I went into the office and pulled the door slightly shut, then turned on the computer. It was still logged into Maren’s user account.
I found the e-mail icon and clicked on it, and immediately Maren’s in-box was on the screen. Ninety-four unread messages. Many of them in relation to the project management of the build, some of them urgent. More than half were more than three days old. Why hadn’t Maren checked them? Wasn’t she employed to do the housework and admin? I remembered then a comment she’d made about being a Luddite—obviously she wasn’t keen on admin that involved technology.
I scrolled down. Some from Tom, a dozen from his accountant with red exclamation marks. But there was one e-mail, right at the bottom of the list, that made me freeze. The subject was “Application for Nanny Position.” The sender was Sophie Hallerton.
I am writing to apply for the nanny position advertised a few weeks ago—I do hope that I’m not too late and that you’re still accepting applications!
I have extensive experience working with children in a variety of capacities, and I am available immediately to accompany them to Norway. I have attached my cover letter and CV here and look forward to hearing more if the position is still available.
My very best,
Sophie Hallerton
I could not believe what I was reading. Sophie had actually applied for the job. What had happened to her pregnant friend? Maybe she had lost the baby. Poor Seren.
Whatever the cause of Sophie’s change of heart, I had to act fast. I blocked her e-mail from Maren’s account.
Quickly I trawled through Maren’s older messages until I located a message from Verity Porter. I quickly scanned the glowing reference she had sent before blocking her e-mail as well. In all likelihood, both Verity and Sophie had more than one e-mail account. Perhaps Sophie would follow up with a second e-mail to check whether Maren had received her e-mail. Damn. Quickly I unblocked her again, typed out a hasty reply from Maren’s account (Dear Sophie, I’m afraid the position has been filled, but thank you for thinking of us. Best wishes, Maren), then deleted the message from the Sent folder and reblocked Sophie’s.
Even then, I knew that this was no prevention against being caught. In fact, by replying to Sophie I had possibly made things worse . . .
Lexi.
I looked up, startled by a whispering that sounded distinctly like my real name. Two syllables whispered hoarsely by someone close by. All the hairs on my arms stood on end.
I stepped lightly to the doorframe and peeked out into the dark corridor. No sign of Gaia, or Maren. But then a movement in the kitchen caught my eye.
It was dark, but as my eyes adjusted I saw the outline of a figure by the sink. A woman. I saw immediately that it wasn’t Maren—she was shorter and seemed to have long dark hair in a kind of loose, wet ponytail. Did Tom have female builders working on the site? I didn’t recall seeing any, and in any case she wasn’t exactly dressed for construction work—she was barefoot and wore a long gray dress, and even though I only flashed a look at her I deduced that she was wet. Like, soaking wet, as if she’d been caught in the rain. But she wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t grabbing a tea towel to dry her hair—she was just standing there, her back to me, hands by her sides.
“Hello?” I called. No answer. “Can I help you?”
I took a few steps into the kitchen and flicked on the light. And then I jumped.
The woman was nowhere to be seen. Fear pinioned me to the spot. How had she managed to walk out the door in just a few seconds? My heart was racing. I glanced at the door, then walked nervously toward it, checking the handle. Locked. I felt my breathing grow labored with a mixture of confusion and fear. I had seen her, hadn’t I? She had stood right there, by the window, dripping wet.
“Sophie?”
I flung around to see Maren approaching, her face crumpled in confusion.
“There was . . . a woman . . .” I stammered.
“A woman?”
I nodded like Tigger. “Yes. She was standing here.”
Maren glanced into the office. The light of the computer screen shone on her face and she turned back to me.
“What were you doing in here?” she said archly, and this time her suspicion was naked, angry.