“Will there be a service? Do you need help planning it?”
“I . . . ,” she starts. She doesn’t mean to lie. But there’s no way to tell him the truth, nothing that he’d believe. “I kept Eden in Cornwall because I thought she’d be safe there,” she says, deflecting the question. “Even after the company took off, and I moved to the States, I kept her at the cottage there because . . .” She trails off. Because she loved the sea and the sky and the cold air so much, and she would hate it in the city. Because Robert and Isaac are buried there, and I wanted her with family. Because I could protect her better there. “I was wrong.”
Barry looks at her. “Is that a no? On the service?”
For years, Barry has fixed every problem she’s encountered. That’s his job, and he’s very, very good at it. She wants to unload, tell him everything, throw herself on his mercy and beg for help. But at best, he’d think she is crazy. At worst, he’d accuse her of child abuse. So she simply nods. “No service.”
“I suppose that’s smart—I can already imagine the headlines. ‘Secret Darling Family Daughter Dies Under Mysterious Circumstances,’ or some such. The London press would love it.”
Holly winces. This is one of the reasons she fled to New York after the accident. For over a decade she’s imagined the same sordid stories—or worse. Unlike Barry, her imagined headlines are based on past experience with the tabloids: “Awfully Sad Adventure: Darling Daughter Loses Spouse, Child in Car Crash,” “Darling Daughter, Twin, Hover in Neverland Between Life and Death.” And that’s just her own life. It doesn’t include the paparazzi that have dogged her family for years. She downs the rest of her drink.
“I’m sorry,” Barry says, running a hand over his shiny scalp. “I didn’t mean to sound flippant. What do you need?”
What she needs is to get back to England, fast, and find Eden. Wherever she is. She thinks of that open window, of the black sky and the crashing waves beyond it, and shudders.
“Holly?” Barry’s looking at her again, but this time, his gaze is more searching. He has what she calls his lawyer look on. It’s as if she’s a contract, and he’s found the line that’s not supposed to be there.
“Yes. Sorry.” She gives a bitter little laugh. “You were right. The phone call—hearing the news—was tougher than I thought.” She closes her eyes and leans back against the couch, more to keep her thoughts from him than because she’s exhausted. “I need a flight home, as soon as I can get one. And I need a safe place for Jack. Can he stay with you?”
“Jack’s always welcome with us, you know that. Minerva and the kids will be thrilled. But what do you mean, a safe place?” That lawyer tone again.
“I need someone to watch over him,” she says. She can’t think about all the ways it can go wrong for Jack right now. “I’m not planning on telling him about Eden, but in case something comes out, I want him with someone I trust. I could leave him at the apartment with the housekeeper, but I’d rather leave him with you.”
“Of course. But . . .”
She sits up, opens her eyes. She’s not having this conversation, not letting Barry make her second-guess her choices. “I’ll make out his schedule for you,” she says briskly. “Lacrosse is about over, so it won’t be that complicated.”
Barry takes the hint. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
How long does it take to find a missing daughter? She has no idea. “At least a week, maybe more.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Don’t worry about anything. Which reminds me. For what it’s worth, the meeting with Lauren was a success. She couldn’t stop gushing. They’ve signed on the dotted line and we’re to start production immediately.”
“That’s worth celebrating,” Holly says, trying to rally. She clinks her empty glass against his.
“To Darling Skin Care,” he says.
“To the fabulous lawyer who made it happen.”
He shrugs modestly and takes a sip. “If you say so, it must be true.”
“You know it is,” she says. “I couldn’t do it without you. You’re a genius.”
He bows, drains his drink. “Yeah,” he admits. “I kind of am.”
Holly puts her glass down. It’s time to get to work. She stands, a little shaky still from the massive amount of adrenaline her body’s been pumping out, and maybe a little woozy from the booze.
“A bunch of the team is going out to celebrate,” Barry says. He’s watching her as if he’s afraid she might need rescuing again. “I know it’s the last thing you must feel like doing, but why don’t you come? It might take your mind off things, cheer you up, until you can get a flight.”
Holly shakes her head. “I’m going to try and finish up some loose ends before I head home to Jack. Raise a glass for me, okay? I’ll let you know what time I’m leaving, and we can figure out how to get Jack to you then.”
“Of course,” Barry says. She can read the pity in his face, and turns away to her desk. But he follows her there. Like he’d followed her to Darling Skin Care. But the days of leaning on Barry, inviting him into her maelstrom of a life, have passed. He has a wonderful wife, a happy family. She won’t jeopardize that.
“I’ll leave you some notes,” she says, opening her desk drawer and riffling through it. “The biggest thing will be feeding him. Jack eats more than even Minerva can cook.”
She pulls out a piece of paper, starts scribbling random notes about Jack’s schedule.
“Holly.”
“Hmmm?” She doesn’t look up.
“I really am so sorry. When was the last time you saw her? Eden, I mean.”
She wants to say, I see her every time I look in the mirror. Every night in my dreams. Every time I look at Jack. But she doesn’t.
“January,” she says instead. “I saw Eden this past January.”
And her face was still as beautiful as the stars.
Chapter Three
After Barry leaves, Holly calls her assistant about flights. There’s nothing available until tomorrow morning, so she has the girl book it, then tells her to cancel all of her meetings for the next week.
“Should I reschedule them?”
“Say . . .” Holly hesitates. A vision of Eden the last time she visited comes to her, unbidden. The frail figure beneath the sheets, the pale skin, the unearthly stillness. She’s seized with the certainty that it’s all a mistake. A miscommunication. It has to be. She presses her palms into her eyes.
“Say I had a family emergency and you’ll get back to them. Leave it at that.” She hangs up, then calls the cottage again.
The same nurse answers. She’s less hysterical, more firm in her answers: Yes, the staff has searched the whole house and property and Eden is not there. No one else has been spotted, either by the nursing staff or the gardener, who was outside working all morning. No one has contacted the house. Is Dr. Darling certain she does not want to call the police?
Dr. Darling is quite certain.
After she hangs up the phone, Holly stares at it. Ring, she thinks, but it doesn’t.
If Eden is incapable of moving herself, then someone must have moved her. And if someone has taken her, Holly has to face the possibility that Eden herself is the prize, that someone has discovered her worth, despite the safeguards Holly has put in place. And the fact that no note has been left, that no one has called demanding money . . .
That thought alone almost sends her back into a panic attack.
But what if it’s something more mundane? What if it is only because Eden’s a Darling? A rich, easy target ripe for kidnapping? Is she being wildly foolish for not calling the authorities?
She has to move, do something, or she’ll go crazy, so she leaves her office and heads to the far end of the hall. She swipes her key card at the locked door, and it opens with a sighing sound. There’s a row of hooks with lab coats along the wall. She slips on a coat, pushes through the final door, and enters the lab.
Elliot Benton, her best scientist, is sitting on a stool in front of a computer. He looks up, startled.