Read Online The Golden Locket (Unbreakable Trilogy, Book 2) by Primula Bond - Free Book Online
Authors: Primula Bond
Ads: Link
When he focuses on me, the white-hot blankness in his eyes shades itself in. The deep blackness returns. The jagged lines of his face arrange themselves not into softness but at least into some kind of order.
‘Lies, lies, Serena. Polly. Listen to me. It’s all lies. I’ve never smoked a single cigarette in my life.’ He turns back to his brother. ‘Why here, Pierre? Why now?’
‘I should have flown at you as soon as I heard the words but Margot stopped me.’
‘Because it was a cheap shot,’ says Gustav, deadly quiet. ‘How could any of that possibly be true?’
Pierre takes the shirt from where it has fallen over Polly’s legs, and holds it in front of him. I have the weirdest snapshot in my mind of him wearing a hospital gown, sitting on a narrow iron bed.
‘She got me out of that house before she told me the full story, said I should save it for when it would hit you the hardest. How was I to know when that day would come? But it did, thanks to Serena. Thanks to that business card.’
Gustav’s eyes are narrow slits of concentration, as if Pierre is speaking in tongues and he is simultaneously trying to translate. ‘Ah, yes. There it is. The single knell of truth. That’s exactly Margot’s
modus operandi
. Plotting her chess moves, right down to the best time and place to accuse me of – what exactly are we saying here? Murder?’
As the word stabs through the air Pierre eases one sleeve back over his sore, scarred arm. I see now why he pushed Polly off so viciously the other day when she slapped it. What on earth can he say?
‘I’ll give you manslaughter. Would that be more accurate? You’re looking me in the eye and denying it? You’d swear it? Because it all seems perfectly believable to me.’
‘And perfectly preposterous to anyone else. It’s not murder, and it’s not manslaughter, purely a monumental accident which was not caused by me!’ Gustav turns in a tight circle, looking up at the ceiling as he pulls in every ounce of control. ‘I should be incandescent right now, but do you know? I look at you, and I can’t possibly be angry.’ Gustav speaks so slowly and quietly it’s as if he’s using his last breath. ‘You’ve been walking around all that time thinking I’m a monster because of Margot. Yet again this comes down to her. I’m finding that so hard to bear. Look at me, P. Look at me very hard, and listen.’
Pierre reluctantly raises his eyes. He is still scowling. The anger isn’t gone, but it’s melting like wax into sullen defeat.
‘Just make this all go away, G.’
Gustav keeps his eyes on his brother, makes a move towards him, then walks across to where I am still standing. His hand comes to rest just beside mine on the window ledge.
When he starts to speak again his voice is forced, as if he’s using his last breath. Like Othello, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘You wanted to cause a sensation just now. That’s your prerogative, but you should have waited.’
Pierre’s hands pause as he buttons his shirt.
‘What difference would waiting around for you make? Miraculously absolve you? Cure these scars after twenty years? Put out the fire?’
‘I meant stripping off like this, using your injuries as a shock tactic.’ Gustav is choosing his words as carefully as if he is selecting surgical instruments. ‘It’s a stunt. Not even your own idea. It’s got Margot written all over it. But she’s excelled herself this time, using your disfigurement to torment me.’
‘I’m no puppet, Gustav. This was my idea. But I’m tired. You’re tired. Either admit it or tell me it’s not true, make me and these girls believe you. Then maybe we have a chance.’
They stare at each other for a moment. Gustav nods. ‘I swear on your life and my dead parents’ memory that I did not start that fire.’
Another tripwire, another challenge overcome, and Gustav grows more impressive in my eyes, not less. With a few careful words he has defused the last
‘Lies, lies, Serena. Polly. Listen to me. It’s all lies. I’ve never smoked a single cigarette in my life.’ He turns back to his brother. ‘Why here, Pierre? Why now?’
‘I should have flown at you as soon as I heard the words but Margot stopped me.’
‘Because it was a cheap shot,’ says Gustav, deadly quiet. ‘How could any of that possibly be true?’
Pierre takes the shirt from where it has fallen over Polly’s legs, and holds it in front of him. I have the weirdest snapshot in my mind of him wearing a hospital gown, sitting on a narrow iron bed.
‘She got me out of that house before she told me the full story, said I should save it for when it would hit you the hardest. How was I to know when that day would come? But it did, thanks to Serena. Thanks to that business card.’
Gustav’s eyes are narrow slits of concentration, as if Pierre is speaking in tongues and he is simultaneously trying to translate. ‘Ah, yes. There it is. The single knell of truth. That’s exactly Margot’s
modus operandi
. Plotting her chess moves, right down to the best time and place to accuse me of – what exactly are we saying here? Murder?’
As the word stabs through the air Pierre eases one sleeve back over his sore, scarred arm. I see now why he pushed Polly off so viciously the other day when she slapped it. What on earth can he say?
‘I’ll give you manslaughter. Would that be more accurate? You’re looking me in the eye and denying it? You’d swear it? Because it all seems perfectly believable to me.’
‘And perfectly preposterous to anyone else. It’s not murder, and it’s not manslaughter, purely a monumental accident which was not caused by me!’ Gustav turns in a tight circle, looking up at the ceiling as he pulls in every ounce of control. ‘I should be incandescent right now, but do you know? I look at you, and I can’t possibly be angry.’ Gustav speaks so slowly and quietly it’s as if he’s using his last breath. ‘You’ve been walking around all that time thinking I’m a monster because of Margot. Yet again this comes down to her. I’m finding that so hard to bear. Look at me, P. Look at me very hard, and listen.’
Pierre reluctantly raises his eyes. He is still scowling. The anger isn’t gone, but it’s melting like wax into sullen defeat.
‘Just make this all go away, G.’
Gustav keeps his eyes on his brother, makes a move towards him, then walks across to where I am still standing. His hand comes to rest just beside mine on the window ledge.
When he starts to speak again his voice is forced, as if he’s using his last breath. Like Othello, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘You wanted to cause a sensation just now. That’s your prerogative, but you should have waited.’
Pierre’s hands pause as he buttons his shirt.
‘What difference would waiting around for you make? Miraculously absolve you? Cure these scars after twenty years? Put out the fire?’
‘I meant stripping off like this, using your injuries as a shock tactic.’ Gustav is choosing his words as carefully as if he is selecting surgical instruments. ‘It’s a stunt. Not even your own idea. It’s got Margot written all over it. But she’s excelled herself this time, using your disfigurement to torment me.’
‘I’m no puppet, Gustav. This was my idea. But I’m tired. You’re tired. Either admit it or tell me it’s not true, make me and these girls believe you. Then maybe we have a chance.’
They stare at each other for a moment. Gustav nods. ‘I swear on your life and my dead parents’ memory that I did not start that fire.’
Another tripwire, another challenge overcome, and Gustav grows more impressive in my eyes, not less. With a few careful words he has defused the last
Similar Books
