And then, in a matter of minutes, we were on flat tarmac, the road that swept past Granhus and the forest and ran above the fjord. The view ahead was dazzling, and Derry turned to survey my face with glee.
“See?” she said, turning back to look over the fjord, which was a glistening purple necklace running across a nape of silvery rock. We could see sky clearly now, and it was sequined with white stars. I actually gasped. I had never seen a sky like it. Back home, the night sky was flat and mud brown, with maybe a star or two managing to peek through the city smog.
“Look at you!” Derry laughed, laying a hand on my arm. “You look like you’re going to cry!” She took a deep breath through her nostrils and planted her hands on her hips, stretching from side to side. “I don’t blame you. This is exactly why I come out here every morning. By eight o’clock the landscape is completely different. Cars, tractors, boats . . .” She lifted her head to the sky. “And this time of year is ideal for catching sight of the northern lights. I’ve not seen them yet, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”
We walked side by side downhill along the grass verge of the road, which narrowed to a ridge close to the side of the cliff. Below us were terraces of fields and trees. On the other side of the fjord a white waterfall feathered down the cliff.
“So tell me about yourself,” Derry said, clearly walking slower than she’d like. “What brought you all the way out here?”
I tried not to show I was panting for breath, woefully unfit. “I, uh, I’m a nanny. I applied for the job . . .”
She gave a high-pitched laugh. “I know that, silly. You’re based in London, I take it?”
I tried to think. Was Sophie based in London? “Uh, I nannied for Verity for some time in London, but before that I was in Durham.” Phew. I’d actually remembered some crucial elements of Sophie’s CV. But I needed to steer the conversation away from me—or Sophie—to something less likely to get me unmasked.
“You’ll have heard about the tragic backstory, then,” Derry said, glancing at me. “Aurelia. Awful. How are the girls taking it? I’ll expect you’ve had to deal with some tears.”
I thought about Gaia waking in the night, shrieking. About Maren, and how sad she’d looked when she asked me about my own suicide attempt. “Yes. It’s so sad.” Then, feeling brave: “Did you know Aurelia well?”
A sigh. “I thought I did. You don’t really ever know someone fully, do you? She was a wonderful woman. Beautiful, rich, successful . . . I’m so pleased you’re taking care of those wonderful girls of hers. They’ve lost so much. Well, you can imagine,” she said, and I made sure to nod deeply to show I most definitely could. “And Tom was such a good husband. It was all for her, the house he’s building. But . . . I suppose she had demons.”
I thought back to the conversation with Maren. “I guess you never know what goes on behind closed doors.”
“What do you mean?” she replied, quick as a flash.
I needed to be careful how I answered this. She was friends with Tom, and anything I said against him was probably going to filter back. “Oh, it’s just a general observation,” I said, backpedaling as smoothly as a drunk clown on a unicycle. “You never really know someone. People can be struggling with their own issues behind what appears to be a perfectly wonderful life.”
“True,” she conceded.
“So what brings you out here, then?” I asked, giving the subject of Aurelia a wide berth. For the past few weeks Derry had seemed to just hang out at Granhus, her days carved up by a hectic schedule of yoga and meditation.
“You mean, why would I come somewhere that has no cafés, restaurants, or yoga studios?” she replied with a laugh, marching a few steps ahead. “Well, I’m freelance, so I’m pretty much able to take my work anywhere I please.”
“You’re a writer?” I asked. I’d seen her spend a number of afternoons scribbling into a notebook.
“I’m a designer,” she said. “But I do write now and then. Just as a hobby. I wrote a screenplay last year.”
“Wow. A screenplay,” I said. “That’s incredible.”
“Thanks,” she said, beaming. “I’d like to attempt a novel, but it seems too . .