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‘What?’
‘Books.’
‘You have to leave.’
‘Is it this way?’ I point past her.
‘No. Get out!’
She’s lying. I run along the corridor, stopping at each door. Turning handles. Peering inside. A cloakroom. A lounge with a leather sofa. A games room with a pool table. The housekeeper puts down the tray and yells for help. Men are responding.
Another door. The right one, or the wrong one. I’m in the library where shelves and books reach to the ceiling. Heavy drapes cover a bay window. I see the painting above the mantelpiece. It’s the one I remember, of the old man and his dogs. My knees begin to shake, and the room falls away. I’m a child, standing in the same room. A younger man is standing next to the fireplace. Thin and pale skinned, he is wearing a three-piece suit.
‘Is she ready?’ he asks.
‘She hasn’t spoken, but she understands,’ answers the woman.
‘Maybe she’s simple.’
‘I don’t think so.’
He shrugs. ‘Well, he’s looking for a daughter, not a dinner companion. Dress her in something nice. He’ll be here at six.’
23
Cyrus
I’m driving too quickly along the road that follows the natural contours of the land like water running downhill. Trees arch overhead, the canopies almost touching, showing only glimpses of blue and white behind the leaves. Cloud and sky. We emerge from woodland onto a ridge with a wide view of the western horizon. I look for somewhere to pull over. The engine ticks as it cools.
Evie hasn’t said a word since we left Glengowrie. She fainted on the floor of the library and regained consciousness as I carried her to the car. Now she’s hugging her knees, rocking in place, staring into the distance.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers, lifting a hand to wipe her eyes.
‘What happened?’ asks Florence.
‘I remembered.’
‘What did you remember?’
‘The chandelier, the room upstairs, the man in the painting.’
‘What painting?’ I ask.
‘It was in the library; he had two dogs. Golden retrievers.’
‘Are you sure it was the same house?’ I ask.
Evie nods.
‘How long were you there?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Days? Weeks? Months?’
She shakes her head.
‘Tell me why you remember this painting.’
