One For Sorrow Page 11

  Anna Fielding stepped forwards and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Leah. I’m Anna.”

  I took her tiny, cold hand and shook it gently, afraid I might break her. Anna Fielding was as insignificant as her husband’s presence was commanding. With her white jeans and white linen shirt she was little more than a furnishing inside their home, blending into the carpet.

  She smiled weakly and let my hand go, barely registering what I’d said. In contrast, David continued to assess me with inquisitive eyes. All the while, his expression remained blank, hiding whatever he was thinking. As a heavy silence fell over the Fielding house, I wondered if it was too late to rush out of their home and make my way back to Hutton without looking back. If I was right about Isabel, one or more of these people could be a murderer. The Americano churned in my stomach, and the air went very still. I realised I wasn’t breathing.

  “Is Isabel okay?” David asked. He glanced quickly at his wife and then back to me. Anna Fielding wandered away from us, choosing to sit down on one of the sofas and open a magazine. I was sure she hadn’t registered what I’d said to her at all.

  “Isabel is fine,” I replied. “I’m not sure how to explain why I’m here. I…”

  “She’s here for answers,” Owen said, exhaling smoke into the room. “Like they all are.”

  For the first time I realised I was smoking in David Fielding’s house. I turned quickly and dropped the cigarette into my coffee.

  “I don’t mind you smoking,” he said with a low chuckle. “Anna, what are our plans for dinner tonight?”

  When his wife didn’t answer, David lifted his hand and clicked his fingers. “Anna.”

  “Yes?” She set the magazine down on her knee and finally looked up.

  “What are our plans for dinner?”

  The tiny woman shrugged. “Whatever Irina wants to make.”

  “Why don’t you join us?” David turned to me and raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated ‘why not, it could be fun’ expression.

  Before I knew it, I was nodding in agreement. Behind me, I heard Owen begin to laugh. His low chuckle rumbled through the room before he broke into a cough.

  “Good,” David said. “I’ll talk to Irina and check we have enough food in. Is there anything you don’t like or are allergic to?”

  “No,” I said.

  As David left, I turned to face Owen, who was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Owen said. “No one can say no to Daddy.”

  *

  The longer I spent in the Fielding house, the more I felt like an outsider in this perfect family home, so perfect that it sparkled bright white. I couldn’t help thinking that the Fieldings wanted guests to know they were clean. White was such a domineering colour when it was used in abundance. What did it say about them? What was it manufactured to say? ‘We’re innocent’? I stalked the corridors looking at family photos, noticing the absence of Isabel in every single frame, and I scoured every wall, every mantelpiece, and every bookshelf. Anna’s bony hips led me through each room while I listened politely as her slurring voice told me all about the house. David had built it especially for them to start a family. They were going to live for the rest of their lives in this magical spot with the sparse woods behind them, away from the town, away from other people. This was their haven.

  She didn’t put it exactly like that, but that was the gist of her words as she flicked her hair between her fingers and scratched nervously at her wrist. Anna Fielding was a strange woman, there was no doubt about that. Her sharp edges poked out of her expensive clothing, her arms never rested by her side, but instead her fingers twitched to life at every moment, and her eyes tended to roll around as she talked. If I wasn’t in such an extravagant setting, I would have taken her for a heroin addict. The slurring of her words certainly made me wonder if she took too many prescription drugs, and it was clear that she felt incredibly anxious having me around. But at the same time, she hadn’t even reacted when I mentioned that I was Isabel’s nurse. It was as though it hadn’t even registered in her mind.

  It was a relief to come down the stairs and back into the lounge. The tour had at least taken up some time before dinner, and now David was leaning against the kitchen island with a glass of red wine in his hand. He smiled as I entered the open-plan room and walked towards me with a second glass.

  “I can’t, I’m driving—”

  “Oh, come on, you can take a little sip. You have to try this merlot. It’s exquisite.”

  Before I knew it, the wine glass was in my hand and I had raised it to my lips for the barest of sips. It was gorgeous and full-bodied, exactly how I’d imagined it would be. Nothing like the cheap swill I drank from a box at home.

  “It’s lovely,” I said.

  “It should be.” David laughed. “Cost me a fortune.”

  I gazed down at the wine with dismay. I couldn’t let it go to waste if it was expensive, and I didn’t want to insult my host after intruding on his home. But it was a large glass of wine and I had a long drive. I had to pace myself.

  But then David said. “A toast, to my daughter, Isabel.” He raised his glass and took a long drink of the merlot.

  “To Isabel,” I whispered, sipping the heavenly liquid.

  Anna called from the dining room to ask for David’s help with setting the table, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the wine. It was an odd thing to do, toasting to Isabel. Why would he do that? He hadn’t visited her for years, according to Isabel. I certainly hadn’t seen him visit in the weeks I’d been working at Crowmont. Perhaps he wanted to put me at ease. Or perhaps he’d merely found the perfect excuse to get me to drink the wine.

  “Feeling a little out of place, are we?”

