Page 5 of The Beast's Heart

That deep breath whooshes out of me as soon as I see my quarters.

The mystery designer clearly had a hand in this room too. The wooden floors are covered with a variety of richly patterned rugs and at the center of the room, there’s a four-poster bed, draped in olive damask that compliments the wallpaper. I want to take a closer look at the walls, but my attention catches on the writing desk on the left of the room, which has a vinyl record player sitting on it.

I turn on the spot, trying to take everything in. In addition to the bed and the desk, there’s a large wooden wardrobe and a plush green armchair beneath a bay window.

Dad would love this just as much as I do. This was meant to be his. His crowning achievement after a long career. Considering how hard he’s worked and how much he’s sacrificed for us, he should be here.

But what if he had a fit, like he did last year?

Zane’s voice on the phone. “Something’s happened. Your father collapsed. He’s on his way to hospital. I’m coming to get you.”

An hour or more driving into London, not sure he’d even be alive when I got there.

I pull out my phone, but there are no bars. I slip it back into my pocket and rub at the heaviness in my chest.

It’s not fair that Dad’s poor health denied him this, that I have to be the villain who takes it away.

Will he ever forgive me?

I step around my suitcase, which has been set just within the room, and go to browse through the records stacked beside the record player. It’s all classical music, mostly symphonies and concertos. I select Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony—the one he composed once he’d lost his hearing and retreated to the country. The record cover depicts an idyllic landscape, not dissimilar to what I can see through my window.

When I slide the needle into place, Beethoven’s upbeat first movement fills the room and, for a few minutes at least, the hollow place inside me.

4

ADAM

“So why is he here?” I ask Meredith.

I’m back in my control room, staring at Jonathan’s cherubic face on the screen of her tablet. It’s his passport photo and not the most flattering, but something about his alarmed expression is endearing. Only Meredith could pull off such a fast identity check. I’m almost afraid to ask how.

I was right about the family resemblance. The Jonathan Belle settling into my teacher’s quarters is the youngest child of the Jonathan Belle we interviewed and hired for this position. He’s 24, Oxfordmagna cum laudeand a qualified teacher (with a specialization in early childhood development). He’s more than qualified for the position, although in my experience book smart is not the same as street smart, and street smarts is what he’ll need to handle this lot. Then again, Meredith’s been doing fine with them up till now and she has neither experience with children, nor a degree.

“Maybe we should call his father and ask?” she suggests.

“Or you could askhim.” Geoff is reclining in my chair now, with his feet on my desk, tossing a scrunched-up ball of paper into the air and catching it.

I pass Meredith’s tablet back to her. “If we lose him, we’ll have to start the hiring process from scratch.” Just the thought makes my head throb. “The academic year is well underway now. We’ll have lost our shot at the others on our short list. And there’s the matter of the press…”

Her eyes widen with realization. “You’re not thinking of keeping him on?”

I turn to Geoff. “The magazine feature. Did we send through photographs?”

“Bro! We were talking about this like an hour ago. They want to send a photographer.”

“Well, that’s not happening.”

“Um, pretty sure you said they could? Meredith, didn’t he say that?”

She shrugs noncommittally.

This is what I get for not paying attention. “I told you before. No one in without quarantine.”

“Chill. They’ll wear masks.”

A battle for another time.To Meredith I say, “We don’t need another delay right now. It’s hard enough getting the media to take this project seriously. They have names but not faces. We never told them how old our teacher is. We could run with this.”

“Sorry, what?” Geoff’s feet hit the floor with a thud.

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