Page 7 of Payback

A lump formed in my throat. When we were young, it was just her and me, living in that cramped Brooklyn apartment. Mom would leave me with a neighbor whenever she was lucky enough to get modeling work. But it had been fun. Mrs. Williams had daughters my age, and I had loved the sleepovers. I’d never felt neglected until she had married and decided to send me to an exclusive prep school.

The piano restarted, ending the silence, but the melodic sounds did nothing to soothe my nerves.

“Are you sure you sent them to me?” Mom asked in a voice as soft as a hug. “My number hasn’t changed.”

Rudolph must have gotten one of his minions to change the number I had for Mom on my phone to make it look like she wasn’t communicating with me. His home was full of servants. One of them could have snuck into my room while I was asleep or in the shower and done the deed.

“It’s an impostor,” I whispered.

Mom’s lips turned down. “I traveled down to Mercia in October and spoke to the headmaster, but he told me you were on a school trip.”

A pang of sadness struck my heart. I reached for the napkin and twisted its ends, anything to distract me from the oncoming tears. Maybe she thought I was lying to cover up having snubbed her all year. It was as though she couldn’t believe anyone would go so far to impersonate me, and she was scrabbling for other explanations. After the events of this term and the last, I was willing to believe anything of Rudolph. Mom had probably only seen his charming side.

The waiter strode out from beside the bar and took our orders. As soon as he left, I turned my attention back to Mom. “I didn’t send any of these texts.”

Her brows drew together. “They sounded like the kind of things you would say.” In a smaller voice, she added, “I wondered if you resented me for not insisting that you stayed in New York.”

My shoulders drooped, and I slumped into my seat. I had resented her for a lot of things, but it had been my decision to go to England, even though I had secretly wished she had seen through Rudolph’s attempt to keep us apart by sending me abroad.

With a long sigh, I said, “Someone’s put a wedge between us, and I think I know who.”

“Rudolph,” she snapped.

“Huh?” I hadn’t expected her to come to that conclusion so quickly.

“Every time we traveled to Europe, I would ask to stop at Southampton.” Mom balled her fists, looking as though she wanted to slam them on the table.

“Why?”

“It’s the nearest airport to Mercia Academy. Rudolph would make an excuse and offer to drop me off at one of the London airports. I suppose he needed time for his impostor to fabricate a convincing excuse for why we couldn’t see each other.”

The waiter placed an egg-white omelet in her place setting, and she murmured her thanks. It was a far cry from the usual graceful appreciation she would show serving staff, but I guessed she was in shock.

I thanked the waiter for my avocado toast with poached egg, something I hadn’t eaten since coming to England. How much should I tell her about recent events? There was the gauntlet and my being framed for Henry’s kidnapping, but the events of the second term had made what I had suffered back then insignificant.

“Emilia,” said Mom. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

I poked my poached egg and stared at the yolk bleeding out into the avocado. Was there any point in rehashing my experience with Mr. Carbuncle and breaking her heart? Even though suspicions about Rudolph lingered in the forefront of my mind, I kind of believed that Philippe was behind the kidnapping.

Since he worked for the Saturday Correspondent, he knew that Rudolph had paid the Bournevilles a million pounds not to press charges against me for Henry’s abduction. It would make sense in his twisted mind that Rudolph would pay the same amount to stop pictures of the battered face of his stepdaughter from appearing in the press.

Before I could muster up an answer, Mom’s phone rang. A scowl crossed her delicate features. “If that’s him checking up on me…”

“Mom!” I dropped my fork. “Don’t confront him, yet.”

“Why not?” she hissed. “All this time, he’s been keeping us apart. I want to know why!”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“What?”

“He wants you to himself.” Her bullish expression remained in place, and I added, “Plus, you don’t know what he’ll do to either of us if you accuse him without all the facts.”

Mom sniffed. “Alright. I’ll hold my silence until I hear the full story. But if that old degenerate has done anything else, I’ll wring his scrawny neck.”

I blew out a sigh of relief. When Mom was agitated enough, there was no stopping her temper.

“Hello,” she said with an impatient snap in her tone.