Page 9 of Save Me (Maxton Hall #1)

James

“This party’s shit.” Wren takes a big gulp from his hip flask and passes it to Cyril, who’s standing next to him, leaning on the railing with an equally unimpressed look on his face.

Below us is Weston Hall, a huge ballroom with the Renaissance windows, intricate parquet floor, and stuccoed walls that are typical of Maxton. Like the whole place, the atmosphere in this room makes you feel like you’ve been transported back to the fifteenth century—or it normally does, anyway.

This evening, it makes you feel like you’ve wandered into a kiddies’ birthday party.

There are fussy decorations, and on the buffet table, there’s nonalcoholic punch and canapés served in little jam jars, tied up with colorful ribbons.

The music is dire. There’s a DJ, but what he thinks he’s doing is a mystery to me.

There’s no transition between the songs; it’s more like he just picked a Spotify playlist and pressed shuffle.

I almost expect to hear irritating adverts between tracks, plugging some dire newcomer.

To top it all off, nobody seems to have given the guests a clear dress code.

Some people are way overdressed and others have gone to no effort at all.

The whole party is a total disaster. It’s like someone was trying to shake things up a bit at Maxton Hall but didn’t have the guts to chuck out all the traditions altogether. The end result is a total mishmash of styles that’s confusing the hell out of everyone. No wonder there’s no atmosphere.

“Hey, it’s not that bad.” Alistair breaks in on my thoughts. He buries his hands in his pockets and bobs up and down on the balls of his feet, his eyes fixed on the dance floor below us, where a few brave souls are now standing.

“No one but you ever likes these parties.” Kesh rolls his eyes.

Alistair shrugs his shoulders. “They’re hilarious.”

Kesh pulls a face. He takes the hip flask from Cyril and hands it to me without drinking.

“It’s about to get a whole lot funnier, believe me.” I allow myself a large swig of whisky, enjoying the burn as it slides down my throat.

Wren looks from me to Alistair and back again. Then his eyes widen. “Something up your sleeve?”

I ignore the question and give the merest hint of a shrug, but Alistair never could control his expression. You don’t need to know him all that well to spot that he’s up to something. His eyes twinkle conspiratorially, and he can’t keep still—a total giveaway.

“No way. You planned something and told him but not me?” Wren points accusingly at Alistair and then me. “You’re my best mate. I consider that a personal insult.”

I grin. “An insult?”

He nods. “High treason. Acting against the sacred bonds of brotherhood that have bound us since our childhood days.”

“Bullshit.”

My dry tone earns me a punch on the shoulder.

“Look at it like this, Wren—it means you’ll get a nice surprise,” Alistair says, pinching Wren’s cheek, who grimaces, but lets it pass.

“I hope for both your sakes that it’ll be worth it.”

He’s already slurring a bit, and this is only the third round of the flask.

Even so, when Wren makes another grab for it, I let him.

It’s a waste of good Bowmore to swig it in secret up here rather than savoring it in a crystal tumbler, but at school parties, the booze is kept for the parents and old-Maxtonians.

The likes of us aren’t allowed anywhere near the bar.

That’s never stopped us making our own fun though, and most teachers turn a blind eye if they clock that we’ve been drinking.

The worst we’ve ever got for it has been a warning.

My parents splash so much cash each year that the school has no choice but to be lenient. They simply can’t afford to alienate us or our friends.

“Where’s Lydia anyway?” Cyril asks. He’s trying to sound casual, but he can’t fool us.

Cyril’s been into my sister forever. And it’s been way worse since they got together for a bit two years ago.

Lydia was only interested in a bit of fun and split up with him after a couple of weeks—she had no idea that Cyril was head over heels and that she was breaking his heart.

Sometimes I’m genuinely sorry for him. Especially when I remember that he hasn’t been involved with anyone since and that he’s clearly still mourning her.

“Don’t you think it’s time to…I dunno…move on or something?” Alistair asks.

Cyril glares at him from ice-blue eyes.

“Lydia went round to a friend’s. I think they’re coming later,” I reply before things can escalate. You can barely even mention her name without Cyril taking it as a personal provocation.

No way can he find out that my sister’s having a fling with that joke of a teacher.

