The Dinner Guest B Walter (readict books TXT) 📖

of us could do anything about. And, in the grand scheme of things, what he’d done hadn’t been murder. Not really. The man probably deserved to die. Matthew wasn’t beyond redemption or forgiveness, surely?

An image flickered in my mind. Dim and undefined at first, then suddenly it flared, bright and searing. The look on Matthew’s face when I’d asked about Rachel.

And she’s worked out the truth, has she?

There was something there. Something about that particular moment that sent shivers crawling over me.

I was outside a Sainsbury’s on Elizabeth Street when it finally clicked. It was as if my world had exploded and a weight had been lifted off my shoulders at the same time. Because everything now made sense. And I knew absolutely why Matthew felt he could never tell me everything.

I arrived back at Carlyle Square at about twelve-thirty in the morning. The downstairs was all dark, but I could see as I got to the landing that the lights were on in both Titus’s bedroom and mine. Ours. Matthew was sitting on the bed. He’d evidently been crying hard; I could see the red blotches under his eyes even in the dim light of the bedside lamp. There was something about his stillness that pricked the raging, burning anger inside me all over again. I’d calmed myself down as I’d approached the house, practised slow and steady breathing on the long walk back down the King’s Road. And I tried now to make sure I retained this sense of calm as I closed the door gently behind me.

‘I thought you might have gone to spend the night at Wilton Crescent,’ he said, looking at the floor. ‘What with your mother staying at the Ashtons’s.’

I took off my blazer, folded it over, and hung it on the back of the chair near the window. I kept my moves slow and steady, though still felt the tremble of my hands as the material left my grasp.

‘I thought about it,’ I said, ‘but in the end I just went for a walk. I went over to Eccleston Square. Just for a look around. But then I just came home.’

He glanced my way at this, confused. ‘Your old place?’

I nodded.

‘Why? I thought someone else now lives there.’

‘I don’t know why. Maybe I just wanted to go back to how things were before.’

A few beats of silence echoed crushingly between us. Then he said, ‘Before you met me?’

I let the silence go on some seconds more. I chose not to acknowledge his question. After a few more seconds, he started to say how sorry he was, but I’d had enough. ‘Please just stop,’ I said, simply.

He looked at me as if I’d slapped him. I don’t think I’d ever spoken to him so coldly before in my life. It’s weird but, looking back, I think it might have been that moment, that tiny moment in the midst of this terrible time, that broke something vital within us. Like when an athlete tears an important ligament or breaks a tiny important bone, and although they can carry on walking and running or jumping or swimming, nothing is ever the same again. The pain continues to hamper, to hinder, to stop them hitting the heights that had come so naturally before.

When the silence became unbearable, I finally spoke. ‘I’ve worked it out. I know what you did.’

Chapter Forty-Two Charlie

Three days after the murder

My father walks into the library and sits down in one of the chairs. He nods at the seats opposite him, clearly suggesting my mother and I should get off the floor and sit down properly. We do as we’re told. ‘So you’ve told us the truth, at last,’ he says, in a level tone.

I look at him and say cautiously, ‘You knew?’

‘I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t have good research resources,’ my father replies, calmly. ‘I found out today.’

‘Charles, you kept this to yourself?’ my mother says, turning to look at me. She looks a little lost, then a frown starts to line her brow. ‘Has Rachel been stalking you, all this time? Planning this? But why would she want to kill Matthew?’

I don’t know how much my father knows already, but something within me knows it would be futile to dodge their questions any longer. I take a deep breath and, keeping my gaze on the coffee table in front of me, I tell them. I tell them what Matthew told me, just over a week ago, when we returned from the Ashtons’s party. I tell them how Johnny Holden orchestrated an attack on Matthew and ruined Collette’s life. How she gave birth to Titus in Norway, and how the eventual death of Johnny resulted in Matthew becoming a murderer. My parents listen in silence. Then my mother speaks.

‘You’ve known this all this time and you didn’t say anything?’

I look up at her and try to show in my eyes how difficult, how painful, this all is for me. ‘I had to keep Matthew’s secret. Telling anyone else would have put them – you – in an impossible situation.’

She lets out a tired, disappointed sigh. ‘Yes, but when he was killed, this would have been a perfect thing to tell the police,’ she says. ‘It makes her motive clear.’

I hold out my hands, imploringly. ‘How would I have explained not going to the police myself when I knew Matthew had murdered – or at least had a part to play in the death of – Rachel’s brother? I stayed silent for days. I didn’t go to the police and tell them anything when I found out, and besides, making it sound like it was to do with Rachel’s crush on Matthew takes the attention away from Titus and makes it look like Rachel’s just simply a psychotic jealous scorned lover.’

I look over to my father, hoping he will at least show he understands the predicament I’m in. He fixes me