Page 59 of The Devil’s Lair

“It’s all I know. My family will always be a target and, as such, we take precautions. You’ll have a bodyguard now you’re a De Vil.”

“I will?”

“Yes. Don’t be scared. It’s not like there are bad people waiting for the opportunity to snatch you, but when you’re as rich and powerful as we are, there’s always a slight risk something untoward could happen. We take steps to mitigate the risks.”

“Because of what happened to your sister?” She sounds tentative, unsure of my reaction.

“Partly, yes. My father ramped up security massively after Annabel and Xan were taken, although I was too young to understand what was happening. I doubt an attempt like that would succeed these days. It wouldn’t have succeeded then if George weren’t the one responsible.” I heave a sigh. “It’s hard to guard against a fox in the henhouse.”

“I had tea with Alice a few weeks ago. I don’t think I told you.”

I glance at her without interrupting my stride. “No, you didn’t. Nor do you have to.”

“She’s lonely, I think, and sad. I promised I’d visit her again. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay.” I’m quiet for a moment, staring at the waves crashing onto the shore. “I feel for her. It can’t be easy to admit you married a monster.”

“Is he still, you know, in the basement?” She lowers her voice, probably so Isla can’t hear, although I doubt she’d understand even if she could.

“Yes.”

She pulls her coat a little tighter around her. “What will happen, do you think?”

“The more time that passes, the more I’m unsure. Xan’s hesitating, and I guess he will until he gets the answers he thinks George has but is withholding.”

“It must be hard on all of you.”

“It is. More so on Xan and Dad. And Alice, I guess.”

“Do you think she knew anything about what he’d done?”

“She says she didn’t, and I’m inclined to believe her.” Isla fidgets and points at the ground. I slide her off my shoulders, and she runs ahead, hair caught by the breeze. “Alice was always under George’s control. She’s spoken more since we put him in the basement than she has in the entire time I’ve known her.”

“I know what that feels like,” she murmurs, crouching to pick up a pebble and toss it into the sea.

We walk on in silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It never does with her.

The wind picks up, the waves topped with froth, and Rebecca burrows further into her coat, tucking her chin behind the collar.

“Want to head back?”

“Yes, please.” She sniffs and wipes her eyes. “This wind is vicious.”

“It’s exposed here. Even in summer, there’s a chill in the air.”

Once we arrive back at the cottage, I make the three of us hot chocolate, and we hunker down in front of the fire. The TV drones in the background with some film or other, but no one seems particularly interested. Isla plays with her dolls, feeding them imaginary blocks of cheese and holding tiny cups to their lips. Rebecca falls asleep, her head resting on my shoulder.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I felt this content. I don’t feel the need to interject with a quip every five minutes. It’s an odd yet comfortable feeling.

Later that evening, when I’ve carried Isla upstairs to her room, and Rebecca’s shuffled off to bed with a sleepy murmur of goodnight, I sit by the fire, staring into the dying embers. The house settles around me, creaking under the strength of the wind.

At Oakleigh, I’d be restless by now, searching for the next distraction, the next thing to keep me busy, the next joke to keep my place in the family hierarchy. Coming here was a good idea for Rebecca and for me.

I put the guard in front of the fire and head up to bed.

The next morning, I walk downstairs to the smell of burnt toast and Isla’s unmistakable giggle. She’s unrecognizable from the shy little girl who visited my hospital room. Her therapist is something of a miracle worker. One day, I’m certain she’ll speak, and I hope I’m there to witness it.

“Uh-oh.” I enter the kitchen and theatrically sniff the air. “Am I going hungry this morning, Miss Isla?” She shakes her head and points at Rebecca. “Oh, I see. It’s Mama’s fault. Is that what you’re saying?”