‘This party is lame.’ Wren takes a big sip from his flask and then passes it on to Cyril, who is leaning next to him on the balustrade and has a similarly disgusted expression on his face.
Below us is Weston Hall, a sprawling, lavish dance hall with Maxton Hall’s signature Renaissance windows, wickered parquet flooring, and stucco trim on the walls. Like the rest of the campus, this space exudes an atmosphere as if you’ve been transported straight back to the fifteenth century – at least normally.
Tonight you have the feeling of having stumbled into a children’s birthday party. The decorations are playful, and at the buffet there is children’s punch and hors d’oeuvres in small preserving jars with colorful bows. The music is horrible. What the DJ is doing down there at his desk is a mystery to me. There are no transitions between the songs, rather it sounds as if he simply turned on a Spotify playlist and pressed shuffle. I expect at any moment that an annoying mood will advertise a bad newcomer. In addition, the guests do not seem to have been clear about the dress code for the party. Some have dressed up far too much, others are dressed too casually.
All in all, the party is a complete failure. It seems as if someone tried to bring a breath of fresh air to Maxton Hall, but didn’t dare to throw the tradition completely overboard. The result is a strange mishmash of noble and innovative, which confuses the guests and prevents even a spark of mood from arising.
‘Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,’ Alistair interrupts my thoughts. He buries his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, his gaze fixed on the dance floor under the balustrade, where a few people have actually gathered in the meantime.
‘You’re the only one who wants to go to these parties,’ Kesh replies with a roll of his eyes.
Alistair shrugs his shoulders. ‘Because they’re funny.’
Kesh twists the corners of his mouth. He takes the hip flask from Cyril and passes it on to me without drinking from it.
‘It’s going to be fun, believe me.’ I take a big sip of Scotch and enjoy the burning sensation that runs down my throat.
Wren looks back and forth between me and Alistair. Then his eyes get big. ‘You have something planned?’
I ignore the question and just shrug my shoulders vaguely, but as always, Alistair doesn’t have his facial features under control. You don’t have to know him very well to see that he is concocting something. His conspiratorially sparkling eyes and restless posture actually reveal everything.
‘I don’t think so. You planned something, told him, but didn’t tell me?’ Wren points his finger accusingly, first at Alistair and then at me. ‘You’re my best friend. I see this as a betrayal against my person.’
I smile. ‘Treason?’
He nods energetically. ‘High treason. A violation of the holy brotherhood that has united us since childhood.’
‘Such bullshit.’
For my dry tone of voice, I get a firm boxing punch to the shoulder.
‘You have to look at it this way, Wren: He’s going to give you a great surprise,’ Alistair says, pinching Wren’s cheek. The latter endures it with a grimace.
‘I hope for your sake that it will be worth it.’
His words are already coming slowly, but this is only our third round with the hip flask. When Wren reaches for it again, I leave it to him anyway. Actually, it’s a shame to drink the expensive Bowmore up here secretly instead of from a crystal glass, but at Maxton Hall parties, alcoholic beverages are only served for parents or alumni. Students are strictly forbidden to even go near the bar. However, this has never prevented us from making sure that we have fun here, and most teachers turn a blind eye when they realize that we have been drinking. The worst we’ve gotten for it so far was a warning.
My parents donate so much money every year that the school has no choice but to be lenient. She simply cannot afford to mess with us or our friends.
‘Where is Lydia?’ asks Cyril. His tone is effortlessly casual, but he can’t fool any of us. Cyril has been infatuated with my sister for years. And since the two had something together two years ago, things have gotten really bad. Lydia, who just wanted to have fun, ended the matter after a few weeks – not knowing that Cyril was head over heels in love with her and that she broke his heart.
Sometimes I really feel sorry for him. Especially when I think about the fact that he hasn’t gotten involved with anyone for over two years and is obviously still mourning her.
‘Don’t you think it’s about time… I do not know… to look ahead?’ asks Alistair.
Cyril gives him a scathing look from ice-blue eyes.
‘Lydia went to a friend’s house before, I think she’ll come later,’ I answer before the situation can escalate. Every time we even come close to addressing the Lydia topic, Cyril reacts as if we had insulted him in the worst possible way.
He must not find out under any circumstances that my sister had something to do with this joke of teacher.
Which reminds me that I urgently need to exchange a word with Mr. Sutton. The bastard should keep his hands off my sister, otherwise I’ll make his remaining time at Maxton Hall a living hell.
