Chapter 5
The next morning, at eleven o’clock on the dot, Suzanne knocked on Mira’s hotel room door. Mira had already taken a shower and got dressed, but she was still incredibly tired. After Connor Carmichael had disappeared into the darkness, she had gone back to House Nightingale and then stayed by her mom’s side until seven in the morning. Not the side on which she had seen Connor, but on the other side of her mom’s bed. She couldn’t bring herself to touch the hand that Connor had held before her. She had pushed the book that he had left behind aside with pointy fingers, until she realized what it was. It was her mom’s favorite book — Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. What she hadn’t realized as a child, became all the more apparent now that Mira had grown up, and she was reminded of this every time she touched something that belonged to her mom. Suzanne had packed all of her belongings away in boxes and had given away all of the mundane dresses that she would never wear again, but in doing so, she had literally erased every trace of this woman who had given her life.
It was only when sixteen-year-old Mira had gone into the basement to steal a bottle of wine from her father’s collection — which was now Russell’s well-stocked wine cellar —that she noticed all the boxes with her mother’s full name written across them in big bold letters. “Francesca Dumont” she had read and then she had been so incredibly nervous as she secretly opened the first box. The forbidden wine stood forgotten on the cold floor next to her, as she buried her nose in her mother’s silk scarf – deeply inhaling her familiar scent. She had tried on the cheap blingy earrings (the ones Suzanne didn’t like) and one by one, Mira had systematically discovered her mother’s personality, as if she had been a stranger. She had learned that her mother’s taste was sophisticated and very much that of an upper-class lady, and yet it was modest. Every now and then she found things that would stand out to her, like those cheap blingy earrings. Mira had found two tickets for the ballet Swan Lake and she wondered why they had been covered in red lipstick. Romantic classics like Jane Eyre, or the novels by Daphne du Maurier, painted a picture of a completely different and free-spirited person, and not someone who was just Jack Dumont’s wife and the mother of Suzanne and Mira. Wuthering Heights was yet another one of those discoveries about her mom, as she realized that this woman had truly believed in the incredible power of love. A feeling that she had truly felt herself so deeply and which later had caused her to fall into desperate despair.
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath our feet: They are a meager source of obvious joy, yet necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He will forever and ever be in my thoughts: Not for pleasure, just like I don’t find any pleasure in myself, but as a part of me.
“What’s the matter? You look terrible,” Suzanne greeted her.
“Well, that could have something to do with the fact that I didn’t sleep a wink,” answered Mira. She had thought long and hard about whether she should tell her sister about Connor’s visits to House Nightingale or not. Her first thought had been to keep it all away from Suzanne, and not to put her under even more pressure after all these years of having to take care of everything. She had finally come to the conclusion that it was her sister’s right to know about Connor’s invasion of privacy. Just as Mira herself would have appreciated it, if they had involved her and given her a choice back then, despite her young age.
“Please sit.” Mira motioned towards the seat next to her on the sofa, where Suzanne sat down hesitantly. “Last night, I went to see mom. Connor was there.”
Her sister took a sharp breath and turned pale. Suddenly, the woman in her mid-thirties looked years older and when she spoke, her voice sounded rough with suppressed emotion. “Damned bastard! I will kill him!” She wanted to jump up to walk off her anger, but Mira gently pulled her back down onto the sofa.
“I have already taken care of it.” She told Suzanne about her conversation with Dr. Flinch this morning. “He had signed in with a false name, but it won’t happen again. Only you and I are now allowed to see mom.”
“Fucking piece of shit,” Suzanne whispered, and Mira took her hands to massage her sister’s tension away. It was a surreal situation, because now the tables were turned, and it was she who was the strong one. Suzanne redirected her incredible anger towards something else. “How could this even happen? How could these people let just anybody into mom’s room without notifying me?”
“He had signed in as Russell, so he must have had the right kind of ID with him, to be able to pose as your husband.” Suzanne’s mouth fell open. “I know it is not my place to put any blame on him — he is your husband — but if he had actually made an effort to see mom…” Her sister gave her a certain look and Mira stopped mid-sentence. “I know. I haven’t been to see her either. But I thought of something else that is more important.”
“And what is that?” Suzanne’s mobile phone rang. She pulled it out, looked at it, and put it back into her bag without accepting the call.
“Two things. Firstly, Connor must have planned this visit for a long time. How did he get hold of the papers or the fake ID he needed in order to sign in? Secondly, how did he know that Russell had never really been there? That he wasn’t known to the staff at Nightingale’s. I mean, he and Russell are as different as a hawk and its prey.” The comparison reminded her again of last night and she blushed slightly.
“Did you ask him why he went to see mom?”
“Yes. Of course!” Mira pressed her lips into a thin line. “He actually claimed that he wanted to see her one last time before she… dies.” Saying those words out loud made her heart ache immensely, and she saw that it was the same for her sister.
