“Thomas and Emily Cater are Lewis’s children,” I say.

“Yes. Kevin has no idea. Please, please don’t tell him. Lewis’d kill me if he knew I’d told you.”

The idea of me telling Kevin Cater anything nearly makes me laugh. “What would you have called Emily if she’d been a boy?”

I’m expecting an “I don’t know,” but Flora says, “I wouldn’t have let that happen. I knew I needed to have a girl next. I paid for an early blood test. Luckily, it was her. It was Emily. I know what you’re going to ask me next.”

“Please make it so that I don’t have to,” I say, shivering despite the heat.

“I’d do it if I could,” Flora says so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “Another Georgina. Lewis won’t, though. After Emily, he . . . he said it wasn’t good for me; it was twisted. He said he wouldn’t let it happen again, and he hasn’t.”

Another Georgina.

She’s staring out toward the sea with the trace of a smile on her lips.

“Flora, you have to listen to me.” I reach over and squeeze her hand. “You need help. Professional help, to deal with all this trauma properly. I’ll help you. If you don’t like Kevin or love him, you can leave him.”

“He loves me, though. And the children. They’re his in every way that matters. He’s the one they call Daddy.”

“Does he treat them well?” I’m not sure I intended to say this out loud, but I have and it’s too late. Might as well press on. “Is he kind to them? Is Yanina?”

Flora’s expression is guarded. It wasn’t before I asked the question. “Stop it, Beth. You can’t keep doing this. I’ve told you everything. You need to leave me alone.”

“Flora, please. Look at me. Kevin doesn’t treat Thomas and Emily very well, does he? Are you sure he doesn’t know they’re Lewis’s children and not his?”

She stands up, dusting the sand off her clothes. “I’m going. Don’t follow me. That wouldn’t be fair. I’ve tried to be as fair to you as I can, and now you need to stop. Go back home. You’ve got a family of your own, haven’t you?”

“Flora!” I call after her as she walks away. I could chase her, but what good would it do?

I stay where I am, watching as she gets smaller and smaller. A man in a baseball cap leans down into my view and asks me if I want to rent a sunbed instead of sitting on the sand. I tell him I don’t. By the time he’s moved aside, I can’t see Flora anymore.

23

I run all the way back to my hotel room, flop down on one of the beds with my phone and ring the landline at home. I count the seconds. Someone picks up at the exact moment I’m starting to worry about why no one’s answering. It’s Dom. “Is everything okay?” he asks. “What’s happening?”

You’ve got a family of your own, haven’t you? Flora’s words have been ringing in my head since she said them, wrapped in the fear that I’m somehow risking the people I love most by taking too much of an interest in another family. I know that’s not true, but it didn’t stop me wanting to check.

“Everything’s fine,” I tell Dom. “I just wanted to hear your voices.”

“I’m afraid I’ve only got one.”

“What?”

“Voice.”

I smile.

“I’ll do my impression of Chandler from Friends if you ask me nicely.”

“Please don’t. It’s terrible.”

“Fair enough. What’s happening there, Beth?”

“I’ve spoken to Lewis and Flora,” I tell him. “They’ve told me a story, and for all I know it’s true, but . . . it’s not the story.”

“How do you mean?”

“I think Kevin Cater and Yanina are harming the children at Newnham House. That’s what Lewis and Flora are scared I’ll find out. I don’t know why they want to protect two mistreaters of children—their children—but I think they do.” This was the conclusion I came to, running back from the beach. “There’s a whole other long story about Georgina, but . . .” I don’t have the energy to explain it all now, and I know Dom won’t mind if I don’t. “Can I speak to the kids?”

“They’re both out.”

“Where?”

“Zannah’s at Murad’s, and Ben’s with Lauren at the cinema. Reluctantly. He’d have preferred to stay at home and play Fortnite, he said.”

“Then he needs to convey that message to her, not you.”

“That’s what I told him. Oh—that woman rang for you.”

“Who?”

“Lou Munday, from the school. She rang about ten minutes ago.”

“The landline?”

