He shakes his head. “They kept it secret. They were going to elope. Run off together, you know?”
“You think that’s what the letter’s about! Ruin and deception.”
He nods. “Exactly. But they never got the chance. The war started, he went off to fight and he never came back.”
A shiver runs through me, starting at the top of my head and working its way all the way down to my feet. I was right: it is a puzzle. One with forbidden love and tragedy and…stuff. But still a puzzle. And puzzles I can do.
Before…after…when I was recovering, I did a lot of jigsaws. It wasn’t exactly a thing I wanted to do, but Sanjay said it might be “a worthwhile exercise”, so I did one – and weirdly, I was kind of good at it. There was something about laying out the pieces and slowly filling the empty spaces with picture, connecting one thing to another – it made sense when nothing else did. And it filled hours when I literally couldn’t do anything else, because my mind was too busy or too tired or sometimes both at once (I still don’t know how that’s even possible, but welcome to my brain). But as I came back into focus, since I’ve been better – or stable, at least – I’ve not even thought about puzzles…until now.
I blow a long breath out between my teeth. “It’s not the most cheerful bedtime story for a kid, is it?”
Hal doesn’t miss a beat. “It wasn’t a bedtime story. It was when I used to hang out in his office.”
Who hangs out in their grandfather’s office? Not that I get the chance to ask, because he’s already talking again, his eyes shining and the story rushing out of him. “Like I said, it was something his grandfather told him, but before that I don’t know where it came from. The way he used to tell it, though, it meant something to him. He really wanted it to be true.”
“And you think it is?”
Hal pulls a face. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
The idea there might be a story like that at Hopwood – at the place where I live – is intriguing. Exciting, even. But what do I know about this stuff? How can a school project qualify me to be any use at all? “You need a historian, somebody who knows about houses, like from the National Trust, or one of those BBC programmes. Not me. I’ve barely even got two GCSEs – not exactly research-assistant material.”
“You think I didn’t try? There are a lot of houses that fit the description. They all told me to come back when I had more details, more to work with. They treated me like a kid playing a game. Wasting their time.”
“Then ask your grandfather if he can remember anything else—”
“I can’t.” It’s sharp and louder than I was expecting. It’s a door being slammed.
In my experience, the faster and harder somebody shuts a door, the more interesting everything behind it is. Or messy. It can go either way.
“But…” I try.
He cuts me off. “He won’t be able to help, okay?” Then he sighs, and adds, “And anyway, you live here. If this really is the place, maybe you’ll know things other people – historians, researchers from outside – don’t.”
It feels like he hasn’t finished, so I wait. I wait for what feels a long, long time – and then, after an age, his eyes find mine, and this time I can actually see into them.
“Please,” he says.
There’s more to this than he’s telling me. I get it. I’m a stranger – and if anyone can understand holding back from a stranger, it’s me.
But that doesn’t matter: the letter and the story feel like opposite corners of a jigsaw puzzle and I want to see what’s in the middle.
Besides, the way he’s acting, it doesn’t seem like he thinks I’m so bad after all.
And perhaps escaping into somebody else’s past, someone else’s head for a while is just what I need.
“So? How was it? What’s he like? What did you do?” Mira jogs up the steps from the staff entrance to the wall where I’m sitting waiting for her.
“Do you want me to answer those all together, or maybe one at a time?”
“Either. Whatever.”
We turn onto the gravel path that runs along the side of the hotel towards the gardens, the deer park and home. Through the library windows as we pass them, I can see Hal – his head still bent over his stacks of research and notes, his folders full of dead ends and detours. When my shift ended, I said goodbye, that I’d see him in the morning…but he barely even noticed.
She watches me looking back at him and nudges me.
“And?” Her elbow is surprisingly sharp.
“It’s fine.”
“What are you doing in there?”
“He’s researching the hotel, trying to see if it’s a house he’s been looking for. It doesn’t make much sense. But I think he’s been doing it for a while – at least, it sounds like he has.” I glance back at the last library window, but all I can see is the reflection of the gardens. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Rich people,” Mira snorts, as though that explains everything. “I did some research of my own, though, while you’ve been busy.”
“Is this whatever you were studying the other day? What’s that about?”
“Oh.” She rubs at one of her ears. “No. I meant, I was finding out about your Mr Waverley.”
“You know something?”
“Of course.” She gives me a nonchalant smile and keeps on walking, feet crunching on the gravel. “Housekeeping knows everything, no?”
“Go on, then. Prove it.”
“Nineteen. And an Aquarius. He’s mysterious, but also detached.”
“Yeah, he’s detached all right. And how do you know that?”
“That he’s deta—?”
“No, stupid,” I interrupt her, smacking her gently on the arm. “His birthday.”
“Oh. The usual. I asked Kate on reception to check the scan of his passport. I told her I needed it for age verification for the room.”
“That’s genius.”
She beams at me.
“Two years older than me – he’s the same age as you!”
She nods and purses her lips, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest. “But not a majestic Taurus.”
“No. Obviously. And not as broke as you, either. What else did you get?”
“That was all I had time for. Mrs Tilney came to ask what I was doing in reception when I was meant to be vacuuming the stairs.”
I’m not sure what I was hoping for exactly – it’s not like he was going to have written an essay in the Reason for visit box on the check-in form, is it?
Mira’s continuing breakdown of just how majestic she and her star sign are takes us most of the way back to the cottage. I half-listen, because she’s monologuing like she usually does after a solo shift. As I discovered when I started working full-time at Hopwood and was paired with her, Mira needs someone to talk to. Or at. To begin with, that suited me just fine – I didn’t really want to talk anyway, and was happy to let her fill the silence that trailed around after me with whatever she wanted. As the months went by, and I started actually listening to her (some of the time, anyway), I realized I enjoyed being around her – and suddenly we were friends. Real friends. Along with Charlie and Felix – and Barney, because he’s the boss – she’s the only one here who knows about me. About The Incident. I’m pretty sure everybody else thinks I’m just quiet and maybe kind of difficult – “a bit moody”, Mira says – but none of them know. Which is exactly how I want to keep it. I don’t want people looking at me differently, judging me, wondering whether I’m really as crazy as they think I am…