Polly sits and watches as the pair of them tiptoe towards the water, studying their bikinied bodies: Jessie slender and pale, and Faith, not. She remembers how Faith’s body bulged dangerously inher dress as she cosied up to Elis last night. He didn’t seem to mind. A tingle of irritation rises in her at the memory of it. Is she ...jealous? No, that’s not it; Polly might be attracted to Elis, but she doesn’t actuallywanthim. And besides, Faith was probably just being friendly – she was cosying up to Reubyn as well.
Jessie reaches the water first and shrieks as it hits her ankles. The shock on her face is instantly replaced by a bright, carefree smile and she places her hands on her knees to steady herself as she folds over in laughter. Jessie hasno idea– no clue at all that she just spent the night with someone who’s been on trial for murder. It’ll be interesting when the truth about that comes to light. Polly wonders if Jessie gave Miles the full rundown of her own baggage: a divorce at twenty-nine, the nervous breakdown that followed. Polly got the whole story last night from Faith.
‘We need to make a decision,’ Miles says.
‘What?’
‘We’ve only got a couple more nights left at the hotel – where are we going next?’
She digs her toes into the coarse sand. ‘There’s no hurry, is there? We could extend the booking, if we want?’
‘You like it here, do you?’ Miles pulls his phone from his pocket.
‘I didn’t say that. But I need to getsomework done, and it’s hard to do that if we’re moving around the whole time.’ Polly’s immediately aware her argument is undermined by the fact she’s lying on a beach. It is true, though. Her business is currently being looked after by Dee, her most senior employee. Dee’s been a lifesaver, but she can’t manage everything on her own. Her other two employees, Marco and Callie, are quite green and need a fair amount of handholding. And there’s admin to keep across.
‘Yeah, sure.’ Miles’s words come out airy and slow, and suggest he’s stopped listening. He’s been distracted by something on his phone, and his eyebrows are low as he stares at the screen. Out inthe lake, there’s a scream as Faith splashes water on to Jessie’s dry upper body.
Polly turns to face her brother. ‘What’s the matter?’ she says.
‘I’ve got another one. Another one of those Caira emails.’
‘Yeah, you already told me that. Are you sure you’re okay?’
He turns to look at her and shows his screen, on which Outlook is open. ‘No, I mean I’ve gotanotherone. Like, just now. Look.’ Miles points to the timestamp. 12.39 p.m. – the same as on the digital clock at the top of the screen.
Polly removes her shades and folds them in her hand, squinting at the blinding sunlight reflecting off the lake. ‘I don’t think we should listen to it. Just send it on to the police.’
Miles presses his lips. ‘Maybe we should listen to it – at least then we know what we’re dealing with. Are you sure we shouldn’t just play a—’
‘Oh, just play it, then.’
His eyes widen in surprise, and he holds his phone out between them, eyebrows raised. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Go on,’ Polly says. She leans in closer and fans herself with her hand.
Miles presses play, and Caira’s voice, or more accurately the computerised reproduction of it, begins:Hi, Miles. I hope you’ve not got a sore head after drinking all that Macallan. This is not over.
Polly knew it was coming, but the voice still causes her skin to prickle. There’s something about the way the words are delivered so dispassionately, in a matter-of-fact tone that is completely detached from the context. Exactly as might a ghost. Miles’s eyes have lost focus, and she can almost see the colour draining from his face. ‘Macallan,’ she says. ‘That’s weirdly specific.’
Miles rubs his hand across his forehead. ‘I know.’
‘But you weren’t drinking that, were you? You were on beer and wine, as I remember.’
Miles doesn’t reply, then he lurches to his feet. ‘Bloody hell,’ he says, half under his breath.
Polly stands. ‘What’s the matter?’
Miles pulls at his fingers. ‘This is bad.’
‘What is?’
‘The thing is: wedidhave Macallan yesterday. At the bar, when we arrived at The Globe. So how dotheyknow that?’
Polly thinks for a moment. She needs to say something reassuring. But he’s right, this is bad. ‘I’m sure there’s an explanation. Who knew about the Macallan? I don’t remember you mentioning it.’
‘Just the boys, as far as I know.’
‘Maybe one of them posted about it on socials? Their accounts aren’t private, are they?’