“Obviously. She doesn’t have my mobile number, does she? I told her she might get you on yours.”

“I’d better go, then. She might be trying to call me now.”

“Hang on. I want to hear about—”

“I’ll call you back later. Love you. Look after the kids. I’ll take care and be safe, I promise.”

Once I’ve pressed the red button to end the call, I inspect my phone. There’s no evidence of Lou having tried to ring me while I was talking to Dom. Luckily, I have her number stored. I take a bottle of Diet Coke from the minibar in my room, open it and go and sit out on the balcony.

Lou answers on the second ring. “That’s so weird,” she says. “I was just—”

“I know. My husband told me. Has something happened?”

“Kind of. I took a call today at school, from a woman calling herself Jeanette Cater.”

“You mean Flora? I mean . . . the woman you know as Jeanette, with the English accent?”

“No. That’s what was so odd. It sounded like someone putting on an English accent.”

“Yanina, then?”

“I think so. I’m almost positive.”

“Go on.”

“She was phoning to give notice for Thomas. He wasn’t in today, and apparently he won’t be coming back to school at all. And Emily, who was due to start with us in September, now won’t be coming.”

My heart is pounding. I lay my palm flat on my rib cage, as if that will make any difference. Why would this happen today of all days? What have they done to Thomas? Have they only taken him out of school, or have they done something worse?

“Did you tell her that you knew she was lying? That you knew she wasn’t Jeanette Cater?”

“No. I wasn’t sure letting her know that I knew was a good idea.”

If Yanina’s planning to harm those two kids . . .

This is all happening because of me, because I couldn’t leave things alone.

“Beth, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

I’m not. I’m terrified that, by trying to protect Thomas and Emily Cater, I’ve placed them in greater danger. I take deep breaths and try to calm down.

“What else did she tell you?” I ask Lou.

“That they’re leaving the country. Moving to America.”

“When?”

“In the summer. She didn’t say where they were going more specifically. Just said America.”

“If they’re leaving in the summer, why take Thomas out of school now? Why not let him finish the term?”

“Exactly. That’s what I thought,” says Lou.

If Thomas remains at school, other people can observe his behavior, and the behavior of anyone who goes there to drop him off or collect him. And that’s the last thing they want.

“There’s more,” Lou says. “I told her—Yanina, assuming it was her—that she needed to talk to the head teacher about something as important as that. I can’t just cancel school places and take children off lists without it going via the head teacher. There’s all kinds of things to do with notice and fees that need to be dealt with. She said, okay, she’d ring the head. Then the phone rang again, straight away, and I answered it, and it was him: Mr. Cater. ‘I believe you just spoke to my wife?’ he said.”

“Go on.”

“He then tried to tell me the same thing. It was as if he thought it might work better if it came from him. I thought he was going to quibble about money and the notice period, try and save himself a term’s fees, but he didn’t.”

“Why did you think he would?”

“He’s complained about the fees before, many times—which got me thinking. Most parents pay as soon as they receive the bill, but some don’t. A handful always wait until we send our final demand. I’m talking every term. I don’t know what they think will happen. Maybe they hope that one day we’ll forget to chase them about it.”

“Are the Caters part of this late-paying group?” I ask, trying not to spill Coke as I press the cold bottle against my forehead. It’s too bright. I can’t stay out here for much longer.

“Yup,” says Lou. “Anyway, I told Mr. Cater the same as I’d told Yanina—that he’d need to speak to the head. Then I emailed the head and the bursar and told them what had happened, the nanny pretending to be Mrs. Cater, and the bursar sent a reply saying exactly what I’d thought: that there would probably be some wrangling over the notice period in a last-ditch attempt to save some cash, and then she said something else—one line that leaped out at me.”

“What line?” I ask.

“Let me get it up on my screen,” Lou says. “Here it is: ‘I don’t know why the Caters complain about cost—it’s not like the money’s coming out of their accounts.’”

“They don’t pay Thomas’s school fees? Then who does?”

“That’s what I wondered. I emailed right back and asked.”