Which reminds me that I really need a word with Mr. Sutton. That wanker needs to keep his hands off my sister, or I’ll make the rest of his career at Maxton Hall a misery.

I’m annoyed that I haven’t dealt with him already. But my first priority was making sure Ruby keeps her mouth shut. Especially because there’s still something fishy about that girl.

A few days ago, Lydia and I bumped into her in the corridor on our way to philosophy.

My sister stared firmly at the floor, but I looked Ruby over.

Our eyes met, and then she looked right through me, not even batting an eyelid.

I did the exact opposite—I stared after her for so long that I had to turn my head to watch her walk away.

She had such a proud walk. Gripping her folders, determined steps, chin up.

She looked like she was going into battle.

Without thinking about it, I’m keeping an eye out for her. My sensors must be kind of tuned in to her, because although there are over a hundred people in the crowd down there, I spot her in seconds. I rest both arms on the banister and lean forward slightly.

Ruby is standing at the edge of the buffet, taking frantic notes on a clipboard. She looks up, glances around, and starts writing again. Then she turns on her heel and heads toward the sound system behind the DJ. She speaks to him and points at her notes.

Something clicks in my head.

Oh, God.

She must be on the events team.

My lips twitch. Well, this will be amusing.

Ruby says something else to the DJ, who nods.

Then she walks back across the dance floor to her spot by the buffet, slightly on the edge of things.

She reaches into the neckline of her dark green dress and pulls something out.

A phone. She types and slips it away again.

At the same moment, a guy in a suit walks over to her.

I see who it is and grip the wooden balustrade tighter.

Graham Sutton.

I’d be suspicious of any guy who got too close to my sister, but Sutton’s setting off a whole extra series of alarm bells. Especially when I see him speaking earnestly to Ruby. She won’t meet his eyes but doesn’t seem particularly fazed.

I squint, cursing myself for being up here and not down there, where I could hear what they’re saying to each other. They might just be talking about something as banal as this event. Or they could be discussing my sister.

What if they’re in it together? What if Sutton’s in league with Ruby?

I’d never thought of that, and I doubt Lydia’s ever considered it either.

She never told me exactly why she’d been snogging a teacher, but I know my sister well enough to know that this man is more than a bit of an adrenaline rush for her.

I feel an overwhelming need to protect my twin. Almost without thinking about it, I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket and pull out my phone. I unlock it with my thumb and swipe left to launch the camera.

Ruby and Mr. Sutton are standing in a dark corner.

He has one hand on her shoulder, and his lips are fairly close to her face so that he can speak to her.

At first glance, you can’t tell that Ruby’s clipboard is between them and that they’re both looking at it.

Seems as though they really are talking about the party.

Seeing it in real life, it’s totally harmless. But on my phone screen, from a carefully chosen angle, and with a bit of editing, you could read the situation entirely differently. I click on the shutter. Again and again.

“What are you doing?” I hear Alistair say, right behind me. He glances over my shoulder at my phone.

“Taking out a little insurance policy,” I reply.

He frowns. “What have you got against her?”

I take a deep breath. I could do with a lot more Bowmore, to switch my brain off altogether. It’s been days since I managed that.

“She saw something she shouldn’t have.”

Alistair gives me a long, thoughtful look, then he nods. “OK.”

“If she tells anyone, Lydia will be in deep shit.”

He looks down, watching Ruby, who’s still talking to Mr. Sutton.

“I see.”

I take one last photo and put the phone back in my pocket. Then I let my eyes roam back to the door. “My guests have arrived.”

A grin spreads over Alistair’s face. “Showtime.”

Ruby

The party’s a total success. By eleven, the guests are thronging to Maxton Hall to eat, drink, chat, and dance.

Nothing major has gone wrong, and Mr. Lexington just congratulated Lin and me on a successful evening.

I’m so relieved that for a brief moment, I consider stepping onto the dance floor and relaxing for a bit.

But I told Doug and Camille that they were free for the rest of the night, and somebody has to keep an eye on the buffet so that nobody gets the idea of spiking the punch.

No one was dancing in the first couple of hours, which got me pretty worried.

But Kieran, who was in charge of the music, reckoned that was totally normal.

And he was right. In the last half hour, people have been dancing to weird remixes of chart hits that do nothing for me personally, but seem to be going down well.