“Nick doesn’t tend to come to these events. He hasn’t come to one in the years I’ve known him,” said Dorian, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not his style, and anyway...he has a bad rep among some of the other directors. There’s a...a shitty rumour that stuck, and he was never able to shake it off. You know what I’m talking about?”
I nodded briefly. “The fire.”
“Right, the fire. It was such a long time ago, when I was just a kid, actually. My parents told me about it. It sucks, and it’s so unfair, but...that’s how it is. Give your rivals anyexcuse to shun you and they’ll use it. That’s just business. Some of the directors, especially the older ones, like to think he caused it on purpose. That he...”
“That he killed them out of greed and jealousy,” I said, finishing for him. “But it makes no sense at all.”
Especially when it came to Louisa. He was clearly deeply besotted with her, even to this day. Why else keep her room like a young girl’s room, with replicas of all her treasured things? Why keep the statue of her in the orangery?
“Right,” said Dorian. “He’s a great guy. There’s no way it’s true. But like I say, shit sticks. Some of the older directors think he’s got something he doesn’t deserve; a business established over a hundred years ago in one of London’s most prime locations. They don’t even care that he’s continued to run the business, that his heart is in it. They’re just thinking of the figures.”
“Is Crowthorne House worth so much more than the other funeral homes in London?” I asked.
Dorian blinked at me. “The house alone, inthatlocation, with the grounds as well? It’s worth more than thirty million, easily. Not to mention the business, with its reputation established long before Nick and his brother were born...well, that’s worth a hefty sum too, as you could imagine. The potential for a mega-basement alone...investors would swoop in like you wouldn’t believe if he ever sold it.”
“I had no idea,” I said breathlessly, my head spinning. I knew London real estate was exceptionally valuable, but I couldn’t have fathomed its worth. “He allowed me to take up the position, without any qualificationsto my name...”
“He’s got faith in you, clearly. He sees something in you,” said Dorian, putting a familiar arm around my shoulders and squeezing me. I enjoyed his friendliness, and felt unalarmed by him. He gave me none of the sinister vibrations I was used to when I was around other men, like Tom. That fearful uncertainty, that something else was going on behind the kind words that came out of his mouth, wasn’t present with Dorian.
“I can see why. There’s something about you, Grace – you’re an old soul in a young body. He could improve the business’ image a hell of a lot with you. You’ll bring a whole new vibe and energy to the place. The families will warm to you, being a young woman,” said Dorian.
We’d entered a packed room, with people in formal dress milling about with glasses, chatting and observing the free-standing works of art. Dorian’s eyes scanned the room as a waiter offered us both tall glasses of something light and bubbly. We each took a glass and wandered to a large sculpture of black stone. It looked like a great craggy chunk of rock.
I sipped my drink and soured, the sharp bitter taste running over my tongue. I’d never had much opportunity to get used to drinking alcohol. It was supposedly forbidden in Heather House – although mother took to hard liquor in the end stages of her illness, and I knew father stashed some away secretly in the house, and would take sips from the metal cap when he thought nobody was watching. At the village pub, and at Tom’s house, we’d managed to wrangle a few sips for ourselves here and there...but it had never appealed to me. I preferred to be sober, keeping my wits about me.
While Dorian continued on about the worth of Crowthorne House, my mind wandered. I imagined what Nick might have said about me to Dorian, for him to be so sure of what he saw in me. To know that I was an asset to the funeral business, as if I belonged there already.
The thought occurred to me that Nick might only see me as a business expense. A cheap one, too, given he had more than enough room to keep me in the house, and my board impacted my salary. I still couldn’t complain. I’d never been employed before, and hadn’t ever imagined I would be. I thought my life would be spent in Heather House, managing our few livestock, living off the small amount of money the sale of cattle brought me. I was tough, and capable, despite my size. I supposed that made me valuable.
Was that all I would ever be to him?
I wanted him towantme. To desire me.
My mind wandered, agonised, while Dorian prattled on. My eyes narrowed on something floating in the glass of champagne he held aloft. It danced in the fluid, writhing. Was it...was it a worm? The kind I saw on rotting fruit?
A parasite?
“...never mind the cost for the business. Oh, Grace, look – there’s Eugenie!”
I blinked and lost my focus on the small, worm-like thing in Dorian’s drink. He took a sip, and when I looked again, it was gone. I couldn’t tell if he’d swallowed it down or if it had been a figment of my imagination all together.
Dorian stood on tip-toe and waved frantically at someone near the entrance. Moments later, a tall young woman with elaborate eye-makeup and a fluffy featherboa hanging over her arms approached, kissing Dorian once on each cheek. She wore her hair in a short, tousled, wild style with black roots and yellow-gold ends, with two black feathers attached to a ribbon around her temple. A sleeveless black dress hung from her flat body as if she were a coat-hanger, and her nails were long and beautifully manicured in a deep cherry red. Glitter and heavy eyeliner surrounded her pale grey-blue eyes, so similar to Dorian, her skin a similar shade of brown, too.
It was immediately obvious that they were siblings by their resemblance, but now I realised they looked the same age, too.
“I’m sorry for staring,” I said, attempting an affable smile. “You just look so alike.”
Eugenie made a flourish with her hand. “Even with my dramatic dress-sense, while he looks so dull?”
Dorian rolled his eyes. “We’re twins, Grace – Eugenie’s younger than me by three minutes.”
“And yet I’m leagues ahead in knowledge and experience.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Dorian poked his tongue in his cheek repeatedly in a vulgar manner.
Eugenie’s eyes narrowed, her hand falling to her side. “You’re telling on yourself,pig.”
“And you’re projecting,” said Dorian, tipping his glass to her in cheers.
