“What is it?” Nick asked, looking around the room, perplexed.
I crawled from the bed and went to the window where the wasp batted against the panes, crawling and flying and falling helplessly, trying to get out. There were no open windows, and it was the dead of night, with nothing to indicate how it had managed to get in. The wasp drew away from the window and circled my head, its wings humming furiously, as if I’d irritated it. I batted it away as it lunged for me, and screamed as it made another attempt to sting me. I tore one of my slippers from the carpet and batted it away with the sole on its next attempt, sending it back against the window. It dropped with a light thud onto the ledge, wriggling.
Nick appeared beside me, watching the insect struggle.
“I didn’t mean to kill it,” I said. “I just didn’t want it tosting me.”
“He’s done for, I’m afraid,” said Nick. “Look away and I’ll finish the job.”
I did as he asked while he took the slipper from me and whacked it. Then came the sound of the window opening as he shooed the wasp’s body out into the night; a treat, no doubt, for the crows.
“Now I’m just as guilty as you are,” said Nick, planting a kiss on my forehead. He turned me and held me from behind, his hands reaching up to my breasts. “Let’s go back to bed before it gets too light outside. I want to be with you before I return to my room.”
“I hate sneaking around like this because of her,” I said bitterly, though I closed my eyes and lolled against him as he massaged and plumped my breasts. “We’re doing nothing wrong. Maggie is an employee of yours. Why should we care what she thinks about us?”
But Nick was too lost in lust to answer me, and instead his mouth left my neck and sought mine, sweeping me away with him. He left me, pulsing and sated, nestled down in the sheets we’d just made love in, as twilight fell over the room. I drifted, this time, into a peaceful, loving sleep.
A burning sensation woke me abruptly. The bedroom was flooded with bright morning sunlight.
I sat up, startled, my breaths coming short. My skin was in agony, the rash raw and practically sizzling. I touched my face and ran my fingers over the skin of my burning arms, pebbled and red and raw. I leapt out of bed, wincing against the pain, and made for the window to pull the drapes closed – who the hell had opened them? – andfound they were tied neatly to the wall.
My sore, helpless skin throbbed as I struggled with the ropes, but they were tied so tightly that it took an agonising amount of time just to tug one free. All the while, the sun's low glare scorched me, my skin weeping. Tears streamed down my face. The shutters. I needed to close the shutters. They were locked against the window frames, bolted in place, with no sign of the key – the key that was always on the windowsill.
Now I was groaning against the searing pain, my skin tightening, burning, turning redder by the second.
This was the curse my father left me with, after the very first night. The shock destroyed something within my nervous system, and I was left with this cross to bear thereafter, never again able to enjoy the sunshine. Some days I was able to forget about it, but now, it was painfully real. I beat my fist against the window with its evil rays and span around to find my tonic from the doctor, hoping I could smear it all over my skin and then hide somewhere, anywhere, where the cruel light couldn’t reach me.
But when I got to my dressing table, the tonic was gone too.
“She’s stolen it!” I wept, despairing, not knowing what to do.
I ran to the hallway and was greeted with beaming light, the shutters and drapes opened all along the hall, and in the stairwell, blocking my escape. I cried out for Nick and, reeling against the pain, threw the door shut once more. I ran, crying, to my bathroom, where it was at least dark and windowless. I tore at the taps and splashed myself with the cold water, desperate to soothe the awfulburning pain.
I was soaked through when Nick burst into the room, throwing his arms around me.
“Oh god, Grace, what’s happened to you?Howdid this happen?” He shouted into the bedroom. “Get all the shutters closed! She can’t cope with the sun!”
“There’s no key, Nick! The key’s missing!” It was Maggie’s voice I could hear. “I’ll run to the kitchen, we’ve got spares – just give me a moment.”
“It was her!” I cried as Nick put his arms around me again. “It was her, I know it was her!”
“Who? You think Margaret did this?” He paused, frowning, considering it sincerely. “She wouldn’t.”
“She’s taken my cream, my tonic for my skin – she’s taken it and bolted open the windows and tied up the drapes. She wants to hurt me, Nick! Shehatesme. She hates us being together!”
“She’s unhappy about it, yes, but my god, she’d never want to hurt you, Grace. I’ve known Margaret my whole life,” said Nick, infuriating me.
“Who else?!”
That seemed to snap him out of it. Maggie was the only one who would even know how the shutters worked, where the keys were, and the only other person who entered our rooms at any time, let alone during the small hours. The staff for the funeral business kept set hours and didn’t stay in the house. That left only her.
It crossed my mind, briefly, that this could be Tom’s doing – but he had no way of entering the house and, besides, he would be more likely to kidnap me than to hurt me.
Nick wrapped a towel around my shivering body, patting it gently against my sore red skin, and left the bathroom in silence. I could just about make out his voice when Maggie returned, and he demanded from her an explanation. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could hear their tone – his demanding, hers desperate, and then serious, low. Their conversation turned to urgent whispers.
Nick returned to me, looking more troubled than ever. He ran a hand through his tousled hair.
“It wasn’t Margaret. I don’t have an explanation, but it wasn’t her.”