  I turned to find Owen standing behind me with a sardonic grin plastered across his face. He had what appeared to be a tumbler of whiskey over ice in his right hand, and he slowly rattled the ice against the glass. He’d changed for dinner into a black turtleneck top and grey skinny jeans. His hair was slicked back with hair gel.

  “Feeling like you shouldn’t be here?” He raised his eyebrows and lifted his glass. “Perhaps you shouldn’t. Maybe you should get out while you can.” He sipped his whiskey and smiled.

  “Do you want me to go?” I asked, desperately longing to down the glass of wine in my hand.

  He shrugged. “I don’t care either way. It might be more entertaining if you stay, however.”

  “Entertaining? In what way?”

  He smiled broadly before waving me into the dining room. I followed him, feeling even more puzzled about the Fieldings. I’d clearly stumbled into a bizarre family dynamic. But what else would I expect from a family who had been through the things the Fieldings had endured? Perhaps it was James Gorden and his conspiracy theories getting to me, but I kept looking for ways to attribute their strange behaviour to evidence that one of them was guilty of the murder of Maisie Earnshaw.

  The dining room had been arranged as though they’d invited me over as a guest. There was even a pretty centrepiece of candles and a vase of roses.

  “This room is beautiful,” I remarked, genuinely surprised by the decor. Unlike the rest of the house, which was predominantly white and airy, the dining room was narrow and painted a deep maroon, not unlike the Merlot in my wine glass. There was just one window that looked over the gardens, framed by curtains in a dark chocolate brown, the same brown as the table. The red theme paired with the candlelight made it feel as though you’d stepped into a room from a different era. As flickering shadows bounced across the faces of the Fieldings, I almost felt that this room was too intimate for me to share with them.

  “The dining room is my domain,” Anna said, tapping her fingers on the back of one of the leather-coated chairs. “David had full reign of the rest of the house, but I wanted the dining room.”

  “That’s why it’s so dingy,” David said. “Anna always did like the dark.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s dark,”
I said, allowing my eyes to trail over the coving and the luxurious curtains. “It’s actually very cosy.”

  “That’s exactly what I said.” Anna seemed more relaxed in this room, though she still moved in quick, jerking motions, like a startled kitten at times. “Please, sit down.”

  I took my seat and placed the glass down on one of the pretty silver coasters. I wasn’t in the slightest bit hungry; instead, my stomach had so many butterflies I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to eat a single bite.

  Irina hurried through carrying plates of what looked to be a small portion of pate with melba toast. At least there was a small morsel I could nibble on and make it seem as though I was eating without being rude.

  “Where are you from, Leah?” David asked. “It sounds like you have a London accent.”

  “I’m from Hackney,” I replied.

  “That’s East London, isn’t it?” David slowly spread his pate onto the toast, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on me.

  “It is.”

  “An Eastender!”

  “Sort of,” I admitted, cringing slightly. When I picked up my knife to cut the pate, my fingers began to tremble. David caught my eye for half a heartbeat before directing his attention to the food on his plate. “It’s more northeast than the east end.”

  He’d seen the way my hands were shaking; of course he had. He was a man who noticed everything. I thought back to James Gorden’s blog post about how David had screwed over his best friend and realised I was completely out of my depth with David around. He was going to outsmart me and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “Do you live in Rotherham?” he asked.

  “No, I live in Hutton. It’s close to the hospital.”

  “Yes, I know it is,” he said.

  “Which hospital?” Anna’s wide eyes regarded me, and for a moment there was a shine to them like she’d come out of a stupor.

  “It doesn’t matter,” David said sharply, without looking at his wife.

  I thought about answering her question, but I didn’t want to rock this unsteady armistice we’d created. It was clear that the reason David had invited me to stay for dinner was so he could get the measure of me. I forced a small piece of pate on toast into my mouth and chewed.

  Owen suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. “What hospital? Oh, Mother, you are a hoot.”

  “Shut up, Owen,” David snapped. The sudden rise in the volume of his voice almost made me drop my knife, and it did cause Anna to drop hers. David’s face reddened, and he brushed a stray hair back into place. “I do apologise for my family. We don’t have guests for dinner very often, as I’m sure you can tell.”

  “Your hospitality has been very welcoming,” I replied, taking a sip of my wine to steady my nerves.

  “Thank you.” David’s smile brought the first flash of white into the room, before he turned back to his plate and devoured the last of his starter.

  The main course turned out to be roast beef with a rich gravy and sautéed vegetables. Irina was an excellent cook. So good that I forgot all about the butterflies in my stomach and ate almost all of the food on my plate. Perhaps I’d been eating cheap pasta bakes for so long that the first sight of real food was enough to override my own fears. The talk through the main course remained friendly, staying firmly on safe ground with neutral topics like the spring weather, the food, Anna’s charity work, and David’s business. I was probed further about my background at Whitmore hospital, as well as my new home in Hutton and my brother, Tom. I managed to avoid telling them about my parents, but David was clearly attempting to probe further before any discussion about Isabel would begin. I was sure that Isabel would come up soon, but I wasn’t sure when, and I was nervous to be the one to bring up such a touchy subject.