I’m annoyed that I didn’t set my sights on it long ago. But making sure Ruby kept her mouth shut was a priority. Especially because there is still something about this girl that makes me suspicious.
A few days ago I met her in the hallway when I went to philosophy with Lydia. While my sister stared resolutely at the floor, I looked at Ruby. Our eyes have crossed, but after not even a blink of an eye she has seen through me. I did the opposite and looked after her until I had to turn my head towards her. I was particularly struck by her proud attitude. The way she held her folders tightly in her arms, her determined steps, the protruding chin. She looked like she was going into a fight.
As if automatically, I am on the lookout for her. My sensors must be aligned with them somehow, because in a crowd of over a hundred people, it only takes me a few seconds to find them. I lean with both arms on the railing of the balustrade and lean forward a bit.
Ruby stands at the edge of the buffet and frantically writes down something on a clipboard. She looks up, looks around and starts writing again. Then she turns abruptly and runs towards the music system, behind which the DJ is standing. She exchanges a few words with him and points to her notes.
Something clicks into my head.
Oh, damn it.
She has to be part of the event team.
The corners of my mouth twitch. That would be amusing.
Ruby says something more to the DJ, and he nods. Then she walks back across the dance floor until she is back at her place at the buffet, a little away from the action. She reaches into the neckline of her dark green dress and pulls something out. A mobile phone. She taps on it and stows it away again. At the same moment, a guy in a suit approaches her.
When I realize who it is, I grip the wooden railing more tightly.
Graham Sutton.
Apart from the fact that I’m suspicious of any guy who gets too close to my sister, Sutton has a whole host of other alarm bells. Especially when I see him talking to Ruby now. She avoids his gaze, but does not seem particularly upset.
I squint my eyes and curse myself inwardly for standing up here and not down at the buffet, where I could hear what the two are talking about. Maybe it’s something completely banal like the event. Or they talk about my sister.
What if the two make common cause? What if Sutton made a deal with Ruby? I haven’t thought of it at all, and I doubt that Lydia has considered it. She didn’t explain to me how she came to make out with her teacher, but I know my sister well enough to know that this man is more to her than a little adrenaline in between.
The irrepressible need to protect my sister germinates in me. As if by magic, I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket and take out my mobile phone. I unlock it with my thumb, then I swipe left on the display to open the camera.
The corner where Ruby and Mr. Sutton are standing is dark. He has put a hand on her shoulder and comes quite close to her face with his mouth as he speaks. Only at second glance do you see that Ruby’s clipboard is between them and they are both looking at it. Apparently, they are really talking about the event.
It’s completely harmless when you see it in real life. But on the display of my mobile phone, from a well-chosen angle and with reasonable editing, the situation could clearly be interpreted differently. I press the shutter button. Several times in a row.
‘What are you doing?’ comes Alistair’s voice close behind me. He looks over my shoulder at the cell phone.
‘Protect myself,’ I reply.
He frowns. ‘What have you got against her?’
I take a deep breath. I’d love to have more Bowmore to finally turn off my head completely. I haven’t been able to do that for days.
‘She saw something she shouldn’t have seen.’
Alistair looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, then nods. ‘Okay.’
‘If she tells anyone, Lydia is in real trouble.’
He looks down and watches Ruby, who is still talking to Mr. Sutton. ‘I see.’
I take one last picture and push the phone back into the inside pocket of my jacket. Then I let my gaze wander to the entrance of the hall. ‘My guests have arrived.’
A grin spreads across Alistair’s face. ‘Showtime.’
Ruby
The party is a complete success. At eleven o’clock, guests crowd into Maxton Hall, drinking and eating, chatting or dancing. So far, nothing has gone wrong, and Principal Lexington has just congratulated Lin and me on the successful evening. I’m so relieved that I think for a short moment whether I shouldn’t go on the dance floor and let go a bit. But I’ve already released Doug and Camille for the rest of the evening, and one of us has to keep an eye on the buffet so that no one gets the idea of mixing alcohol into the punch.
During the first two hours, the dance floor was yawningly empty, and I was quite worried. But Kieran, who is in the event team with me and took care of the music, said that was quite normal. And he was right. For half an hour, the guests have been dancing to various remixes of songs from the charts, which I personally don’t like at all, but seem to be well received here.
