“You are hungry?” Ms. Rossi inquired.
“It’s for Venetia. She didn’t want breakfast.”
“Then there is no need. She has money for food and can buy something herself.”
Cassie found herself dismissed with a glance. It took just one look from Ms. Rossi and her feet were walking out of the kitchen as if of their own accord.
Venetia hadn’t mentioned money, but then, Cassie hadn’t asked her about that.
As she reached the hallway she saw Venetia hurrying downstairs to meet the driver.
“See you later,” Cassie said.
A moment later, Ms. Rossi swept past her and headed for the garage. Maurice followed close behind, carrying a large leather briefcase and speaking on his cell phone as he walked.
“Salve, Ronaldo!” she heard him say. “Yes, we are on our way. Arrivederci!”
On her own again, Cassie realized that she had another long, lonely morning ahead of her. She hadn’t asked the children what time they would be back. She hadn’t had the chance to speak to Nina at all because she’d overslept, and with rushing around trying to organize snacks for Venetia, she hadn’t checked when school finished today.
Yesterday they had arrived home at two-thirty after a singing lesson, so school probably ended at about one p.m., or one-thirty.
That meant she might have enough time to drive to Bellagio, speak to Mirabella at her boutique, and drive back again, before the children returned.
Cassie ran back upstairs and spent a while assessing the route, consulting her GPS, and trying to factor in stops for gas, getting lost, and anything else that might go wrong. She was desperate to find out the truth about her sister, but she couldn’t risk messing up in her job again. The thought of Ms. Rossi’s disapproval, or worse still, her anger, was too frightening.
Even with all the possible delays accounted for, Cassie calculated that she could do it. There was enough time. She could get there and back.
She felt breathless with excitement as she grabbed her purse, put her phone and charger inside, and pulled her jacket over her shoulders. With her car keys clutched in her hand, she headed downstairs.
Cassie was on her way to the front door when she heard the noise, almost inaudible. It was only because the house was so silent that she picked it up.
A young girl was speaking, her voice faint but unmistakable.
She was conversing softly in a singsong fashion, but Cassie couldn’t hear anybody speaking to her in response.
Cassie stood still, holding her breath, her heart accelerating at the weirdness of this sound.
What was it? Had someone left a TV on?
This wasn’t the background babble of TV. It was more random; snatches of words interspersed by silence.
Her spine prickled into gooseflesh as she listened.
She knew it was completely fanciful, but hearing this soft, disembodied voice was making her wonder if this building might be haunted.
That was what it sounded like, a ghostly voice coming from nowhere.
Cassie stepped back, feeling totally spooked. What if there had been a little girl who had perished here decades ago?
“What the hell is happening?” she whispered.
Cassie didn’t want to go anywhere near that sound. She wanted to get far away and hope that it was gone by the time she came back. But, at the same time, she needed to know what it was, because she was the one who was spending hours in this house by herself.
She hurried to the kitchen, wondering if the cook might know what it was.
The kitchen was empty. Although ingredients had been set out ready to prepare a meal, there was nobody on duty. Most probably the cook worked shorter hours on weekends. That meant Cassie was alone in the house, together with the ghostly voice.
She crept back toward the place where she’d heard it, feeling her nerves growing more taut with every step she took.
“Hello?” she called softly. She could hear how scared she sounded.
She waited and listened, but the soft voice continued. It was as if the speaker hadn’t heard her. Or couldn’t hear her.
The sensible decision would be to get the hell out of the house, but instead, she found herself turning and tiptoeing down the passage in its direction.
There was a door on the left, but she knew where it led; she’d hidden inside during their hide-and-seek yesterday. It opened up into a small storeroom that appeared to be used as a guest cloakroom.
As quietly as possible, Cassie opened the door, and with a shaking hand she reached inside and turned on the light.
There was nobody in the room, and all she could see was her own reflection in the large mirror on the back wall. But something looked wrong with her reflection—it was distorted.
Cassie caught her breath as she realized that the mirror was not just a mirror.
It was, in fact, a mirrored door, set into the back wall of the cloakroom. This door was now slightly ajar.
The small voice was clearly audible now, coming from behind that door.
Summoning all her courage, Cassie crept across the cloakroom floor. She saw her reflection loom in the mirror; her pale face framed by dark auburn hair, her worried eyes, her hand shaking as she stretched it out to the glass.
She pushed the door and it creaked inward.
Cassie couldn’t help herself. She let out a breathy shriek of terror as she saw what she had imagined.
Inside the small, dark room sat a girl, dressed in a white nightgown, with her head bowed and her back to the door.
She was talking to herself in a quiet, singsong voice.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As Cassie recoiled from the apparition, the girl raised her head and looked round.
“What the hell?” Cassie couldn’t stop the high-pitched exclamation that burst out of her.
She wondered if she was dreaming, or maybe even hallucinating, because this was impossible, it was beyond her comprehension.
This was no ghost. It was a real live child.
In fact, it was Nina, still wearing her nightgown, her hair tangled from sleep.
“N-nina?” she stammered. “Are you
