Kisses and Lies (24 page)

“Did you have a good time?” he asks.

I gape for a second or so, my mouth hanging open. You’d think I’d have expected this question, but Jase looks so gorgeous, slightly sweaty from working on his bike—a grease smear on his forehead, his red sweater rolled up to the elbows, showing off his muscular, golden-brown forearms—that the sight of him has temporarily frozen my brain. I gulp, and get myself back on track.

“Um, not really,” I say weakly. “There was a bit too much family drama.”

Understatement of the year, I think. And then I realize what I’ve said, unthinkingly: after all, the last time I saw Jase, family drama was exactly what we were going through.

He looks really uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, blushing, and I reach out to touch his arm. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “My dad’s—” He heaves up a deep sigh. “He’s never exactly been easy to get along with. But since Mum left, he’s been a nightmare. I don’t know why he was like that with you. I’ve tried to talk to him but he just starts shouting and throwing things.”

I grimace. The image of Mr. Barnes shouting and throwing things is, frankly, frightening.

“I’m really sorry about it all,” Jase adds. “I didn’t have any idea he was going to mind me hanging out with you.”

“Me neither,” I say.

He looks at me seriously, his golden eyes hypnotic as they stare into mine.

“Your gran probably wouldn’t be that keen on it either, to tell the truth,” he adds.

I know he’s right.

“Well, they’re both stupid, then,” I hear myself saying defiantly. “It’s none of their business anyway.”

His eyes widen. “You mean that?”

I nod fervently, and then blush again, embarrassed by my vehemence.

“Scarlett—” he starts, taking a step towards me.

I look up at him, completely forgetting to breathe.

And just then, we hear a car, coming up the gravel drive, the churn of its wheels grating against the loose stones shockingly loud in the silence. Jase pauses and we both look in the direction of the drive, even though we can’t see it. We’re standing by the new school block, close to the dining room entrance; the old part of the school building, the original Wakefield Hall, is on the other side of the new building, hidden behind a high ivy-covered wall. That’s where the drive stops, in a large gracious turning circle with a fountain in the center.

With a final scraping of wheels on gravel, the car slows down and comes to a stop. A door opens and someone gets out. Jase and I exchange a quick, wary glance. A few days before, he and I would barely even notice something as standard as the arrival of a car at Wakefield Hall: it wouldn’t have registered on our radar. But now, having acknowledged that, if we want to keep seeing each other, we’ll have to do it despite our families’ disapproval, we’ve instantly become sensitive about being seen together.

It sounds romantic. It isn’t. It’s really annoying.

Another car door opens. More footsteps on gravel, and then the boot opens. Just a girl coming back to school early, bringing luggage with her. But maybe Jase and I should move away from the school block to somewhere a little less in the main line of passage. I’m just about to say something when we hear:

“Hello? Hello!”

It’s a girl’s voice: loud, privileged, impatient  .  .  . and oddly familiar.

“Hello? God, this place is a bloody desert. Hello!”

“I should go and see who that is,” I say reluctantly to Jase. Odd though it may be, I feel a sort of hostesslike obligation, since Wakefield Hall is, after all, my home as well as my school.

He nods. I make a wait-here gesture and start toward the arch in the wall. I’m only a few paces through it when I stop in amazement, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

Parked in front of the Hall’s imposing front entrance is a black Mercedes from which the driver is unloading a stack of Louis Vuitton suitcases. Beside it, fishing in a huge leather handbag, is a girl in a white fur jacket, skinny jeans, and a big beret into which her hair is bundled and which partially hides her face. As I get closer, she pulls a cigarette case out of her bag, extracts a cigarette, and bends over to light it.

It’s Plum Saybourne.

And as she turns to survey the mass of suitcases, dragging on her cigarette, she catches sight of me.

“Scarlett!” she drawls, puffing out smoke from her nostrils like a cartoon dragon. “How delightful to see you. Of course, it’s not exactly unexpected, is it, since you actually live in this bloody backwater. God, I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck here for the next two years.”

