew the company was rotten. The discovery of the bodies hadn’t been a revelation.
“I held my husband’s dinner parties,” she continued. “I cut ribbons at depots and smiled on grey mornings. I supported his dream. Do you know what women do when their men build empires?” She looked between us, the shake in her body unmissable. “We fetch the water. We wash stains no one else will admit exist.”
Goosebumps rippled on my arms beneath the coat I hadn’t removed. She wasn’t weeping. She wasn’t even angry. She was…decided. It was more unsettling.
Kane’s voice came out low. “How many stains, Primrose?”
Her eyes met his, and for a beat, something resembling pity lived there. “More than I can bear, child. And more than they will ever print.”