“Did he threaten her, or did he give her something to drink?”
Mira needed a second before she fully understood what her sister meant to say. “You mean, as in poisoning her?” Hearing herself say those words made her realize how unbelievable that sounded, but it helped her to understand her own reaction. Yes, in her eyes Connor Carmichael was a murderer. She believed that wholeheartedly. After all, she had seen what had happened seventeen years ago in her father’s home office with her very own eyes, hadn’t she? She pushed the memories aside before they could suffocate her further. “Somehow, I don’t believe that. A knife, a baseball bat, even just a pillow on her face I can imagine, but poison? That doesn’t fit his profile. No, he wanted something else.”
“Well, I don’t believe that he went there purely for sentimental reasons.” Suzanne snorted loudly, and Mira was very well aware of just how much her sister was angered by all of this. The unladylike noise had definitely made an impression, even though it didn’t suit her at all. “The question remains: Why did he come back now, during mom’s last days?”
Mira had wondered about the same thing and had not been able to come up with an answer herself. “The nurse did look it up and she told me that yesterday had been his third visit in a row,” she said slowly. “He obviously needs something that only mom has. But what could that be? And why now, after all this time?”
“We will hardly find an answer if we sit here speculating and asking the same questions over and over again.” That was the Suzanne that Mira knew: she had no patience for wasting her time, which for her was one of her most valuable resources. “We need to find out what is going on here and there is only one way to do that.”
“I completely agree. I think we should go to Winfield & Partner immediately and have them set up that order of protection.” She had sunk back into the sofa and her sister leaned back too. She looked almost lost in the lush and thick cushions, but when Mira mentioned the names of the solicitors who had been working for the family since forever, she shook her head vehemently.
“No. No.” She sat up again, her back stiffened and straight as a pole.
“Okay. Just calm down,” Mira said as she tried to calm her sister. “Would you like something to drink? Water or tea?”
“No,” Suzanne repeated for a third time. She got up and walked on shaky legs to the phone on the side table nearby. Mira was more than surprised when she then heard her sister order a bottle of champagne to be sent to their room. “Put this order on my company’s tab please,” she said, then hung up and returned to Mira. Her blue eyes had taken on a feverish glare and her movements seemed very abrupt and hectic.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Mira got up and held Suzanne at a distance by her wrists. “What reason could you possibly have to celebrate Connor’s return with Champagne?” She shook her head. Slowly but surely starting to worry about her older sister. These jumping thoughts and this fixation on Connor weren’t exactly healthy, that she knew, but what could she do about that now? Apart from appeasing Suzanne again and again. Mira felt a hot rush of adrenaline shoot through her entire body, as the realization of the possibility that Suzanne could lose her mind hit her, just as their mother had all those years ago.
“Oh no, sweetie. I have most certainly not lost my mind. Quite the opposite. I haven’t felt this great in a long time,” Suzanne exclaimed and pulled her wrists out of Mira’s grip. Then she turned around in a circle with her arms wide, staring up at the ceiling, as if she had turned into a six-year-old girl. Mira frowned with an uneasy feeling, but Suzanne just laughed. “You just wait. I will explain everything as soon as our champagne gets here.”
Thankfully it didn’t take long before room service delivered the bottle on ice and two long elegant glasses. The waiter opened the bottle expertly and then he disappeared again with a huge smile, after Suzanne had given him a rather big tip. She turned to fill a glass for Mira, who put her hand on her sister’s arm and stopped her.
“Before you make me raise my glass, I want to know what it is we are drinking to. Please just calm down and let us talk about this like adults.”
“Alright then,” Suzanne replied with a rather strained smile. “Once you learn what my plan… our plan will be, you will also want to celebrate. Believe me.” She paused dramatically. “Back then, the police let us down and they won’t help us this time either. We are pretty much on our own, Mira. Don’t you understand? We will put this bastard behind bars.” She went ahead and filled the glasses with the golden colored fizzy drink, before handing one to Mira, who took it hesitantly. “And I know exactly how to do that.”
“I don’t think that there is a better method for catching Connor Carmichael and…” Mira searched for the right words, “… foiling his intrigues, than to get an order of protection against him.” She wasn’t particularly happy with her choice of words, because a secretive intrigue — just like using poison — simply did not fit this man’s character. Since she had met him last night, she was certain of that. Obviously, he had changed after all these years — his face had hardened, he had gained a lot of muscle mass, and where he had been somewhat carefree in his actions back in the day, he was now constantly guarded in everything he did, in some indefinable way. She had noticed all of that yesterday, but now, after having gained some distance and also having cleared her thoughts a little, she was finally able to compare the two men. The 18-year-old young man from seventeen years ago and the man he had become today, were very different. Connor Carmichael had certainly grown up. And he seemed more dangerous than ever. What kind of crazy plan had Suzanne come up with to find out what his motives were?
