CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Javier isn't there when I park the car. He leaves a note that says, Don't ever take the car without me again! If I'm not here, it means you're lucky that Paolo insists on fresh meat for his beef wellington.

I smile drily and leave the key on top of the note, then add a postscript of my own. As you wish, darling. I love it when you're angry.

I finish the note with a heart and head back to the house. To say it's unlike me to reply like that is an understatement. The cracks at the edge of my psyche are starting to widen. I wonder wryly if I should consider calling Doctor…

When I round the corner and see the good doctor leaving his car and stepping onto the porch, I chuckle wryly. It looks like all of my nightmares are coming true.

He waits for me on the porch and bows slightly in greeting. "Miss Mary. It's good to see you again."

"Cecilia's not here," I say, a little too curtly. "She's taking the children to school."

His eyes light up. "That's wonderful."

I blink. "It is?"

"Yes. I was actually hoping to speak to you."

The blood leaves my face. He must see this because he quickly says, "To discuss the children. I feel you can give me a more objective assessment than their mother can, and if they're not here to walk in on us, then we can both feel free to speak candidly."

"Ah." I hesitate a moment, but then I recall the tapes Elijah showed me. Perhaps I can learn something from talking to Doctor Harrow that can help me as I look into Johnathan's murder.

I smile and say, "Come on in. I should warn you, the housekeeper here can be a bit of an eavesdropper, so not all we say can be expected to be completely private."

"Perhaps we should proceed into Johnathan's study? It's my understanding the room is reasonably well soundproofed."

My smile fades slightly. "It's not been cleaned in a while, I'm afraid."

He lifts his eyebrow. "Have you been inside then?"

Damn it.

"I stumbled across it when I was learning the layout of the house."

"Well, I don't mind a little dust. It really is important that we speak."

"Yes," I agree. "It is. Very well. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, Earl Grey please, if you have it."

I smile again. "A man after my own heart."

He follows me into the kitchen, and we make small talk as I brew the tea. "How do you like it here so far?" he asks.

"The children are wonderful," I say, "and I've enjoyed getting to know Miss Cecilia."

"And the other staff?"

I hope perversely that Theresa somehow hears the next part. "Well, as I said, the housekeeper is somewhat nosy. I'm not sure I trust her much. The chef is private, but when we do talk, I enjoy his company. And the driver Javier is kind. Overall, I'm sure it could be worse."

"I'm glad to hear it. No cream, thank you."

We take our tea to the study. Part of me expects the place to have been ransacked since last night, but it appears the same as I've left it.

In the end, we don't even walk into the study. "The library is fine," Doctor Harrow says, "It's soundproofed just like the study, and there are no secret compartments here for nosy housekeepers to hide in."

I cast him a suspicious look. "You seem to be quite familiar with the house's layout."

"Of course," he says, taking a seat in one of the two richly upholstered high-backed leather chairs in the library. I spent considerable time with Johnathan, as you know. He loved this house. He knew it quite well, probably better than anyone."

I take the chair across from him and wonder if Johnathan was responsible for the paintings and sculptures I find two nights ago. "Did he now?"

"Of course. He grew up here. But let's not talk about him. Tell me how the children are doing?"

I sip the tea and weigh my response. I decide to be more candid than I am the last time he and I talk. "They're recovering, but they have a long road ahead of them. Samuel has regressed emotionally and behaves and acts like a child roughly half his age. Isabella is filled with grief and anger and has no idea how to cope with both emotions. She's become fiercely protective of Samuel and quite aloof and antagonistic to others. Although recently, she has shown signs of overcoming that behavior."

Doctor Harrow nods. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that they're struggling. I can't say I'm surprised, though. This family was utterly dependent on Johnathan. His loss has created a vacuum that has left all four of them directionless."

I decide to probe a little. "Do you think Cecilia is directionless?"

He purses his lips and thinks a moment. Then he says, "What do you think?"

"I'm interested in your opinion."

He smiles and says, "I'm afraid it would be highly unprofessional of me to give it. However, you've taken no oath of confidentiality, and it would help me be of service to them if I had a better understanding of what's going on in the home."

I don't know that I entirely agree with him that I'm not bound to confidentiality, but I might as well admit that propriety isn't a priority for me right now.

"It seems that way," I reply. "She is strong and protective of her husband's memory and of her children. But, as you say, it's left a vacuum. I don't think she expected her husband's death to leave the hole it has. She's unsure how to interact with the children about it and she feels overwhelmed tending to his affairs."

"You mean the business."

"Yes."

He frowns. "Has Elena been by to pressure Cecilia to give up her vote?"

