Page 59 of High Season

FORTY-SIX

Out on the terrace, the world feels too bright. It is too sunny for the weight that sits in Hannah’s chest.

Hannah turns to face Blake.

“I know what happened,” she says.

He slings himself into one of the chairs set out around a small white painted table. Folds one leg over the other, a pretense of ease that Hannah sees straight through.

“What happened when?” he asks.

“The day Tamara died,” Hannah says. “I know about the pictures you took of me. I know you drugged me.”

She almost thinks that she sees something pass across his face then. A flicker of something behind his eyes. And then it’s gone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Don’t give me that.” Hannah’s heart is beating fast. “I’ve seen the photographs.

I’ve seen the autopsy. Rohypnol. It’s not a coincidence that Tamara had roofies in her system the same night I passed out and didn’t remember anything.

Did Evelyn pay off the coroner to play it down? Or was she sleeping with him?”

“That’s a very serious accusation to make about my mother, Hannah.”

Blake’s voice lilts, faux serious. He is mocking her, a pretense of confidence.

“You’re forgetting,” Hannah says. “That I saw what happened.”

He stills at this. For just a second, she sees his composure slip. A flicker of fear behind his eyes.

“We both saw what happened,” he says, quietly. “And I protected you. For years. And now you’re accusing me of—what? Spiking my sister? Killing my sister?”

His mouth twitches, as if the thought is ridiculous.

“It was your fault that she died,” Blake says. “It’s your fault that Tamara is dead.”