Behind me, I hear Jase come up, but I’m paralyzed by Plum’s words. Literally. I’m frozen to the spot.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Plum asks. “I got chucked out of St. Tabby’s. Bloody hypocritical bitch of a headmistress, after all the money my family’s given that school. I wanted to hire a tutor, but Mummy threw the most enormous tantrum at the idea of me on the loose in London. She’s got the idea that your grandmother will straighten me out.” She raises her eyebrows and expels more smoke from her nose. “I’d love to see her try. So here I am, at this godforsaken place that time forgot.” She gestures, one sweep of a black-gloved hand, at the imposing mass of Wakefield Hall.

And then she looks back at me, and sees Jase standing by my side. Her eyes widen, and then she smiles at him—a long, slow, predatory smile.

“Well, hello,” she murmurs. “I’m Plum Saybourne. And who are you?”

“J-Jase Barnes,” he answers, and there’s a bit of a stammer as he says his name.

Plum’s magic works on everyone.

“I’m glad to see there’s at least one consolation in this hellhole,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“You should go in and see my grandmother,” I say firmly, determined to get rid of her. “Inside and up the stairs. There’s a door marked HEADMISTRESS’S OFFICE. Her secretary, Penelope, works there. She’ll tell my grandmother you’re here.”

“Oh, the excitement! My heart is pounding in anticipation,” Plum drawls with sarcasm. “Well, better get it over with, I suppose.”

Dropping her cigarette to the gravel and not bothering to stub it out with her high-heeled boot, she walks toward the wide stairs that lead up to the front door, smoke curling upward in her wake. Over her shoulder, she calls to the driver:

“Can you start bringing those in? It’s bloody cold out here.”

To my great annoyance, Jase swivels his head, watching her go. Only after she’s disappeared inside does he turn back to me.

And we stand there, looking at each other, as Plum’s driver carries her bags inside.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lauren Henderson was born in London and lived in Tuscany and Manhattan before returning to London to settle down with one husband and two very fat cats. She has written seven books in the Sam Jones mystery series, which has been optioned for American TV; many short stories; and three romantic comedies. Her nonfiction dating guide, Jane Austen’s Guide to Dating, has been optioned as a feature film by the writer behind Ten Things I Hate About You and Ella Enchanted. Lauren’s books have been translated into more than twenty languages. With Stella Duffy, she has edited an anthology of women-behaving-badly crime stories, Tart Noir; their joint Web site is www.tartcity.com. Lauren has been described as both the Dorothy Parker and the Betty Boop of the crime novel. Her interests include trapeze classes, gymnastics, and eating complex carbohydrates.

ALSO BY LAUREN HENDERSON

Kiss Me Kill Me

Adult Fiction

Tart Noir (anthology, edited with Stella Duffy)

Exes Anonymous

My Lurid Past

Don’t Even Think About It

Pretty Boy

Chained

The Strawberry Tattoo

Freeze My Margarita

Black Rubber Dress

Too May Blondes

Dead White Female

Adult Nonfiction

Jane Austen’s Guide to Dating

Published by Delacorte Press

an imprint of Random House Children’s Books

a division of Random House, Inc.

New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Lauren Henderson

All rights reserved.

Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Henderson, Lauren.

 
  Kisses and lies / Lauren Henderson.—1st ed.

 
      p. cm.

 
  Sequel to: Kiss me kill me.

 
  Summary: Orphaned British teenager Scarlett Wakefield postpones her romance with the handsome son of the school groundskeeper in order to travel to Scotland with her American sidekick, Taylor, in search of clues to the murder of a boy who dropped dead after kissing Scarlett.

 
  eISBN: 978-0-375-89185-4

 
  [1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. Murder—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Wealth—Fiction. 5. Orphans—Fiction. 6. England—Fiction. 7. Scotland—Fiction.] I. Title.

 
  PZ7.H3807Kk 2009

 
  [Fic]—dc22

2008034711

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