The room begins to swirl around Kersti. She feels dizzy, winded. “Who the hell is it?”
After a long moment, Cressida’s voice cuts through the dark. “Mr. Fithern,” she says, her tone defiant, unapologetic.
A million things run through Kersti’s mind—Mrs. Fithern and Cressida discussing Tender Is the Night together; Nicole and Dick Driver’s disintegrating marriage; Mr. Fithern biting Cressida’s lips until they bled. Magnus.
Magnus.
“What about Magnus?” Kersti manages.
“He’s the one you’re most concerned about?”
“And Mrs. Fithern—”
“It hasn’t been good between them for years,” she says with authority.
Kersti can’t even speak.
“I’ve always had a thing for him,” Cressida informs her, as though this is ample justification for what she’s done. “I love him. For the first time in my life, I’m really in love with a man.”
“I thought you were ‘in love’ with Magnus,” Kersti snaps, using air quotes to make her point. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I do love him,” she says. “But he’s not a man. With Charlie it’s on a whole other level.”
Kersti wants to slap her. “What if Mrs. Fithern finds out? The whole school would know. You’d be expelled for sure, right before graduation—”
“We’ve been seeing each other since The Hague,” Cressida says.
The Hague? Almost two years ago? Around the time Kersti slept with Magnus and then Cressida had to have him back because she couldn’t live without him?
Kersti stands up and backs out of the room, feeling like she might throw up.
“Where are you going?”
“Away from you,” she says, closing the door behind her and retreating to Lille’s room.
Chapter 21
BOSTON—November 2015
Kersti and Jay hop in a cab at Logan Airport, the mood between them still tense. She convinced him to come to Boston with her and make a mini-vacation out of it, but their interactions have been strained. They’re being civil to one another, making an effort to avoid all potentially perilous topics, but their usual jokey camaraderie is noticeably absent.
They ride in silence to the XV Beacon hotel, with plans to spend Saturday afternoon at the spa and have dinner at Moo, in the hope of resuscitating their marriage. But first, Kersti is going to pay Deirdre another visit.
As they veer onto Route 1A, Kersti pulls out her Moleskin and tries to recap everything she’s discovered since she embarked on this journey, trying to fit it all into some cohesive timeline. She knows Cressida snuck out to see Magnus, broke up with him, and then went to Mr. Fithern’s. As soon as she left his place, Magnus went to Huber House and told Mrs. Fithern about the affair. He left Huber without seeing Cressida and claims never to have seen her again.
“What are you working on?” Jay asks her, putting his hand on her knee.
“Just some notes.”
“For which book?”
“Possibly the story of a beautiful but troubled girl who mysteriously falls from her balcony at a Swiss boarding school.” Even as she says it out loud, her whole body tingles.
“I’m happy to see you excited about a new book,” he says. “I feel like maybe you’ve been a bit bored with the other one.”
“We’ll see how this all plays out,” she says, returning to her notebook and writing, “Mrs. Fithern?”
Mrs. Fithern claims not to have gone to Cressida’s room after Magnus told her about the affair, which Kersti finds hard to believe. Wouldn’t it be the very first thing any woman in her shoes would do? The fact that the Fitherns both think Cressida jumped—when either one of them had much to gain from silencing her—seems a little too convenient.
And then of course there’s the missing ledger, this being the most frustrating dead end of them all.
“Kerst? We’re here.”
Kersti looks up and realizes the taxi has come to a stop in front of a regal-looking building with a black iron fa?ade and intricate copper cornices. The doorman opens the car door and helps her out. Inside, the lobby is sleek, done in tones of espresso and cream with mahogany built-ins, taupe couches on a zebra-hide rug, bold modern art on the walls, and two original cage elevators. After they check in, it’s decided Kersti will go straight to Deirdre’s while Jay explores Beacon Hill.
“I’m glad I came,” he says, pulling her into his arms. “We needed this. It was a good call.”
As she kisses him, she feels a surge of relief. “I’ll be quick,” she promises. “And then I’m all yours. There’s a restaurant on Newbury we can try for lunch—”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Laylay opens the door. “Mrs. Deirdre is waiting for you,” she says, stepping aside. “In the parlor.”
The parlor. Who still uses words like that?
Laylay takes her coat and Kersti finds Deirdre reading on one of the brocade couches, her feet neatly tucked beneath her, her face tilted slightly into the sunlight, as though she’s posing for a portrait.
“Hi, Deirdre.”
“Kersti,” she says, looking up and setting her book down. “What’s going on? You sounded so cryptic on the phone.”
Kersti sits down on the other sofa.
“Do you want a drink? Or some tea?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Tell me then,” she says. “What did you find out that was so pressing?”
“Cressida was pregnant.”
The color disappears from Deirdre’s cheeks, leaving two circles of bright coral blush on the stark white canvas of her skin.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Deirdre?” Kersti asks her.
“Why would I?” Deirdre snaps. “You didn’t need to know. No one did.”
“Deirdre, didn’t you think it warranted some investigation at the time?”
Tears spring to Deirdre’s eyes and she looks away.
“I know it couldn’t have been easy,” Kersti says.
“That’s right!” she cries. “It wasn’t easy. I was trying to protect her reputation!”
“Hers or yours?”
“That’s unfair, Kersti.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Deirdre reaches for a fur throw that’s draped on the arm of the couch and pulls it over her bird legs. “You don’t have children,” she says. “You don’t know how hard it is to protect them from what the world thinks of them. People can be so cruel, Kersti. I didn’t want anyone to know she was pregnant. Or that she tried to kill herself. She was special. That’s how I wanted her to be remembered.”
“What about getting justice for her?”
“Justice?” Deirdre sneers. “You think she cares about justice? She’d rather be able to feed herself and go to the bathroom. There can never be justice.”
“What if someone pushed her?” Kersti perseveres. “The fact that she was pregnant . . . I mean, if you think you didn’t want anyone to know about it, what about the people who had even more to lose?”
“I don’t understand,” Deirdre says. “Why would Magnus—”
“Magnus wasn’t the father.”
Deirdre sighs.