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Vera was aware that time was passing and she was expected at Southwold Hall. She picked up the last errant can of beans, returned it to the display shelf, and turned to face Carol. “So,” she asked, “are you going to say anything?”
“I want to see her.”
Vera ignored the request. “If you do nothing and say nothing, your daughter will become the Countess of Southwold and the heir to Mr. Harrigan’s millions. Why would you want to spoil that? What kind of mother are you?”
“I want to see her,” Carol repeated stubbornly.
“You abandoned her.”
“I still want to see her.”
“If you say anything, I’ll deny it.”
“I can prove it.”
“No, you can’t.”
“The birth certificate ...”
“Says that Vera Malloy is her mother, and I’m Vera Malloy.”
Carol was silent for a long time. “I want to see her.” Her voice was plaintive. “I won’t say anything.”
Vera crossed to the door and looked out at the village green. The Southwold Bentley remained at the curb. The chauffeur was relaxing in the front seat and smoking a cigarette.
Vera made a concession. “I’ll say you’re an old friend, and you won’t say anything at all.”
“All right.”
“Come on, then. We can go together.”
She opened the door, allowing a gust of cold wind to ruffle the stack of newspapers. Carol pulled on a coat and took a bunch of keys from a hook beside the door.
“Better put up your Closed sign,” Vera said, “someone’s coming.”
A dark green car had come to a halt on the opposite side of the road. Vera watched as a tall young man with brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses climbed out of the driver’s seat.
Carol looked up, the Closed sign still in her hand.
“I’ll go out the back,” she said abruptly.
“Why? What? Who is he?”
“Someone I don’t want to see,” Carol said breathlessly. She thrust the sign into Vera’s hand. “Tell him I’m not here.”