Part 3
Crane saw Clara in Julian’s coat.
His right hand moved toward his jacket.
Julian raised his phone so the camera faced him.
“Don’t.”
Crane stopped.
The house was silent enough that Julian could hear the faint whisper of water running beneath a piece of crystal behind him.
“You’re being recorded,” Julian said. He had not yet begun recording, but Crane did not know that. “Take your hand away from your jacket.”
Crane’s eyes went to Evelyn.
She said nothing.
He lowered his hand.
“Now turn around,” Julian said.
“Sir, I have instructions concerning the woman.”
“From whom?”
Crane’s jaw moved.
Julian waited.
Crane did not answer.
Evelyn descended the remaining stairs with controlled grace, her heels touching each step at the same measured pace. When she reached the marble floor, she placed her champagne glass on a side table.
“Daniel,” she said, “go to the library.”
He looked relieved to receive an order he understood.
Julian stepped into the doorway. “Leave the house.”
Evelyn’s eyes flashed. “You are not master here.”
The sentence came out before she could stop it.
His father had been dead for thirteen months. The townhouse belonged to the family trust, and Julian had become its principal beneficiary on his thirty-second birthday twelve days earlier. Evelyn remained a trustee until the annual review in April, but she no longer possessed the unquestioned authority she had exercised through his father’s illness.
Julian had avoided learning the details. He had spent the year after the funeral traveling between offices, speaking at foundation events, and refusing to open the boxes his father’s solicitor sent him.
Clara had once accused him of treating responsibility like an unpleasant room he could postpone entering.
He had told her he was grieving.
She had said both things could be true.
Now Crane stood in the hall with one hand near a weapon, and Julian understood what his avoidance had purchased.
“This property is held by Vale Residential Trust,” Julian said. “I am the principal beneficiary and co-trustee. I am withdrawing permission for you to remain.”
Crane looked at Evelyn.
She gave the smallest nod.
He backed away, then turned toward the front of the house.
“Put the weapon on the console table before you go,” Julian said.
Crane stopped.
Evelyn folded her arms. “Don’t be absurd.”
Julian opened the emergency call screen on his phone and showed it to Crane. “You can leave it here or explain it to the police when they arrive.”
Crane removed a compact handgun from beneath his jacket and set it on the table with two fingers.
Clara recoiled at the sight.
Julian shifted so his body blocked her view.
Crane left.
The front door opened and closed in the distance.
Only then did Julian look at Clara. “Lucy first?”
She nodded.
He called Anika again.
She answered immediately. “What happened?”
“I found Clara at Belgrave Square.”
Silence.
Then, very carefully, Anika said, “Is she with you?”
“Yes.”
“Is she safe?”
“Not yet. I need someone in Bristol to check on her sister without announcing themselves. No police contact unless there’s immediate danger. Can you arrange that?”
“I can have a former colleague at the address within twenty minutes.”
“Do it. Call me the moment she’s seen.”
“Julian, the passport records—”
“Later.”
He ended the call.
Clara had begun to sway.
Julian looked toward Marcus. “Is there a room near the front entrance without a lock on the outside?”
Marcus’s face flinched.
That was answer enough.
“The morning room,” he said. “The windows open onto the street.”
“Take us there.”
Evelyn stepped forward. “You cannot isolate her with him. She has been under medical supervision.”
Clara shrank within Julian’s coat.
“What doctor?” Julian asked.
“Dr. Pritchard.”
“Specialty?”
“Psychiatry.”
“Which hospital?”
“He consults privately.”
“Does he know she is here?”
Evelyn paused.
“Does he know she is locked inside this house?”
“She was not locked inside the house.”
Marcus looked down.
Julian saw it.
“So the doors were secured for everyone?” he asked.
No one answered.
He turned to Marcus. “Morning room.”
The attendant led them through the central hall.
Julian did not touch Clara unless she stumbled. She walked close enough that the sleeve of his coat brushed his hand. Each time a door opened somewhere in the townhouse, her shoulders rose.
The morning room overlooked the front steps. Pale sofas surrounded a low table scattered with magazines no one had read. A bowl of fresh pears sat beneath a painting of Julian’s grandmother.
Owen waited in the black sedan outside, engine running.
Julian closed the door but did not lock it.
“Would you like to sit?”
Clara remained standing.
“Water?”
No answer.
“Tea?”
Her eyes moved to the silver tea service on the sideboard. A look of revulsion crossed her face.
Julian stopped asking.
He took a clean glass from the cabinet, opened a sealed bottle of mineral water, and placed both on the table without pouring.
“I’m going to stand by the window,” he said. “You can use my phone. You can leave in the car without me. You can ask Marcus to stay. Whatever feels safest.”
Clara looked at the phone in his hand.
“You won’t call them?”
“The police?”
She nodded.
“Not until you tell me I can, unless someone comes into this room and threatens you.”
Her gaze searched his face.
“You said that before,” she whispered.
Julian felt something cold move beneath his ribs. “When?”
She shook her head.
“Did someone show you messages from me?”
Her lips pressed together.
“Clara, I never knew you were here.”
She looked toward the door.
“I searched for you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, almost angrily.
He stopped. Every fact he offered seemed to injure her in a new place.
Marcus remained near the doorway. His hands had begun to tremble.
Clara noticed.
“You brought the tray,” she said.
Marcus’s mouth opened.
May you like
“You brought it every night,” she continued. “You never looked at me.”
His eyes filled. “Miss Hart, I—”