It's my turn to frown. This hardly falls under his professional responsibilities, but then again, he knows Johnathan's intimate thoughts on Elena, and I need access to those if I am to confirm her involvement in his death. "She has. Twice."

His frown deepens. "Hmm. She'll continue to be back. Cecilia is at her most vulnerable now, and she'll seek to take advantage of it."

I make my move. "Did she and Johnathan get along?"

"Hardly. They had quite a bitter rivalry."

"Then why keep her on?"

He shrugs. "I don't pretend to understand business, so I can't say for sure that he had any option other than keeping her on. But…" he meets my eyes and considers whether he should say this next or not. To my great annoyance, he decides not. "Well, that's neither here nor there. How is Elijah?"

"He's… closed off."

"Aloof like Isabella?"

"No, not aloof. Closed off completely. He's opened up to me once or twice, but he's refused to do the same to his siblings or his mother. I get the impression he blames her a little for the loss of his father."

I watch Doctor Harrow's face carefully and notice a slight tensing of his jaw. He knows something there.

Who she really is.

I probe again. "I wonder if Cecilia truly loved Johnathan. It's a horrible thing to say, of course, but when I talk to her, I sometimes get the sense that she doesn't miss him. She's angry that he's gone, but… it's as though she's only angry at the inconvenience and not the loss of the man she loves."

He nods but doesn't give anything away. "I see. And how are your nightmares?"

I blink. "My nightmares?"

"Yes. When we spoke last, you mentioned you were suffering from nightmares. About your sister?"

I stare intently at him. I have no recollection of that conversation. The last time we spoke, I recall only discussing the children and ushering him to the door.

But how else could he have known? The doctor from the hospital—what was her name again? Gonzalez? Gutierrez?—she could have told him, but what reason would he have to suggest that I said anything about them? Didn't the nightmare come after meeting him anyway?

I shake my head. "I… um…no, no nightmares."

"So they've stopped? That's good to hear."

"Forgive me, Doctor," I say, "I don't…"

I stop myself. If I tell him I don't remember our conversation, what conclusion might he draw about my mental fitness?

But we didn't talk about me at all! I certainly would remember if I mentioned my sister.

But you forgot a three-month hospital stay.

"No, I didn't."

"Didn't what?"

With a sinking feeling, I realize I said that last part out loud. "I didn't say anything about nightmares to you. You're certain you're not mistaken?"

He frowns in what appears to be genuine confusion. "It was only a week ago. You said that you'd been having nightmares about your sister again. They'd stopped for a while, but since arriving here, they'd returned. You thought perhaps the bleakness of the landscape combined with Johnathan's recent death could be affecting you."

My head starts to pound. My throat feels dry, and I swallow painfully and sip more tea before I reply. "Ah. Well, I… I'm fine now. Thank you."

"Have you been experiencing any lapses in memory, Miss Mary? Any sensations of disorientation, paranoia or missing time?"

"I thought you were here to discuss the children," I snap, somewhat forcefully.

"The children are in your care, Miss Mary. In the short time I've known you, you seem a very sweet and kindhearted woman. However, you've shown symptoms of great mental distress. It's far too early to make a diagnosis, of course, but I do feel you would benefit from some weekly sessions with me. It would be covered under the Ashford staff insurance plan, of course."

I smile frostily. "Thank you, doctor. I don't think that will be necessary."

He holds my gaze a moment. Then he says perhaps the worst thing any psychologist can say to a prospective patient. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. You've suffered a great tragedy. Anyone who had gone through what you had would feel—"

"Thank you, doctor," I interrupt. I stand and take his tea from him without asking. "Shall I escort you to the door?"

He meets my gaze a moment, and once more, he fails to hide his feelings from me. Were I not in my employer's home, I would pour the contents of both teacups all over his smug face.

He stands and smiles. "Thank you for talking with me. I'm very sorry to have offended you. I care for this family very much. I only want to ensure that the children are safe."

"They're safe with me, thank you."

"Of course," he says soothingly. God, I could slap him right now. "Please consider some sessions with me."

"I have your card," I say tersely.

I escort him from the home, then head to the kitchen. Before I can stop myself, I lift the teacups and saucers and throw them violently to the ground.

The sound of the china shattering snaps me back to awareness. I stare in shock at the mess I've made. Tea drips down the walls and counters. Splinters of ceramic lay gleaming under the bright fluorescent lights like shards of diamond.

With trembling hands, I begin to clean up. I finish just in time to hear the door open to admit Cecilia and the children. I manage to put a smile on my face to greet them, but my heart pounds with terror.

What is wrong with me?