11

 

Eleanor sat in the lounge at the safe house. The firebox stood open in front of her, papers strewn across the lacquered and stained surface of the table. Behind her, Patrick and Shay talked quietly. Abbie sat watching TV and sniffling. Frustration and helplessness filled her. She’d wanted to go straight to the hospital, but Patrick had refused. He promised to take her in tomorrow, but that was too late. Now was too late, but she wanted to see her mum, even if she wasn’t there anymore.

The constant sniffing got on her already frayed nerves and she snapped. “Please don’t sniff. Use a tissue.”

“I’ll sniff if I want to,” Abbie muttered. “It’s your fault she’s dead.”

Eleanor turned to look at her. “Mine?”

“Those men were looking for you. If you’d been at home instead of here…”

Patrick rose and crossed the room, sitting beside Abbie. “Speaking of those men, if I showed you some pictures, could you tell me if you’ve seen any of them before?”

Abbie nodded. “Ellie suggested I describe them. I’ve got an eye for detail. I could give you the make and model of the car, too.”

“That would be really good. But first let’s look at the pictures on my phone.”

Abbie nodded, leaning down over his phone.

Eleanor tuned them out, concentrating on the papers. She was looking for this letter her mother mentioned, or a copy of a will or solicitor’s letters. Anything that looked like it could shed some light on things or looked important. She pulled out an envelope with her name written in her mother’s neat handwriting.

Her hands trembled as she opened the seal. Could this be the letter Mum mentioned? The one about her dad? She drew out two folded pieces of lined paper and what looked like two certificates. Carefully she opened the letter.

Dear Eleanor,

There is no easy way to say this, but I want you to know the truth. Your father was a criminal. He was not the man you thought he was. Although I was strict, and you resented me for it, you were my daughter and I love you. I just didn’t want you to turn out like your birth mother, and like him. You have been a good daughter and although I didn’t say it, you made my life happy when you brought Abbie into it.

Your birth mother’s name was Rachel. I adopted you after her death…

Eleanor dropped the letter. Her insides knotted and a huge lump formed in her throat. She was adopted? The last conversation with her mother suddenly made sense. She unfolded the two official documents.

The first was her birth certificate. It named her father and a Rachel Foster as her mother. Foster…wasn’t that the name Patrick kept mentioning?

The second was her adoption certificate.

A stifled wail ripped from her throat, her hand clamping over her mouth in an effort to control it. Blood pounded in her head. She began to shake.

No wonder she hated me. I wasn’t hers. Just a constant reminder of something Dad did.

Patrick looked at her. “What’s wrong, Elle? Are you all right?”

Not wanting a fuss at all, never mind in front of Abbie, she inclined her head a little. “Yeah, I’m fine. Abbie, it’s late. High time you were in bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed.”

“That’s just too bad. You need to rest remember, and it really is late.”

“I’m fine here, thank you very much. Watching the TV with Patrick.”

“Please, Abbie, it’s been a really long day.”

Abbie folded her good arm over her chest and didn’t move.

Elle looked back down at the letter, needing to learn more about this deep, dark secret. Learn more about this bomb that had just been dropped in her lap and exploded in her face. The words ran into each other as she read. Her stomach twisted and spun as her world, turned upside down since she got up that morning, disintegrated into a million tiny pieces.

Finally finishing the letter, she looked up. “Are you still here?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Abbie retorted.

“Bed.”

“What if the men come back or something else happens? I want Mum.”

Patrick got to his feet. “Abbie, I promise nothing is gonna happen tonight. How about I take you upstairs, and we find your room. I’ll check it out, look in the wardrobe, under the bed. We can also leave your door open so the light from the landing comes in if you like. That way if you need someone you can just shout. Shay and I are both here all night along with another agent. You’ll be perfectly safe while you sleep, I promise.”

“All right.”

“Come on, then. Say good night to your sister. We’ll find your pain meds and get you settled. Your room is right across the hall from Elle’s.”

Abbie tucked her rag doll into her sling and got up slowly. She crossed the room and hugged her one handed. “Good night, Ellie. I love you.”

“Good night, squirt. I love you, too.”

Watching the two of them leave, her heart grieved for the life that never was. How different things could have been if I hadn’t left him. She looked over at Shay. You and Patrick seem pretty close.”

“We are, but we’re just colleagues, nothing more. Patrick doesn’t have time for anything other than work. Between you and me, it’s like he’s hiding from real life.”

“He used to go out a lot. At least when…” She broke off. “It’s just you two get on so well.”

“Patrick’s an easy bloke to get along with. He’s charming, sweet, a real gentleman. It’s not often you find someone in our line of work who’s not tainted by what we have to do. His faith carries him through a lot. But even if he wasn’t married to his job, I’m in love with my husband, and wouldn’t break my marriage vows under any circumstances.”

“Your husband doesn’t mind you hanging with him or staying here?”

Shay smiled. “This is what I do. Kevin understands. Besides he’s in the army, so he can be away for months at a time. Right now he’s in Cyprus.”

“That must be hard.” She looked down at the letter in her hand.

“It is sometimes. But, Kevin was in the army when I met him. I knew what I was getting into. Just like he knew what I did. Neither of us would change it for the world. What about you and Patrick? I understand you’ve known each other a long time.”

Her fingers traced the crease on the paper. “Yeah. We go way back. I knew him, rather went out with him, for a year at university. Then I left and never saw him again. Until now.”

“Why not?”

“We didn’t part on very good terms.”

“What happened?”

She shifted, the letter creasing in her hand. “The kind of ‘ruins your life’ stuff I don’t want to talk about.”

“OK.” Shay inclined her head and her eyes narrowed.

