Her Sister’s Secret. E.V. Seymour
for every aspect of their lives. I was as likely to watch Fliss Fiander with a mop and bucket in her hand as see her buy a sweater from the clothes section of the local supermarket. Designer girl. Designer house.
She appraised me in a way that I found faintly intrusive. Had Scarlet confided in her about our row? Did she know about Scarlet’s trip to the Capital?
“I’m about to make tea. Camomile or fruit?”
“Fruit would be fine.” I hated camomile. Like drinking distilled weeds.
From the kitchen, tri-fold doors led out onto a terrace with modernist furniture that matched the slate grey marble paving slabs and probably cost as much as the entire contents of my house. Beyond: a lush garden with ornamental paths, statues, arbours, exotic-looking plants and summerhouse. Outdoor Grand Design meets Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
“Pop outside, make yourself at home. I won’t be a second.”
I slid into a seat, stretched out in the sunshine, abruptly slain by the thought that it should be Scarlet sitting here with her best friend, not me.
“There you go.” With a creamy smile, Fliss handed me a glass that came inside another, presumably to prevent condensation. I thanked her and she viewed me with a sombre expression. “Scarlet really was my very best friend, and me and Louis are totally devastated. I can’t imagine how you must feel. It’s such a shock. Your poor parents and Zach, poor Nate too.”
Grim, I nodded, took a tentative sip, wished I hadn’t. “You’ve spoken to Nate?”
“Briefly.”
“Did he tell you that Scarlet lied about attending a conference and that he suspected her of having an affair?”
Fliss flushed and frowned. “Hang on a sec. I must grab my sunnies. Squinting into the sun is so ageing,” she said. Needlessly, I thought. I stared off into the distance, listened to the birds, thought about a future I couldn’t see, feeling awkward because I had one and my sister didn’t. Feeling rotten because I wasn’t only trawling through my sister’s private life, I was about to trample on it too.
“That’s better.” Cartier sunglasses replaced the sweatband. She beamed an expansive, self-confident smile designed to recalibrate the conversation. Made no difference to me. I picked up right where I left off. “Was she?”
She threw me a ‘mustn’t speak ill of the dead’ stare, although it was difficult to deduce much at all through the impenetrability of graded brown lenses. A slight flare of the nostrils was her only ‘tell.’
I rephrased. “Would she confide in you if she were?” I tamed the jagging sensation underneath my skin.
“I’d like to think so.” Which wasn’t the same as ‘Yes.’ Fliss Fiander was choosing her answers with exquisite care. I needed to push her and I was shameless about it. “I really need you to be completely honest with me. And before you say a word, twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t think my sister capable of drinking vodka neat from the bottle and driving under the influence.”
“What?” she said with a jolt.
“Unconfirmed, but likely.”
She snatched at her drink.
“Please, Fliss. What happened yesterday is so odd, so left-field, any scrap of information that can explain the tragedy, I’d be grateful if you’d tell me.”
She rested her glass delicately on the low table in front of us, adjusted her sunglasses, and flicked both palms up in a defensive gesture. “There’s a saying about not shooting the messenger.”
“I’m a lousy shot.” It was supposed to put her at her ease. She responded with an imperious look that would take me years to perfect. “Sorry, please carry on.”
“A rumour, nothing more, and definitely not the sort of thing for public consumption,” she warned, “but Scarlet suspected Nate was the one having an affair.”
“Nate?”
She flashed a worldly look. I felt like a child who’d found out about the birds and the bees – apt in the circumstances. Was this why he didn’t want to show the police the note his wife had left? Was this why he didn’t pursue my sister about her unscheduled stay in a London hotel?
I quickly regrouped. “You say she was suspicious, but she had no evidence.”
“Apart from the bracelet he gave her at Christmas.”
I frowned in confusion.
“Scarlet reckoned it was a guilt gift.”
“Right,” I said, scrabbling to process what I was hearing, “So Scarlet had had suspicions for a while?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And it made her unhappy?”
“Of course.”
“Enough to make her lose concentration on a bright summer day, enough to kill herself and to hell with whoever was driving on the opposite side of the road?”
“Good God, Molly, I really don’t know anything for certain.”
“Well, what are you sure about?” I’d briefly lost volume control. I coughed, flicked Fliss an apologetic smile.
“She spent most of last year moping about Nate,” Fliss continued smoothly, “but then, this year, she was happy. Almost too happy.”
“How can you be too happy?”
“Giddy then.”
Giddy was not a word I’d use to describe my sister. And then it dawned on me. “Like she was having an affair as payback?”
“I’ll be honest, I thought she’d met someone after we got back from holiday in Jamaica in February. She looked different. Radiant. I think I teased her about having a fling.”
“Which she denied?”
“Fervently.”
I cast my mind back. I didn’t remember seeing much of Scarlet at the time. “Then what?”
“I didn’t see her for a few months until we threw a party for Samuel’s birthday at the beginning of June. Scarlet came, and she looked absolutely dreadful. Frankly, I was worried about her. She stayed on afterwards and I asked what was wrong.” She gave me a long appraising look.
Was this what it was all about? Two people fucking other people and one getting upset enough to —No, no, no. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
My sister had only three boyfriends, tops, before meeting Nate, one of which never went beyond first base. And yes, we talked about things like that. When I ordered a hunky strip-a-gram for her hen night, she almost passed out. She was no prude, but she exuded decency and doing stuff by the book, in every aspect of her life. There had to be more to it. What Fliss described was like a cheap scene played out in a soap in order to push up ratings.
Fliss glanced down at her perfectly manicured nails, examined them and looked at me straight. “I got the impression Scarlet was in a jam. She didn’t want anyone to know, Louis included, but she asked if she could borrow some money. Quite a lot, in fact.”
I felt the air punch out of me. Scarlet was always so careful. She didn’t earn a fortune, but Nate’s job paid well, and they were doing fine —or so I’d thought. “For what?”
“She didn’t say.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand pounds.”
“And you lent it?” I was aghast. What the hell would Scarlet need that kind of money for? Ironic, really, considering I’d had a go at