The Dinner Guest by B Walter (best short books to read txt) 📕

full story out of him and demand he tell me every last horrid detail. But I didn’t do this. I had to let him tell it in his own way. Somehow I knew that would be the best thing to do. And judging by his body-language and flushed appearance, he was about to reveal something momentous.

‘She tried to break up with Johnny,’ Matthew said, his eyes distant, his mind back among the demons of his past. ‘But as you can imagine, he didn’t take the news well.’

Slight tremors became visible in his face in that moment. His cheek twitched; he blinked quickly and rubbed his eyes. I had the impression he was re-living something. An old memory he’d kept buried for years was being dragged to the surface. The past was coming back, ready to decimate the present, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

‘Johnny did something. Something I’ve … never really spoken to anyone about. Not properly. Apart from Collette. She knew everything that happened. And I think it destroyed us both. Her through denial, and me from the sheer horror of it.’

Chapter Thirty-Six Rachel

Less than a week to go

I sat in my bedroom in Meryl’s flat, my laptop open in front of me. I felt both excited and a little sad as I tapped away at the computer, opening up multiple tabs. I knew it would be one of the last nights I spent in a comfortable, gorgeous room. It would all change soon. But there were a few things I needed to find out first.

I knew showing my hand at the Ashtons’s manor would speed things up. Remove the safety net I’d crafted for myself. But this lifestyle I’d managed to build was never meant to last for ever. In the years that followed, I would examine in granular detail those last couple of evenings of freedom as I went for evening walks around the quiet streets of Belgravia, or drifted through the private gardens of Eaton Square. Evenings when thoughts of giving up my main aim surfaced, like a dull, distant voice in my head telling me that what I was about to do was morally wrong. That I should just carry on as I was. Living. Enjoying London life. There were times I even imagined an alternate future for myself, where I continued working for Meryl as her assistant, moving into the apartment on Belgrave Place when it was finished, having a flat all to myself of the kind I’d never have dreamed of before. Maybe Meryl would leave me something in her will when she died and I’d be able to keep the flat. I’d have been able to sell it for millions of pounds and buy a large estate in Yorkshire. Move back to start a new life as I journeyed through my middle age. But I’d dashed all hope of that as soon as I entered that bathroom in Marwood Manor and allowed Matthew Allerton-Jones to realise who I was. So whenever those thoughts of abandoning my plan surfaced, I let them float away, as if they were leaves on a stream.

The tabs I’d opened on my laptop were for a number of websites, some medical and some forums, giving clear instructions. They specified which knives would be best to use, which techniques would work with nearly all sharp blades, how to angle the knife, when to release the pressure. It was all there, easy to access at the tap of a few fingers on a keyboard. Like most things these days.

I didn’t bother to use private browsing, not that that would delay the police much anyway. I had no interest in trying to put off the inevitable. When the computer forensics people searched my laptop, it would all be there, plain to see. If they wanted to know why, well, that would be a good test of their detective skills. They’d figure it out, in the end.

Once I had all the information I needed, I made my decision. I would do it later this week. I’d give time for the shrapnel from my little bombshell to ricochet through the Allerton-Jones family for a few more days. Perhaps he’d tell his husband what he did. Or maybe he’d try to carry on as normal. Whatever he did, he knew I was there, nearby, less than a couple of miles away.

Waiting. Like a coiled spring.

Chapter Thirty-Seven Charlie

Less than a week to go

I felt myself getting a little cold, wary of what he was about to tell me. Something new and clearly deeply uncomfortable for him to remember. Matthew took a moment to refill his glass, sipped and let the whisky swirl around his mouth. Then he set the glass down and said, ‘Johnny Holden attacked me. I was staying the night at the castle alone. I was working on a PhD application and thought I’d appreciate the peace and quiet. Collette was in Durham and my mother was visiting a friend in Edinburgh. I’d been working late and went to bed at around one in the morning. At about 2am, I was woken by a thud, but didn’t think much of it – just presumed it was a cat or something outside. It was when I heard a creak on the landing that I woke up properly. Four men walked into my room, dressed in black and wearing the masks of woodland creatures. A squirrel, a rabbit, a badger, and a fox.’

He winced, closing his eyes for a moment, as if pained by the images he was trying to describe. ‘It’s hard to put into words how paralysing fear can be. I thought I’d fallen into a nightmare, a literal, living nightmare. For a few seconds I couldn’t move. Then I saw they were carrying rope. That was when I tried to run, but they grabbed me as I leapt out of bed and set about tying me up. They tied up