Page 70 of Oleander

I began it like I always did:

Dear Cas,

You left.

Maybe it was the paper, the pen, the desk, or the room, but after that, the words flowed easily and came out with less despair than all the other times I’d tried to write to him. This time, they were shot through with quiet rage. I hated him for leaving – I’d meant most of what I’d said on that call.

I hated him for not answering my calls and for disappearing from my life. But most of all, I hated him, loathed him, for infecting me like he had. For slipping under my skin and into my blood and finding his way to my heart. I blamed him for theguilt, shame, and remorse I carried around about Ellie because I knew all the things I was supposed to feel about her; I felt for him instead. That washisfault.

I hated the tall, dark-haired pervert who haunted my dreams and whose face was always just turned away from me, identity forever concealed. I wrote that I knew he’d lied that day, that I knew it wasn’t his tutor, but that I wouldn’t stop until I found out. I told him that some days, I felt as though I’d never take a full deep breath again until I knew his name.

If not for him, I told myself, then Caspien would be mine.

I only needed to know his name. Then the power would shift, as though knowing it and uttering it would destroy him completely.

I froze.

Epiphany swept over me as I took in the whole of Gideon’s desk. There were a couple of leather journals stacked to one side next to the tray containing the Deveraux stationary. A small wooden box of business cards with ‘Lord Gideon Deveraux III, Deveraux House, La Neuve Route, Jersey, St. Ouen, JE8 6BL’ written in neat gold font. A few letterheaded notepads. I ran my eye along the leather-bound books. One was smaller than the others, and my heart jumped as I spied the worn lettering on the spine that read: Address Book.

As I slid it from its spot between the tray and the other books, I sent a wish up that Gideon was both diligent and methodical about his contacts and put all of them in here. I took a guess that X was his first initial and so flicked immediately to the back of the book, paging forward until I reached the X’s.

My heart stuttered. Surely it couldn’t be this easy.

There was only one name written here.

Xavier Blackwell. Blackwell, Havisham, and Pryce.

There were two numbers and an email address.

Trembling with adrenaline, I copied them out quickly onto a piece of paper, folded it, and put it in my pocket along with the letter I’d written. Then I slid the address book back, making sure it was facing the same way I’d found it.

On a new piece of letter paper I wrote;

Dear Cas,

You left. I’m sorry if it was something I did. Ireallyhope to see you soon. Actually, I think I might.

P.S. Thanks for the painting.

Jude.

I folded the piece of paper, stuffed it into one of the envelopes, and sealed it.

When I walked out of the sitting room, Gideon was across the hall in the red parlour, reading again. He stood and came to meet me.

“Ah, a lad who knows what he wants to say! I like that.”

I smiled and held out the envelope to him. He took it, holding it between his long fingers as though it were something precious.

I shrugged. “Thanks. I’m not sure he’ll even read it.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure he does, don’t worry.”

I gave him a grateful smile. “I think I’ll head off. Kinda tired.” I faked a yawn that I wasn’t entirely sure was convincing.

He tilted his head, mouth turning down. “Of course. Will you be okay on the bike? I can always take you back in the car.”

“Nah, I’ll be good. Thanks though. And thanks for letting me come again, and the letter, and well, everything.”