Footsteps approached down the hallway.
‘Good morning!’ It was Yao. He carried a huge platter of tropical fruit. He looked tired, but otherwise in perfect health. ‘Please take your seats. We have a delicious breakfast prepared for you!’ He placed the platter on the table.
Wow, thought Carmel. He’s going to pretend everything is normal.
Zoe burst into tears. ‘We thought you were dead!’
Yao’s smile wavered. ‘Dead? Why would you think I was dead?’
‘You looked pretty out of it, mate,’ said Tony.
‘We had to play a game called “Death Row,”’ Frances told him, from an armchair by the door. She looked just like one of Carmel’s daughters telling tales about her sibling. ‘It was a horrible game . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
Yao straightened a bunch of purple grapes that was slipping off the side of the platter. He frowned.
Carmel took up the slack. ‘We had to pretend to be lawyers.’ She remembered that exhilarating moment when she’d spouted all that meaningless jargon that was nevertheless so meaningful to Masha. It had been terrifying but also wonderful. Like a fairground ride that had flipped her upside down and then round and round. ‘We had to argue for a stay of execution. I defended . . . Zoe.’
As she spoke she realised how farcical it sounded. It was so obviously all just a game. Why had they taken it so seriously? If they told the police about it, they would surely just laugh.
‘And then she never even let us complete the activity,’ complained Jessica.
‘Yes, I was quite looking forward to my turn,’ said Frances.
‘You were not,’ said Heather.
Carmel took a single grape from the fruit platter, even though she didn’t feel especially hungry. She must have gone beyond hunger. She bit straight through the centre of the grape. Oh my God, she thought, as the juice exploded in her mouth. She shuddered with gratitude. It was like all the cells of her body reacted to this tiny sustenance. She felt like she was close to some amazingly complex yet breathtakingly simple revelation about the true precious beauty of food. Food wasn’t the enemy. Food gave her life.
‘I know some of last night’s activities might have seemed . . . unusual,’ said Yao. He was a little hoarse but you had to admire him. He was continuing to play his violin as the Titanic sank beneath the sea. ‘But everything that happened was designed for your personal growth.’
‘Cut the shit, Yao,’ said Lars. ‘You must know it’s all over. We can’t let anyone else go through what we went through last night.’
‘We have to close you down, mate,’ said Tony.
‘That boss of yours has to go straight to a secure psychiatric ward,’ said Heather.
‘I will not be going to any ward,’ said Masha.
Carmel’s heart leaped in her chest.
Masha stood in the doorway of the dining room wearing a Hillary Clinton-style red pantsuit that looked ten years out of date and three sizes too big for her. ‘I’m going back to work.’
‘She’s still flying high as a kite,’ said Ben.
‘Masha,’ said Yao despairingly. ‘I thought you were resting.’
‘You all look so well!’ Masha studied the group. ‘Much thinner. Much healthier. I’m sure you are all happy with your results!’
Heather made a derisive sound. ‘We’re thrilled, Masha, we’re just thrilled with our results. This has been so relaxing.’
Masha’s nostrils flared. ‘Don’t use that sarcastic tone! You report to me. I have authority to –’
‘Not this again,’ said Heather. ‘You’re my boss, are you? We all work for you? We’ve all got to do a PowerPoint presentation now or what . . . you execute us?’ She imitated Masha’s accent.
‘That’s not helpful, my love,’ said Napoleon.
‘I know all about you, Heather,’ said Masha slowly. ‘I was there last night. I heard your secrets. You told me everything. You tell me I gave drugs to your daughter, I am such a terrible person to do this, even though I did it to help you and your family. Well, you tell me this: what drugs did you allow your son to take?’
Masha’s fists were clenched. She held something tightly in her right hand. Carmel couldn’t see it what it was.
‘What sort of a mother are you?’ Masha asked Heather. There was a strange, powerful animosity between these two women that Carmel didn’t understand.
‘That’s enough,’ said Napoleon.
Yao moved across the room towards Masha, as Heather responded to her comment with a peal of scornful laughter. She said, ‘I’m a better mother than you would ever be.’
Masha roared like an animal. She leaped at Heather, a silver dagger held high, ready to plunge into her neck.
Napoleon jumped in front of his wife and Yao jumped in front of Masha at the exact moment Frances stood from her chair, grabbed the candelabrum from the sideboard and swung it wildly at Masha’s head.
Masha fell instantly. She lay at Frances’s feet without moving.
‘Oh God,’ said Frances. The candelabrum hung in her hand. She looked up at everyone, her face filled with horror. ‘Have I killed her?’
chapter seventy-four
Frances
Afterwards Frances would try to work through her decision-making process, but she never could. It was like her brain short-circuited.
She saw the two-hundred-year-old letter opener in Masha’s hand.
Careful. That letter opener is as sharp as a dagger. You could murder someone with that, Frances.
She saw Masha lunge for Heather.
She felt the unexpected heaviness of the candelabrum in her hand.
And next thing Masha was lying at her feet, and Frances had her hands in the air like a criminal because a large policeman was pointing a gun directly at her and saying, ‘Don’t move, please!’
The well-mannered cop was Gus, Jan the massage therapist’s boyfriend, and he was just as lovely as Frances had imagined him to be, especially once he put his gun away. Gus did not charge Frances with the murder of Masha, because Masha was not dead. After just a few terrifying moments, she sat up, a hand to the back of her head, and told Frances she was fired, effective immediately.
Jan, wearing a summer dress, was with Gus, looking flushed and excited at the events that had transpired at her workplace. Apparently, she and Gus had been chatting (in the middle of the night; from their glances, Frances deduced it was a post-coital chat) and Gus mentioned that at the end of his shift he’d pulled over a girl who was speeding in a yellow Lamborghini. It was immediately obvious to Jan from Gus’s description that this girl could only be Delilah, and as it seemed unlikely that there could be two yellow Lamborghinis in the area, and it therefore looked like Delilah might have stolen a guest’s car, and as Jan was already suspicious about the fact that nearly all the Tranquillum House staff had been asked to leave during the middle of a retreat (which the chef told her had never happened before), she had convinced Gus to drive straight to the house with her to check things out.
‘She’s probably concussed,’ said Yao, after examining his boss. ‘Or it might be that she’s still tripping.’
Gus said that he wouldn’t be charging Frances with assault because there were multiple witnesses who all confirmed that her quick actions had most likely saved Heather’s life, although Frances knew that Heather might have been Masha’s target but the only ones in danger were Napoleon, who had pushed Heather aside, and Yao, who had placed himself directly in front of Masha.
Heather said, ‘Thank you, Frances.’ She put a hand to the side of her neck and considered the potential murder weapon. ‘That could have been quite nasty.’