Chores complete, I head off in search of the woman herself, hoping to salvage this thing between us. I can’t promise her long-term devotion, and I think I made that clear last night at the dinner table. But she liked me well enough before. I’m sure I can rekindle a little more of that sentiment. At least, until she finds out the truth of this family. Of me. But by then, she’ll likely be conveniently tired of me.
27
Alexander
“You’re very chipper this morning.”
My footsteps falter against the worn flagstones at the sound of Griffin’s voice. “Well, I was,” I reply impassively as, for the second time today, one of my siblings falls into step with me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was being watched. “Did you want something, Griffin?”
“Me? Always.” His teeth gleam white in the dim light. We’re in the old part of the castle, which tends to be gloomier than the more recent additions to the hodgepodge mess of buildings. “Why, what’s on offer?”
Room and board. Old-fashioned entertainments. Hunting. Stalking. Decent wine and whisky. Not Holland.
“Why did Van bring you this weekend?” This is more like a thought spoken aloud.
“I didn’t realise I needed an invitation. I’m part of the family, aren’t I? The black sheep and all that.”
“You’ve been part of this family for as long as I’ve known about you.” Not that he needs reminding, I’m sure. Our father kept his and his sister’s existence from us, but not the knowledge of Isla and I from them. While their presence in his life came as a shock to us, I do think we got the better end of the deal. Ignorance was bliss while it lasted. Now it’s just one more chain around my neck. As for Griffin and Rosa, our interactions to this day are carried out under this veiled sort of animosity. Understandable, really.
I’d say my father was a conniving cunt, but the description doesn’t really do him justice. He fucked all of us over for his own entertainment, and I hope the fact that we’re now reconciled, though not quite friends, has him spinning in his grave.
“You don’t need an invitation. I just wondered why you travelled with Van.” And why he’s working for Van’s uncle when he’s worked so hard to get where he is. I’m sure he wouldn’t be the first barrister to become corrupt.
“A private jet is always preferable to the train,” he says as we step out of the open doors and portico, out into the sunlight. “Where are you off to, by the way?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“That I can answer. I’m coming with you.”
I draw to a stop, turning to him. “So I say again, what do you want, Griffin?”
“I want Holly. But first, I want to know what’s she doing here.”
“What is it with the obsession with the girl?” Ironically, it’s a question I could be asking myself.
“Obsession is a little strong. Unless it’s not me you’re asking.” When I don’t fill in the gap in our conversation, he carries on. “You were a bit light on your loafers last night trying to get at her.”
“Get at her?” I repeat, my words dripping with disdain.
“Get to her, then.” He shrugs.
“If you were watching, then you must have seen how surprised I was to see her here.”
“What I saw was her throwing hors d’oeuvres all over the place, then you dragging her out of the room.”
It strikes me how those words could paint one of a dozen incidents involving our father. He liked to bully his children, manhandle his wife, hire pretty housemaids then terrorise them. Flaunt his mistresses around the place. Not that Griffin would know any of that.
“And what was going on in the library?”
I find my steps slowing. “Nothing that pertains to you.”
“That atmosphere seemed quite charged.” He turns to face me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Practising your cross-examinations, Counsel?”
“What I don’t get,” he says, “is why bother feeding me all that bullshit about an employment agency back at Thornbeck when you’ve very clearly brought Holland up here for your own use.”
“She’s not a ride-on mower,” I snarl, pivoting to face him. I’d thought to keep our interaction even, that I’d stay calm, but it looks like where Holland is concerned, I have very little control over my emotions.
Griffin and I are of a height and weight, and while I’d love to teach him the meaning of respect, it would only serve to prove to him that I’ve done something wrong. And fuck it, I have not. Why is everyone around me determined to make me think otherwise? “We do not use people at Kilblair Castle.”
Not anymore.
“Touchy,” he crows. “You know, there’s nothing worse than a reformed man slut. Especially when they turn all sanctimonious and judging.”