Page 16 of One Last Smile

He shrugs. “You didn’t miss anything. Oliver and Eliza reminded Mother that they hate her, she reminded them that she doesn’t care, and Father pretended not to notice anything, as he usually does.”

I want to comfort him, but I want more to finally wrest myself free of the poison rotting this family from the inside. So I say, “Yes, well, let’s be grateful it’s over then. Today, we shall review your English, maths, and sciences and determine how much you must learn to pass the sixth form with the appropriate marks. Over the following three days, we will review all your other subjects as well as your elective and create a plan that will allow you to achieve top marks in the form. Do you have access to your current academic record?”

“I do, but… don’t you want to see the collage?”

I stare at him blankly for a moment, then remember. I assigned him to create a collage that will capture the spirit of the Carlton estate. I’d completely forgotten.

“Of course!” I say. “Yes! That will be the first thing we do. Why don’t you bring it downstairs, and I’ll finish my breakfast in a hurry. Then we can review it.”

He brightens, and the relief I feel when I see that smile nearly reduces me to tears. My emotional instability concerns me greatly. I shouldn’t be so fragile.

But I won’t focus on it. The more I focus on it, the worse it will get. An image flashes across my mind of a bespectacled woman with a severe expression and even more severe features telling me the same exact thing, but I don’t focus on that either.

I finish my breakfast, willfully taking each bite into my mouth and swallowing, not caring if I taste it or not. Damn it, this will not be a repeat of the Ashford job!

Lucas runs downstairs, and when he opens the folder and shows me the photos, I feel a touch of relief. Something positive I can use to calm the turmoil in my head.

I smile and look down at the photographs. My smile fades.

Each photograph bears an image of death. A bird, stiff and cold in the middle of a perfectly ordered flower bed. A cockroach, desiccated and curled, on the first step of the gleaming marble porch. A rat, decomposed to the point that only teeth, fur, and bone remain, rotting in front of a poplar carefully trimmed and pruned to immaculate symmetry.

“Do you like it?” he asks hopefully.

I lift my eyes to his and force another smile. “It’s wonderful,” I lie.

He practically glows at the praise. “I wanted to show the juxtaposition of beauty and death,” he says. “The family is focused on appearances, like most families, but underneath, there is decay and rot just like anywhere. I worried I wouldn’t find enough dead creatures—Niall is usually very good at removing them—but I’d forgotten he was taking his day off yesterday, so I was able to get what I needed.”

My head reels again. He talks of decay and rot with the same airy tone one might use to describe a trip to the market. Niall was off yesterday and chose to use his time to prowl the grounds and frighten me. And Lucas’s conclusions about the family are no different from my own, but seeing them represented here in visual form is almost nauseating.

No, it’s literally nauseating. I feel bile rise in my throat and have to lift my gaze to his once more to stifle the vomit. “This is truly exceptional. You have a wonderful talent. I definitely wish to explore this gift further. However, I think we will save that for next week. We must ensure that you are well-set to complete your education.”

He nods. “Very well. I’m so glad you like it. Perhaps I’ll laminate it for you!”

God, please, no. “I’d like that. But study must come first.”

“Of course. My records are on my laptop in my bedroom. Shall I take it to the study?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

Lucas has excellent marks in school. I’m not surprised by this. He truly is a gifted child, and his inquisitive nature lends itself well to academic work. Unlike many artistically gifted people, he is not afflicted with the usual boredom that prevents excellence in maths and sciences. I believe I will have a quite easy time instructing him. With very little in the way of catch-up to do, we are able to review all of his subjects as well. His elective, of course, is photography, and it goes without saying he excels in it.

By the end of the day, it is clear he will need only the usual instruction of a gifted sixth-former. It is equally clear that he will be able to self-manage.

Veronica, of course, is quite pleased to hear this. She crows with delight over dinner, and the other two children shoot me sour looks, unhappy that I’ve given their mother another reason to sing Lucas’s praises.

The breaking point comes when, after a lengthy soliloquy on Lucas’s acute intelligence, Veronica fixes another sharklike grin on him and says, “He takes after his mother.”

Eliza, who ordinarily remains passive during these exchanges, meets her mother’s eye and says, “Well, he certainly doesn’t take after Father, does he?”

As with Oliver’s joke about Sebastian’s first wife from before, everyone’s smile vanishes aside from those of Oliver and Eliza, who look at Veronica with triumphant grins on their faces.

“He reminds me more of Minnie than us, doesn’t he, Eliza?” Oliver asks casually.

“That’s enough!” Sebastian thunders.

We all jump at the sound of that voice. Sebastian’s eyes fix on his older son, and Oliver shrinks under his gaze. “I will not hear that name mentioned again! Is that clear?”

“Clear, Father,” Oliver whispers.

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