“It’s very simple,” her sister announced. “You will throw yourself at him and earn his trust.”
Mira laughed hysterically at first, but then immediately turned very serious. “You have lost your mind!” She took the half empty glass of champagne from her sister’s hand. When had the roles between them switched? Just that thought in itself — to take on Connor all by herself — was absolutely absurd. “You didn’t see him,” Mira tried a different approach. “Connor is as careful as a fox on the hunt.” She sighed deeply. Why did she always think about predators when she thought about him? “Do you honestly believe that a man like that would trust me enough to admit that he killed dad, and then also tell me what he wants from mom, just because I hop into bed with him?” That thought alone was insane. How did Suzanne expect her to kiss the man that had killed their father? Or let him touch her, when he had their dad’s blood on his hands? Nothing of his would ever arouse her enough for her to be able to even fake the desire to sleep with him. Not his skin on hers. Not his mouth on her lips. And especially not his cold personality. Thinking about being with this man made her feel nauseated and an incredible wave of wild anger washed over her. That is how disgusted she was.
“Did I not tell you that I hit him yesterday? How could he possibly believe that I have suddenly changed my mind about him and want to drag him into bed?” She shuddered at this sickening thought and another part of her was suddenly very disappointed that her own sister would want to literally pimp her out to their father’s murderer. “I honestly cannot believe that you would even suggest such an absurd thing. My own sister wants me to have sex with Connor Carmichael.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to sleep with him,” Suzanne pacified her upset little sister. She was suddenly as calm as the sea on a sunny day without a breath of wind. She took the glass back from Mira and almost emptied it in one big gulp. “Obviously I would do this myself, but he never liked me to begin with. Completely the opposite with you, my dear. You, he was always very fond of.”
“Sure. But that did not stop him from doing what he did.” She refrained from saying the obvious out loud — that Connor had shot their father with his own hands. She grew tired of this.
“Trust me on this one, sis,” Suzanne continued persistently. “What 18-year-old guy lets a young child ride with him on his Harley, if he doesn’t love her like his little sister?”
“I rode on his motorcycle with him?” Mira looked at her in disbelief. “I don’t remember this at all. You are making this up.”
“No, I am not. There are photos somewhere in mom’s stuff. I will try and find them for you, if you want.” Mira took a much-needed sip of her champagne, even though she would have preferred something stronger at this point. Like a well-aged Scotch whisky. “Whatever,” Suzanne said. “I really do believe that our plan could work.”
“Your plan,” Mira objected, but her sister acted as if she hadn’t heard her.
“He really had a soft spot for you back then and I bet that if you now turn up and play the helpless little damsel in distress, he will completely fall for it and maybe give you a few hints or pointers as to what his plans are.” Suzanne was so excited that it even changed the way she spoke. She suddenly sounded like a young girl again. That mask of a successful business woman and perfect wife had long ago faded, and seemed to disappear more and more with every word.
Somehow, Mira thought it painful to watch her sister like that, but on the other hand she suddenly seemed very much more alive than during all those previous years. It was almost as if the thought of taking matters into their own hands had woken her up from some kind of eternal sleep. Like Sleeping Beauty.
“I don’t know…” she started.
Suzanne pounced on the very first sign that she was caving in, like a cat would jump onto a sleeping mouse. “Just think about what he did to us and how helpless we both were back then.” She gave Mira a triumphant look, when she continued. “When I was just seventeen and you were eight years old, there was nothing we could do, when they released him.” She pulled her shoulders back to make herself look bigger and she kept pointing her well-manicured index finger at Mira. “Now the tables are turned, and you will make sure that justice will prevail after all.”
“You sound like some antique goddess of wrath and vengeance. Not like someone who wants justice,” Mira countered.
“I want him to pay for what he has done to us. Hey, it is even written in the Bible – an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”
When Suzanne began to cite from the holy book, it was obvious that things weren’t that rosy after all. “Yes, but it also says to turn the other cheek when someone hits you,” improvised Mira, who had never really paid much attention to religious readings. She knew, deep inside of her, that she had to play along. If only to prevent worse things from happening. Like making sure that her sister didn’t end up in prison for murder herself. With a bit of luck, she would hopefully be able to come up with as many distractions as necessary to keep her sister from talking about this really very stupid plan of hers. She would do anything, not to have to do that.
“Let’s make a toast,” her sister said as she filled up their glasses with champagne once more. “Let’s drink to the downfall of Connor Carmichael. To his end. May he rot in hell.”
“No,” said Mira as she pulled her glass away for a second, before her sister could clink hers against it. “Let’s drink to something else.” She thought about the right words. “Let’s drink to the victory of justice.”
And that we will both survive this whole thing, she silently added.