Had she said too much? She kept forgetting these people were spies. Besides what happened between her and Patrick was no one’s business but their own.

“I’m going to go make some tea.” Eleanor shoved the papers back into the firebox and locked it. She headed into the kitchen, Shay behind her. This was going to get tiring very quickly. At least Patrick didn’t follow her everywhere.

If I could change things, I would. But I can’t. It’s too late.

As she sat sipping her tea, Patrick came into the kitchen. She smiled at him. “Is she all right?”

Patrick poured himself a mug of coffee and sat opposite her. “Yeah, she is. I told her you’d be up in a while.”

Eleanor sat quietly. She looked at the custard cream biscuit and slowly pulled it apart. She scraped her nail through the cream filling. “Thank you.” This was how it should be, Patrick tucking in his daughter at night, the two of them having time...

Patrick put a hand on her arm. “I need you to talk to me, Elle and tell me what’s going on. All of it.”

She shifted in her chair. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“Elle, whoever is after you has killed your mother, hurt Abbie, and has threatened you.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” She sucked in a deep breath and lowered her voice, not wanting Abbie to overhear and get upset. “I know that they hurt Abbie and killed…Mum.”

Trembling fingers snapped the biscuit in half. They needed to know and there was no easy way to say it, other than blurt it out. “Jeanette Harrison wasn’t my birth mother.”

Patrick and Shay exchanged shocked glances. “What?” he asked.

“Mum said to get the firebox, as there was a letter in there for me telling me about my father. I found it and… and there are papers in that box, my birth and adoption certificates. She wasn’t my mother. And all this is my father’s fault.” The avalanche of tears she’d been holding onto for so long began to fall. She shoved her chair back, and ran from room.

 

****

 

Patrick sat there for an instant, before setting off after her, leaving Shay to clear kitchen. He took the cups with him. He knew Elle was still downstairs as he hadn’t heard the front door open or the stairs creak. If he had to guess, she’d be in the lounge in front of the fire.

Peering into the lounge, he smiled as he saw her. “You’re a creature of habit, Elle. You’re sat in your thinking place, even if the fire isn’t on.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. She held a letter in her hands, twisting it over and over. Tears streaked her face.

He sat beside her, setting her cup down on the floor next to her. He longed to put his arms around her and hold her, but he wasn’t sure she’d accept it. “Talk to me.”

“I was adopted. I didn’t know.” She handed him the envelope. “It says so in here.”

He took it, pulling out the certificates, and reading them.

He hated the cold dread that washed over him. Foster? No, it can’t be.

“It’s your father’s name, but who is this Rachel Foster?”

She waved letter slowly. “It’s all written out in here in graphic detail. My father had a long standing affair with this Rachel woman. According to this, it began a year after he married Mum and just carried on. When she found out about the affair, Rachel was pregnant, so Mum threw him out. Rachel left her husband and twin sons and moved in with Dad. After I was born, Rachel’s husband persuaded her to go home. She took me with her. Six months later, the house burned down. Rachel and her husband were killed.”

“Oh, Elle.” He put his cup down and wrapped an arm around her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Dad collected me from the hospital. Mum adopted me and Rachel Foster was never mentioned. Mum refused to have anything to do with the boys and Dad agreed as they weren’t his, so they went into care. It was the only way she’d have him back. But I have brothers. Half-brothers,” she corrected.

“I’m sorry. And you never knew?”

“No, not until I read this. She was very adamant I find and read the letter. It’s almost as if she knew she was dying and wanted me to know the truth. That’s why I picked up the firebox when we called in home for Abbie’s things.” She leaned against him, keeping her gaze on her hands as she held the letter.

His right hand moved slowly over her back, comforting her.

“It explains a lot. Why she kept telling me that I was the devil spawn. Along with the fact that all men are evil and not to be trusted. That they were only after one thing and once they got it, they’d leave you. She’d tell me that at least once a day. Growing up I wasn’t allowed boyfriends, sleepovers, make up, or parties. I had a friend over once. She bought her makeup and we did each other’s faces, copying an ad in a magazine. Mum wasn’t best pleased. Make that livid. She told me I looked like a painted doll. She sent my friend home and scrubbed my face clean with a nail brush. Then told me I was a hussy who’d come to no good.”

“None of that is true.” He hugged her. “Not all men are the same and you are certainly not a hussy.”

She looked down. “Yeah, I am. Anyway, you get told it enough and after a while you start believing it and figuring well may as well act like it.”

Patrick smiled wryly. He knew there was no arguing with her right now. Her grief was clouding her judgment. Never mind the bombshell she’d just had dropped on her. “That explains a lot.”

She tilted her head at him. “Huh?”

“At university,” he explained. “Once you came out of your shell, you were always the first to do anything at parties. Try new things.”

“The one exception to that being the charity bungee jump.”

Patrick smiled. “I’d forgotten about that. You made me do it as you didn’t like heights.”

“You did it though. But, yeah, I rebelled. Call it freedom from the constraints of home.”

“Freedom? Was it really that bad?”

“Yeah. At university I could be me or at least who I thought I wanted to be.”

He finished his coffee. “Did you find yourself?”

“No.”

“Do you regret any of it?”

“All of it,” she whispered.

He stiffened. “All of it? Does that include me? Us?”

“I can’t do this now.” Eleanor pushed up from the floor and picked all the papers. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you regret us?”

“Yes, Patrick. I regret all of it.”

His throat tightened and he struggled to get the word out. “Me?”

“Yes. Especially you because I proved her right, Patrick.”

He shook his head, trying to comprehend what she was saying. “I don’t understand. What we shared was—”

She reached the door and turned around. A dark sorrowful gaze pierced him, cutting him off. “What we shared was wrong. Good night.”