Whispers in the Study

BY Tracy Watts

The gilded clock on the mantelpiece of Lady Ashbury’s drawing-room chimed a precise five o’clock, its melodic tone usually a comforting herald of the evening’s quietude. But today, it coincided with the shrill, insistent ring of her mobile phone, shattering the carefully curated peace.

Lady Ashbury, Margo to those who navigated the delicate dance of her inner circle, had been admiring a newly acquired antique vase, her elegant hands tracing its delicate porcelain curves. At the sound, her gaze flickered to the caller ID. Her perfectly arched brow furrowed, a subtle shift in her composed demeanour. Trevor.

It was a name that brought with it a cascade of carefully buried truths. Trevor Allen. The lead researcher at Apexia, a man whose brilliance was only matched by his capacity for discretion. And the father of her two identical twin daughters, a secret more fiercely guarded than any state document.

Margo’s life was a meticulously constructed façade. Her divorce, a quiet affair years ago, remained unannounced to her social set. To admit it would be to invite whispers, pity, and the dreaded label of “outcast” in a world where appearances were paramount. Ever since “the scandal,” the destruction of Charles and Diane’s marriage splashed across every tabloid, discretion had become an even more prized commodity among those of her station. Secret relations were now anathema, and Margo, though divorced, knew the judgment would be just as severe for her. The thought of exposing her children, legitimate though their birth was, was unthinkable. They were her solace, her joy, her deepest, most cherished secret.

The twins, Claire and Christine – Chrissy – were born in silent secrecy at her family home in Birmingham, amidst a flurry of hushed medical professionals and a network of impenetrable loyalty. Claire, named for her sister, Claire, whose brutal murder remained unsolved, her body never found. And Christine, for her own late mother. They bore the Ashbury name, a carefully managed decision to avoid any public confusion or, God forbid, a scandal that would ripple through their quiet lives.

Margo’s hand, usually so steady, trembled slightly as she took the call. “Excuse me for a moment, darling,” she said to the empty room, a habit cultivated from years of feigning conversation to avoid suspicion. She moved with purpose, her silk dressing gown whispering against the Persian rug, towards the sanctuary of her study.

The study, dark wood and leather-bound books, absorbed sound, a perfect haven for secrets. She closed the heavy oak door behind her, ensuring the latch clicked firmly. She took a deep, steadying breath, then brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” Margo said, her voice a low murmur, once she was assured she was utterly alone.

There was no preamble, no customary greeting from the other end. Trevor’s voice, usually calm and measured, was clipped, raw with urgency. “Margo, don’t say a word, just listen. There are plans to kill you and the kids. These people are bigger than I thought. Just make sure you keep this phone with you at all times, Okay.”

The line clicked. He was gone.

Margo stared at the phone in her hand, a sleek, modern device that suddenly felt like a lead weight. The words echoed in the sudden, cavernous silence of the study. Kill you and the kids. Her children. Her beautiful, vibrant twins. Claire, with her quiet thoughtfulness, and Chrissy, with her bright, infectious laugh.

The world tilted. Her perfectly ordered life, the careful edifice she had built around herself and her daughters, felt like it was crumbling. Who were “these people”? And how could they know about the twins, a secret so meticulously guarded, so deeply buried even from her closest friends? Only Trevor knew the full truth, and perhaps her old, trusted family doctor, now long retired and living in splendid anonymity in the Highlands.

Trevor, the brilliant, sometimes reckless scientist. What had he gotten himself into at Apexia? And more terrifyingly, what had he dragged them into?

She slid the phone back into her pocket, the cold metal a stark reminder of the chilling message. The silence of the study, once a sanctuary, now felt like a tomb. She could not help but wonder what that was about, even as a visceral fear, cold and sharp, began to spread through her veins.