She’d said the words with harsh, bald certainty. No room for doubt or misunderstanding, no details or explanation. Just the cold hard facts, followed by a swift disconnection.
Cassie felt sobs rising inside her, so deep and visceral that she was fearful of letting them out, because she knew her grief and guilt and self-blame could not be stopped.
Her sister was no longer alive.
What had happened? Confusion filled her as she remembered that she’d been alive just a few weeks ago. Both Tim, the friendly barman, and the hostel owner in Bellagio had confirmed it.
Had she been sick, suffering from a deadly disease? Or had her death been accidental, a swift, unavoidable tragedy; her body mangled in a road wreck or suffocated in a gas leak or caught up in a mugging or robbery?
Cassie clutched her forehead. Her temples were throbbing with stress. She’d been so close. She’d come within a hair’s breadth of finding her sister, only to discover that she was gone forever.
“Oh, Jacqui,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I tried; I really did.”
As the shock of the words sunk in, grief followed, and Cassie found herself wailing uncontrollably.
She buried her head in her hands, and for a while, all she could do was endure the pain as she cried. The loss seemed unbearable. The agony of it was as sharp as a knife wound. The woman’s words had opened up raw edges of grief inside her that she feared would never be able to heal.
It seemed like a long while later that Cassie raised her head again. She felt weak and drained, and for now, she had no more tears to cry.
She went to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and rubbed her eyes. Looking at her swollen-eyed reflection, she realized she had moved past the stage of shocked acceptance. Now, her mind was filled with questions.
How recent was the death? Was there a funeral, had Jacqui been buried? Who had taken charge during this tragic event?
Another important question—why had Mirabella slammed the phone down on her after delivering that devastating news? Why hadn’t she stayed on the line and talked to Cassie, and explained what had happened? After all, Cassie had introduced herself as Jacqui’s sister. Mirabella had known she was speaking to family.
Now that Cassie had started thinking more clearly, she couldn’t come up with a valid reason for Mirabella’s behavior. It was irrational, confusing, and had been extremely cruel, too.
With a surge of fright, Cassie wondered if she’d misremembered the conversation.
What if the woman had actually explained what had happened to her sister, and in the stress of the moment, Cassie had suffered from a memory blank and had forgotten what had been said?
That made sweat spring out on her palms, because she knew it was possible, it had happened to her before, and it was usually triggered by extreme stress.
The kind of stress that a person might feel when told their sister had died.
There was only one way to find out. She would have to call Mirabella again and ask for more details on her sister’s death.
She picked up the phone again, feeling sick with dread, and dialed the number.
To her confusion, Mirabella did not answer the call. It didn’t even go through to voicemail, but just rang and rang.
She ended the call, wondering if there had been a faulty connection. While she redialed, she tried her best to gather her thoughts.
She wasn’t going mad. She was sure she hadn’t misremembered the conversation. And she was convinced that her sister couldn’t be dead. Not in such a short timeframe, when she’d been alive and well so recently.
Perhaps Mirabella was sick of people asking for Jacqui, perhaps Jacqui had a persistent ex-boyfriend who was driving everyone nuts, or maybe she’d left the boutique on bad terms, and in a fit of temper Mirabella had decided to say that dreadful thing.
This gave Cassie a glimmer of hope, but the only problem was that she couldn’t confirm it. Yet again, the phone rang unanswered, and then the click and scrape of the front door opening told her that the children were home.
After her lonely morning, and the shocking discovery she’d had to deal with, she was glad to see Nina and Venetia. She was grateful for their company, which provided a distraction from her frantic thoughts.
“Did you have a good day at school?” she asked.
They looked as neat and trim as they had when walking out the door. Cassie had vague memories of her own school days, where she’d arrived home in a state of disarray, having lost her hair tie or broken her bag or mislaid her jacket.
“My day was good, thank you,” Nina said politely.
Venetia was more talkative.
“I did a math test and came first in my class,” she said, and that prompted Nina to speak again.
“We have a spelling competition tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it, because our team won the last one.”
“Well done for your math test, Venetia, and Nina, I’m sure your team will do well. I can help you practice later if you like. Now, have you both had lunch?”
“Yes, we have,” Nina replied.
“Then why don’t you change out of your school uniforms. And then, shall we find a fun activity to do for a while, before it gets dark?”
The girls exchanged glances. It was something Cassie realized they did often, as if they needed to check in with each other before saying yes.
“All right,” Nina said.
As the girls filed obediently upstairs to get changed, Cassie felt perplexed by their overly formal behavior. She had expected that by now they would have relaxed into their normal personalities. It was as if the girls were constantly keeping her at arm’s length, and she was worried that they might resent her presence, although she didn’t know why.
This also made it difficult to interact with them; it was as if they were two small, perfectly obedient robots. The only real conversation they had offered so far was to talk about schoolwork.
There was only one person who could change the situation, and that was her. No doubt these children were not used to being looked after by ordinary people, who weren’t highly intelligent specialists or business leaders, but she could only be who she was.
The thought of helping them with homework crossed her mind, but homework was a boring task, and in any case the girls seemed to prefer to do their chores independently and without help.
How about playing a proper game with them, Cassie thought. That was what seemed to be missing in their overly serious, high-powered lives. Brilliant and destined for success they might be, but they were still only eight and nine years old, and needed playtime.
Pleased by having thought of an activity that they would enjoy, where she could contribute her own energy and imagination, she headed upstairs to put on her jacket.
“It looks like it might rain soon, but it’s holding off for now, so shall we go and play in the garden?” she asked Nina.
Nina looked up at her politely.
“We don’t usually do that,” she said.
Cassie’s heart sank. These children were pushing her away.
Venetia appeared at Nina’s bedroom door.
“I would like to play,” she said.
Cassie saw that on the shelf above Nina’s bookcase, there were a few toys. They were too high up for the children to reach, but there was a beautiful doll which looked like an expensive collector’s item, rather than a toy, a puzzle in an unopened box, and a soft, colorful ball.
“Shall we go and play catch outside?” she suggested, reaching for the ball.
Again, the girls exchanged a glance, as if reaching