Night School: Legacy

He’d started writing as soon as she began talking but now his pen froze, and he looked up at her. ‘Your grandmother has the same name as the chancellor?’


‘Lucinda Meldrum, the former chancellor, is my grandmother.’

Setting down his pen, he frowned in confusion. ‘Is this a joke, Allie? Because I don’t understand …’

‘No joke, Sylvain,’ she said. Now that she was talking about it, saying the words felt liberating. Another person was now in on the secret. Each person she told made it seem more real. ‘It’s completely true. I am Lucinda Meldrum’s granddaughter.’ She pointed at his notepad. ‘Write it down.’

‘I don’t understand.’ He still hadn’t picked up his pen. ‘If this is true, why doesn’t anyone know about it? I thought you weren’t a legacy student at all, but first generation.’

‘Yeah, I know that everyone has always wondered what that nobody Allie Sheridan is doing at super-amazing Cimmeria, the billionaire’s academy. Well, Sylvain, now you know.’ When he started to speak, she held up her hand. ‘Seriously. Just write down her name. And ask me the next question.’

After a long pause, he picked up his pen and wrote three words: ‘Grandmother: Lucinda Meldrum’.

The incident seemed to throw him off his game, and he referred to his notes distractedly.

‘Uh … OK, so my next question is … Who in your family attended Cimmeria?’ His expression quizzical, he glanced up at her. ‘But I’m not sure I need to ask …’

‘My mother attended Cimmeria.’ Allie’s cool words overrode his. ‘And my grandmother.’

As he made notes, it occurred to her that she was getting used to saying the word ‘grandmother’. It no longer felt so odd. But she found she said it in a commanding way, as if she were saying ‘the Queen’. Just talking about Lucinda conveyed power.

She was still feeling the thrill of that when Sylvain asked his next question.

‘So what led you to come to Cimmeria? I believe you were brought here as punishment.’

The thrill of power practically made a sizzling noise as it died.

Sliding down in her chair, Allie launched into the story of her brother’s disappearance and all that happened after: Her parents losing interest in her. Her arrest for breaking into the school and spray-painting obscenities on the walls. How this arrest had followed two other arrests for vandalism and petty theft. How Mark and Harry had stepped into her brother’s place in her emotions – only instead of helping with her homework they taught her the fine art of rebellion.

As she talked, Sylvain took notes in his neat, precise handwriting, occasionally looking up at her with a bemused expression but never interrupting. She wanted to gloss some of it over to make herself sound better, the way she did when telling Jo or Rachel about it, but found she couldn’t. She told him everything. And the more she talked the better she felt, as if the story were leaving her. With every word the weight on her chest seemed to lighten.

When she’d finished, he studied her with overt curiosity. The silver pen glittered in his long fingers. ‘This Allie you describe, she doesn’t sound like the Allie sitting in front of me. I don’t recognise that girl.’

‘Yeah, well.’ She shrugged. ‘When your life falls apart sometimes you fall apart with it. Hasn’t that ever happened to you?’

‘No – not like that. I just …’ He paused as if trying to think of the right words. ‘I admire your strength, Allie. It’s not possible for me to say what I would have done if I were in your feet, but I think I would not have handled it as well.’

‘Shoes,’ she corrected him automatically. ‘If you were in my shoes.’

But even as she spoke, a rush of unexpected emotion flooded through her. She didn’t know what it was – maybe it was just dredging up all that stuff again – but for some reason his words touched her heart.

‘By the way, have you heard from your brother?’ As his words sliced through her reverie, her eyes shot up to meet his. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘since the fire?’

Reflexively, her hand slid into her skirt pocket, touching the now familiar thick paper of Christopher’s letter. She tried to speak, but no words came out.

Three breaths in, two breaths out …

‘Allie?’ Frowning, Sylvain cocked his head to one side. ‘What’s the matter? Have you heard from him?’

‘No,’ she said, her voice hoarse. ‘Never. Not until … last night.’





SEVENTEEN





‘You have to go to Isabelle and Raj.’ Sylvain handed the letter back to Allie, who folded it carefully and put it back into her pocket.

‘No.’

‘Allie …’

But the warning in his eyes only made her more determined.

‘What will happen if I tell Isabelle?’ she asked.

‘She will have Raj’s people intercept him,’ he said.

‘And do what with him?’