Andee was watching Marcy and Jasmine sitting together on the sofa, Marcy staring down at their joined hands, while Jasmine watched her mother, her eyes dark with anguish as she flinched and frowned at the tirade. It was bad, far worse than Andee had expected . . .

Henry said, “Claudia, maybe we need to . . .”

“Don’t!” Claudia snapped at him. “I’m not interested in what you have to say, I just want to get out of here. Mum, Jasmine, find your coats. There’s no point staying now that we know why we’re here.”

“Claudia,” Dan protested, “you’ve got the wrong idea . . .”

“No, you have,” she hissed at him, “and you’ve also got the wrong people. Please don’t speak to me again or come to the house. False friends are not the kind we want anything to do with. Mum? Are you ready? Jasmine, help her up.”

As Jasmine tried to take her grandmother’s arm Marcy gently pulled it away, letting her hand flop back into her lap. Without looking at Claudia she said quietly to Dan, “I’d like to read the letters.”

Claudia stared at her in disbelief. She was so stunned she didn’t know what to say or do. She tried to speak, but no words came out.

Jasmine said softly, “Sorry, Mum, but I think I would too.”

Claudia reeled. She couldn’t take in what was happening. She’d been so sure the other two felt the same way she did, that they shared her hurt and outrage, that they were glad she was speaking up for them, but apparently not. How could they want to go through with this? It didn’t make any sense to her, none at all . . .

She needed to leave, to walk out and never come back to this house, but she couldn’t go without them.

Tightly, brokenly, she said, “I’ll wait in the car.”

DAN FOUND HER standing beside the BMW a few minutes later, staring blindly toward the closed gates of the Botanical Gardens. It was dark, there was no one around, nothing to see or hear apart from the distant rumble of traffic.

She didn’t hear him come, had no idea he was there until her senses picked up on him and turning her back she started to open the car door.

“Please wait,” he said, putting out a hand to stop her. “I understand that you’re angry and probably feeling betrayed, but I promise you it was never anyone’s intention to hurt you or your family.”

“Intention or not, you’ve succeeded.”

“Yes, we have, and for that I’m truly sorry.”

She stiffened. She couldn’t accept the apology; there was nothing about this nightmare that was possible to accept.

“Can you try to think of it as something that might help your mother, even if you don’t want to engage yourself? She’s said she wants to read the letters . . .”