Page 7 of Dead to Me

Seaton moved past them, heading for the large living room, which at least had only a few cups, plates and books scattered around, along with a vase of wilted flowers from Seaton’s own garden that she’d failed to put enough water in.He tried not to take their unloved state personally.This was just how she was.

When Anna had moved in here, Seaton had arranged for a cleaner to come in two days a week, acutely aware that she might be hosting the Pitt Club group here.Anna had been outraged by the idea at first.Having someone clean offended all her ideas of independence, personal space and social equality.But she’d later admitted that it was actually wonderful when the pragmatic Moira come in to justsorteverything, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to manage once she went back to her London flat and had to do it all herself.

‘She puts laundry on,’ Anna told him, early on.‘And then shehangs it out.Like, immediately.Without it having to go through another two times because you forgot to take it out and it reeks.I’m not sure she’s actually a human being.’

Seaton moved through to Anna’s study-bedroom, which was pure chaos.The bed was unmade, the thick down duvet and pillows piled up in total disarray and the sheet half off.Any visions he’d had of being able to tell whether she’d sleptin it died a death.Anna was obviously not someone who ever made her bed, which he should have predicted.

He looked for other clues to interpret instead.Her desk, which she’d propped a mirror on, had a jumble of cosmetics.Although he wasn’t familiar with the specifics, Seaton recognised the brands: Dior.Yves Saint Laurent.Helena Rubinstein.He knew that Anna hadn’t used them for her May Ball make-up routine, at any rate.He’d paid for her to have her hair and make-up done in town by a stylist.He’d been impressed at how Hollywood she’d looked afterwards, though he’d also been a little disturbed at how unlike his daughter she’d suddenly been.As if she’d been replaced by a glamour model or an actress.

What was missing from the desk was Anna’s laptop, which usually sat there, whenever she hadn’t carried it out to some coffee shop or taken it to London with her.Seaton found himself frowning at the empty space.Was it downstairs, perhaps?In her backpack?Or at the kitchen table?

A quick hunt showed him that it was in none of those places.And that added to his worry considerably.It might be password protected, with hidden files, but it wouldn’t be impossible to break into.

It would be a disaster,Seaton thought with a rush of cold.Everything she’d found out… Who she was…

He tried to stop himself panicking.To think rationally.She might have taken it somewhere, but he was certain she wouldn’t have taken it along to the May Ball.The photo she’d sent from the queue had shown her holding only a black-and-silver handbag to match her dress, with a pair of hot-pink shoes poking out of the top.Flat shoes for later in the night, he’d guessed.

Did she come back here?he thought.Did she wake up normally, start working and stumble onto something, then forget about meeting me because she was pursuing it?

It was the kind of thing she’d do, but she’d have taken her phone with her.Her real one.

Pulling his own mobile out again, he rang her original number.For a moment, there was no sound– and then he heard an unmistakable buzz from somewhere upstairs.

He felt his heart squeeze as he hurried to the first floor, chasing the sound until he found its hiding place: a Prada sunglasses box in the bottom of her wardrobe.He had to slide all of her dresses to one side to see it, and crouch down to pick the box up.

With the phone in his hand he began to feel a real, creeping sense of fear.It was here, and she was not.

And into his subconscious crept the other thing he hadn’t quite registered along the way.

The dress,he thought.The dress isn’t here.

The Dolce & Gabbana dress that Anna had spent a fortune on–hisfortune on– and which she’d been wearing when he’d last seen her– it wasn’t here.

Which meant that Anna had gone to the ball and had never made it home.

5.Anna

One and a half weeks later I was walking into a Cambridge college with a whole new identity, all ready to crash a party hosted by Kit Frankland and Esther Thomas: two of the four people Holly had been with the night she died.

I’d already found out as much as I could about the four of them during the preceding days.Cordelia and I had met up several times in the American Bar of the Savoy Hotel, selected by her because it was convenient when she was on her way to or from her mother’s house or the centre of the city, and because nobody connected was likely to be there.And by the way, Reid, that place hasthemost intensely patterned carpet I have ever experienced, and looks about as un-American a place as you can imagine.Major colonial British vibes.

‘I have to warn you,’ she told me during our first mini interview, ‘that I don’t have any inside information on them now.After what happened, I asked them all a lot of questions.’She pulled a face, looking down into her coffee.The tables in there are all shiny gold, which I donotunderstand.Who the hell wants to look down and discover what the underside of their chin looks like?I’d covered my side of the table with my laptop case to make sure I didn’t catch sight of it by mistake.‘They one by one stopped talking to me, and then it became a united front, and that was it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, trying not to wonder if she was looking at her drink or her warped reflection.‘That sounds tough.’

Cordelia shrugged.‘In some ways, it made it easier.Thedecision to leave Cambridge and come to UCL.Which was the right thing to do.’

I watched the set of her jaw as she said it, and I wondered if she really thought that, but I felt like I should leave difficult subjects and focus on the actual job.

‘Tell me about the four of them, then.As much as you know.’

And, in fact, Cordelia knew a lot.Kit Frankland was, by her account, the ringleader of the group: the handsome, charming, athletic and effortlessly clever son of a highly successful City lawyer who’d gathered them all together.He studied law at Downing, played rugby for the university, and allegedly socialised for England.

‘He also, in my opinion, likes to collect damaged people,’ she added.‘He could easily have made friends with whoever he wanted, and on the surface of it, he selected people with status.But in reality, there were a lot of other students with status who he just wasn’t interested in, and I think it’s because they weren’t fragile enough for his liking.’

I narrowed my eyes at her.‘You think he likes to feel better than they are?’

Cordelia considered this, and said, ‘Maybe.I think he definitely gets a kick out of feeling like he can make their lives better, but I wonder whether that’s also to do with control.’

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