I look around. I don’t know many of the faces, but that’s quite normal. The purpose of these parties is to bring alumni together, find sponsors and woo the parents of future students. Principal Lexington was the first to explain this to me when I applied for the events committee two years ago. Maxton Hall events are only secondarily there so that we students can spend a nice evening together.
Suddenly the light goes out. The same goes for the music.
I freeze in shock for a second, then I hastily reach into my bra and take out my phone. ‘Damn, damn, damn,’ I murmur and try to turn on the flashlight.
An angry murmur goes through the hall, echoing through my head like an echo. This party has to run smoothly. Nothing can go wrong. Even if a power generator fails, Lin and I will be held accountable, and I can already hear Mr. Lexington’s disappointed lecture on planning and foresight and damage to the school’s image.
I immediately make my way past the buffet. To look for Lin now makes no sense, I urgently need to go to caretaker Jones so that he can go with me to the basement and clean up the electrical box …
The light comes back on, and I breathe a sigh of relief and press my hand to my thumping heart. But when I turn around and see James Beaufort standing behind the DJ booth, it slips straight into my pants.
He talks to the DJ and presses something into his hand. Probably money. I clench my teeth tightly. I’m standing far too far away to intervene quickly enough. I look at the dance floor. A few guests look around curiously, probably wondering what happened to the music. Others head towards the buffet or bar.
I only notice that some people there don’t look like Maxton Hall clientele at all when it’s already too late.
‘Friends,’ the DJ’s voice sounds. ‘As I just heard, there is a very special surprise for you today. Are you ready?’ My stomach does a somersault. Across from me, on the other side of the dance floor, I spot Lin and Kieran, who look like statues with their chalk-pale faces. ‘Have fun!’
The lights are dimmed until the hall is in semi-darkness. An astonished murmur goes through the crowd when the music starts again. The song that is played has deep bass and a slow beat that makes the chandeliers clink. I stare at the dance floor. A few women and men begin to dance lasciviously. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the hall seems to be completely different than it was a few minutes ago. It is no longer dignified and noble – but dirty and wicked. I’m about to make my way to Beaufort to confront him, when someone touches me on the arm.
‘Are you Ruby Bell?’ asks the guy who stepped up next to me. I nod absently. At the other end of the hall, one of the young women grabs Mr. Sutton and Mr. Cabot and pulls them into the middle of the dance floor.
‘This is a gift from your friend James Beaufort,’ he continues, shoving a chair into the back of my knee so that I fall on it. Perplexed, I look up at him.
The guy may be in his early twenties, has light blond, gelled back hair and light blue eyes. He gets into position in front of me … and starts dancing. My mouth becomes dry. My head is on stand-by. I can’t believe this is happening right now. But it does. The guy first slowly slips his jacket off his shoulders, then he begins to loosen his black bow tie. When he loosens it completely and throws it behind him, a few women scream in delight. Then he plays with his suspenders, lets one slide over his shoulder and smiles seductively at me. When he arrives at the second carrier, he turns smoothly around his own axis and then lets him shoot back onto his chest in a challenging manner. Then he leans over to me and rocks his hips to the slow rhythm of the song.
‘Won’t you help me, Ruby?’ he murmurs, taking my hand, which is surprisingly warm, and guiding it to his suspenders.
‘Come on, take it off!’ someone calls out to me.
That pulls me out of my rigidity.
I jump up. The guy backs away. For a moment he seems uncertain, but then the inviting smile returns to his lips. Without further ado, he pushes the suspenders over his shoulder and continues with his show as if nothing had happened.
My heart stops as my gaze falls past him to the middle of the dance floor. Two of the young women dance in front of Mr. Cabot, dressed in nothing but shimmering thongs and thin lace bras.
This can only be a bad dream from which I will wake up drenched in sweat at any moment. But when I also see Alistair Ellington, on whose lap sits a man who also gets rid of his suspenders and then starts unbuttoning his shirt with Alistair’s support, I can no longer fool myself. This is reality.
I whirl around angrily. I discover him immediately. James Beaufort leans against the edge of the hall and watches the spectacle. He holds a glass of brown liquid in his hand, and his expression is almost blissful. In the next second, our eyes meet. Smiling, he raises his glass and toasts me. The rational part of my brain advises me to find Lin first and then go to the teachers so that we can stop this madness immediately. The irrational part wants to do bad things to James, which are associated with great pain. Although this part is much louder right now, I think better of it and turn away.
I can still inflict pain on James Beaufort later. And I already know exactly how.
