“Has this changed everything?” Blair says, her ass nestled into me, breasts pushed into Isaac.
The words are easy to find . “It was like this already.”
We stay there as long as we can, until necessity takes us back to our rooms, Isaac alone and we await the day.
Chapter Fifteen
The tide turns.
It starts with a single headline as information about the death of Lennox Stewart is leaked. Details that weren’t meant to be made public seep into the press; a draft of his speech, what he said about Scottish independence just before he was shot, his apparent plans to move to England – which was definitely untrue.
Then the support for Blair is peeled away into speculation, as it was always going to be. Her clothes, her past relationships, her relationship with her brother. He becomes the hero in England, the pro-unionist and Blair’s recent decisions to cease the same talks are analysed in depth.
Until someone says it.
What if Blair Stewart was involved in the death of her brother?
She sits in her study, the same room she’s used since she was a girl. The desk is an antique, the leather insert worn from the people who’ve written there and the chair has been recently reupholstered.
“I expected this would happen.”
I nod. “We knew it would. The backlash.”
She tips her head back, exposing the flesh of her neck. “I would never harm my brother.”
“I know.”
“It makes me sound like an ambitious, murderous bitch.”
“Macbeth.”
She looks out of the window. “‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.’ If only I had another tomorrow with him.”
When she turns back I see tears in her eyes.
“We can’t change what happened.”
“We don’t even know what happened, Ben. We still don’t know why he was killed. It’s all speculation.”
We’ve talked about the why of Lennox’s death before, many times, sometimes in bed after sex when I’ve held her in my arms and we’ve covered every conspiracy theory that there could be. Pro-reunionists, Scottish nationalists, other groups that don’t want a reunion, English who are opposed.
She knows of as many extremist groups as I do and the policies of countries with an interest almost to the letter of their diplomatic manifestoes.
For someone who was meant to be a chandelier, a pretty object for people to admire, Blair knows a lot.
“By someone who used his killer as a pawn.” I sit back in my chair. “We have to accept that we might never know.”
“I know. I’d just like closure.”
I can give her that. I know that my sister will have a good idea as to how that bullet landed in Lennox’s head, whether it was her army or not, she’ll know. Asking her won’t be an issue; getting an answer will.
“I’m not even bothered what they say about me in the media.”
“You might end up being interviewed by the police again. Especially with them having no leads.”
She nods. “There will always be speculation. It won’t matter if they ever actually do get to the bottom of it, there will always be questions because I benefitted from it.”
“Did you though?” I ask the question quietly and watch for her reaction, because there’s every chance she’ll give me the answer she’s perfected.
