Chapter 4: The Woman at the Bottom of the Stairs
Evelyn Palmer was sixty-three years old and had spent most of those years deferring to the men in her family.
She had deferred to her husband until he left her.
She had deferred to Brandon because he was the eldest and because he had money and because it was simply easier.
I had never once seen her hold her car keys like a decision.
"I'll drive you," she said.
Brandon appeared at the top of the stairs behind us.
"Mother."
Evelyn didn't look up at him.
"The children need their coats.
It's cold tonight." She moved to the hall cupboard and took out Lucas's jacket, then Amelia's.
She knelt down — slowly, because her knees were not what they were — and began doing up Amelia's buttons.
"Mother, stay out of this."
"I am getting my grandchildren's coats on." She didn't raise her voice.
"That is what I am doing."
Brandon came down three steps.
"You don't know what's happening here."
"I know exactly what's happening here." Evelyn stood.
She finally looked up at him.
"I've known for four months.
David Fenwick is an old friend of your father's.
He called me before he called Rachel Harlow."
The hallway went completely silent.
Cynthia appeared behind Brandon on the stairs.
She had changed out of the emerald dress.
She was wearing one of Brandon's shirts.
The self-assured smile was nowhere on her face.
"You knew," Brandon said to his mother.
The word came out flat.
"You sat at that dinner table tonight and you knew."
"I sat at that table tonight because Charlotte asked me to be there." Evelyn picked up one of the suitcases.
"I was a witness.
That's all."
Brandon's hand came down on the banister.
"You were a witness," he repeated.
"To what, exactly?"
"To you announcing, in front of your children, your mother, your brother, and a recorder you didn't know was running, that you intended to install your mistress in the family home." Evelyn's voice was perfectly level.
"Rachel will find that useful, I imagine."
Brandon looked at me.
"The recorder." His voice was very quiet.
"That's what the handbag was."
I didn't answer him.
Justin appeared from the sitting room doorway.
He had his phone in his hand and he was looking at Brandon with an expression I had never seen on him before — something between pity and exhaustion, like a man who had been waiting a long time for a bill to come due.
"I called a car," Justin said.
"For Charlotte.
It's outside."
"You called a—" Brandon stopped.
He looked from his mother to his brother to me.
"Both of you.
You both knew."
"I found out tonight," Justin said.
"When Evelyn told me before dinner why she'd asked me to come." He slid his phone into his pocket.
"I stayed because she asked me to stay.
Same reason."
Brandon sat down on the stair.
Not dramatically.
Not in collapse.
He simply sat, the way a person sits when their legs make the decision before their mind does.
Cynthia put her hand on his shoulder from behind.
He didn't seem to notice it.
"Charlotte." His voice had changed again.
The calculation was gone.
What was underneath it was harder to name.
"Where are you taking my children?"
"Somewhere safe."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting tonight." I looked at him for a moment.
Nine years.
Three children.
A recorder in a handbag.
"Rachel will be in touch on Monday."
I picked up the third suitcase.
Evelyn opened the front door.
The cold air came in, and Lucas walked through first, still carrying the second bag, still not saying anything.
Amelia followed, holding the hood of her coat closed with both small hands.
I stepped through last.
May you like
Behind me, I heard Cynthia say his name softly.
Brandon didn't answer her.
