Page 70 of Taboo
I turn away. I have to hurry. Max could come home at any time. I drag the wheelbarrow back to the shed and put it back exactly where I found it. I ensure that everything is in place, and then I quietly close the door. Wiping my damp, muddy hands on my dress, I run back to the conservatory. The cup. The broken cup.
I sweep up the pieces and bin them.
My story forms in my mind as I hurry back upstairs to my room. Poor Amelia, she must’ve hit her head on the swing, fallen into the lake, what a tragic accident. The staff will believe it; Max will believe it. I am sure of it. I change out of my dress and get into the shower.
I wash my body quickly and step out again. I put on my nightie and, to my shock, the door swings open. I nearly lose my mind from panic. It flares hot as Max steps in. He’s back from work, and he looks exhausted. His tie loosened, but his face, though tired, looks sharp, his eyes narrowing as they meet mine.
“Sara?” he says, his voice rough, surprised. “What are you doing still up?” His gaze flicks past me, searching.
I clench my hands by my sides, the lie already forming on my lips. "Amelia went to bed early, but I was worried about mymom, so I couldn’t sleep. I was downstairs in the conservatory drinking a cup of tea, but I’m sure I’ll sleep now that you’re here."
"Alright," he says.
Chapter
Forty-Six
MAX
Istart to head towards the bathroom, but then something occurs to me.
“Maria told me Amelia slept all day, and she still went to bed early? Is everything okay? Did you see her? Didn’t she have dinner?”
“Uh,” I watch as something akin to confusion flashes across her face, but she gathers herself and responds. “Yes, Maria saved her dinner, and she had it. She’s fine. Just exhausted from trying to keep her publisher’s deadline.”
“Okay,” I reply and turn away. “I just remembered that I need to make some transatlantic phone calls so I’ll be in the study for the next hour.”
“Alright,” she says to my departing back.
I don’t want to stay in the bedroom because it would mean joining Sara in bed, and it is the last thing I need. What I want is to be with Amelia in her room and in her arms, but that clearly is no longer a possibility. Sighing, I trudge along to the office and wonder what I’m going to do about Sara. Now that she’s back,I have to admit that her presence in my life feels totally wrong, like a shadow where there should be light.
The study door clicks shut behind me. I pour myself a glass of whiskey and slump into the leather chair. Taking a sip, I rub my temples. My head is pounding with everything that’s wrong with my life—Sara, Amelia, Jason. My phone sits heavy in my pocket, and I’m half-tempted to call Amelia. Maybe a text? Maybe she isn’t asleep, and feels just as uncomfortable as I am with Sara’s presence, so she’s hiding in her room. I’d love to hear her voice, but I decide against it.
Just then, a sharp knock shatters the quiet. “Max, I need to speak to you,” Sara calls out.
I stiffen, my jaw clenching. “Can it wait until tomorrow?” I reply, not wanting to see her. “I need to make these calls.”
But the door is pushed open regardless. I am taken aback that she has entered without being invited in.
“What are you doing?” I ask, frowning darkly.
And it is only then that I notice the immense change in the expression on her face. She’s always seemed somewhat passive, almost deliberately emotionless, but right now it is as though she has unleashed something ugly from the inside of her and etched it into her face. Her face is a mask of fury and hate, her brown eyes menacing and glinting with something I’ve never seen before.
I jump to my feet. “Sara, what’s wrong? Is Jason okay?”
“Jason’s fine,” she says, “but you’re the one who clearly isn’t.”
I pause. What’s going on? “Excuse me?”
She doesn’t answer, just pulls her phone out and taps the screen. Then she brings it over and shoves the phone toward me. My stomach lurches as I see it—a grainy video of Amelia and me in the pool, our bodies tangled as we made love. My breath stops, my heart hammering as a sickening wave of shock floods my veins.
“Sara, what—” I choke out, instantly filled with concern for Amelia more than anything else. My eyes flick from the screen to Sara’s face, and what I see is her smile, cold, triumphant, like a predator baring its teeth.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Max?” she hisses, her voice low and venomous. “Sneaking around, fucking your own blood sister? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Her eyes are blazing with hatred. I watch in amazement, noting how deranged she seems.
“I saw it from the start," she says. "At the funeral, the way you looked at her, like you couldn’t wait to fuck her. Who could have imagined that you had the hots for her? Your own sister. But I knew right then that you did. But it was all well and good. It was just the opening I needed Max to get out of this nightmare you call a ‘relationship’.”