  During the main course Irina topped up my wine glass twice, despite me objecting. It seemed that Irina couldn’t understand English at the most convenient moments, leaving me pondering whether David had asked her to top up my wine whenever I reached halfway down my glass.

  Owen and Anna were both like church mice during the main course, though Owen finished his whiskey before I’d finished even half of my wine, and proceeded to push his beef around the plate without eating it. His expression remained thunderous even as Irina came back to collect the plates.

  “That was lovely, Irina, thank you,” I muttered, not exactly comfortable with a paid housekeeper serving me food in someone else’s home. I wasn’t used to the way the Fieldings lived.

  I glanced at the time on my phone. Eight-thirty. There was a text from Tom asking when I’d be home. I’d already texted him to say I wouldn’t be back for dinner, but without a proper excuse I could only imagine what he was thinking. The problem was, I couldn’t think of anything to tell him. I hadn’t been gone long enough for a full shift, and where else would I go except for work?

  Irina brought a tray with four dessert glasses and placed them carefully in front of us all in turn. I poked at the meringue, cream, and raspberries of the Eton Mess and tried not to think about where I was and why.

  “So, Leah,” David said. “What is it like working at Crowmont?”

  I glanced guiltily across at Anna, but the woman seemed oblivious as always.

  “I enjoy it. It’s not an easy job, but all the patients are there to get better and I like to help them.”

  “Even if they’ve killed someone?” Owen asked, his eyes sparkling.

  “Yes, even if they’ve killed someone. Especially then. Taking a life is psychologically demanding.”

  He snorted. “I bet.”

  “It’s a truly horrible situation. There aren’t any winners when someone is murdered,” I said. “Many of the patients I worked with in Whitmore had been involved in organised crime from a very young age. They saw violence right from being a child and grew up thinking that violence was a normal way to live. When they took their first life they saw it as a rite of passage. And many of them experienced nervous breakdowns because of what they’d done. Many couldn’t cope with prison and would harm themselves or others. At Whitmore I saw a change in them. They found some peace, I think.”

  “That sounds very noble,” David remarked. “And how is our Isabel doing?”

  Anna did look up that time. Her confused gaze moved from David before reaching me. “Isabel?”

  “It’s all right, love. Eat your pudding.”

  Anna obeyed her husband and her doe eyes dropped to the table. But I sensed that she was listening.

  “Isabel is doing really well.” I hesitated. It felt wrong to talk about my patient. “I… I’m sorry for coming here. I shouldn’t have. I’d be fired if the hospital knew.” Whether or not my eyes pleaded to David Fielding I don’t know, but I think my heart did.

  “Why did you come here?” He leaned across the table towards me and the candlelight turned his eyes into two orange flames. I automatically shrank away from him.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

  “She thinks Isabel is innocent,” Owen said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Which means you think one of us is guilty,” David said with a smile.

  Owen let out another humourless laugh. “I need more whiskey.”

  “No, that’s not… I just wanted to meet you all in case you could shed more light on what happened that day. You don’t see Isabel everyday like I do. She’s a sweet girl who is extremely talented. I don’t know if she is guilty or not because I wasn’t there. All I know is what I see when I work with her.” Without thinking, I reached for my wine and took two big gulps, almost finishing the glass. There was heat spreading up my collarbone, and I didn’t need a mirror to know my neck was being decorated by unattractive red blotches. The wine had gone to my head, just as I had worried it would.

  David’s eyes lingered on my wine glass. “Leah, why don’t you help me clear these plates into the kitchen. I’m sure Irina would be grateful for a few moments of rest.”

  I followed his lead by rising from my chair, col
lecting the dessert glasses and carrying them into the kitchen. Alcohol and adrenaline coursed through my veins; hot blood pounded in my ears. The atmosphere in the house was heady with wine and tension, which made me long to leave as soon as I could. Finally, I realised that there were no gratifying conclusions to be found here, only more questions that I couldn’t ask, and answers I couldn’t trust.

  David stood by the sink rinsing the dessert glasses. With his shirt sleeves rolled up I caught a glimpse of his powerful arms and the tattoo on the inside of his left forearm. I was surprised to see the wings of a bird stretching out in mid-flight. Isabel would know which bird it was in an instant, but though I recognised it as a bird of prey, I didn’t know the exact breed.

  “You like birds, too,” I noted. “Isabel draws me a bird every morning and tells me their significance in folk tales.”

  “Isabel is a sick young woman,” David said. He lifted his hands out of the sink, shook them, and dried them on a towel. Then he rolled his sleeves back down and crossed the space between us, pushing me back against the kitchen cabinets.

  With his face a mere inch from mine, he lifted his hand and wrapped it gently around my neck, squeezing very slightly.

  “You’re not the first moron to think Isabel is innocent. Do you think I haven’t had psychologists, police, doctors, nurses, all kinds turn up at my door with conspiracy theories about how I’m the real murderer and I should be in prison? Do you think I haven’t heard it all?” He squeezed tighter, his thumb beginning to dig into my windpipe. “Don’t presume I’m an idiot, and never presume you can walk into my house and play pals with my son. Don’t ever come here again, and keep your nose out of my family’s business.”