IS MACK about? Or Rory?”
Jesse’s found her way to the kitchen of the Hunt. The pub’s quiet ahead of the lunchtime rush.
“Mack’s doing an inventory in the cellar. I can get him, if you like. Haven’t seen Rory.”
“I’ll take over, Rachel.” That cool voice.
Jesse turns. “Mrs. Brandon. Mack said he’d call me this morning, but I’m here instead.” Jesse creates the brightest smile she can.
“Rachel, would you let Mack know that Miss Marley is here, please. Tell him we’ll be in my office.”
There seems no choice but to follow as Jesse is led out of the kitchen and through to the bar. She says, more loudly than she needs, “Thanks for your help, Rachel. Appreciated.”
“No problem, Jesse. Anytime.”
On the other side of the dining room, across a reception room, the door to the office is opened. “Here we are.”
Jesse stops. “What a lovely room. You’d never know the cloister is here from the outside.” Jesse hears herself flail. Cool people unnerve her.
“I like to be reminded that the present is built on the past. Though in life, of course, you can only go forward.” In perfect command, Helen sits behind her large desk. Black top, chrome legs, angular and formidable.
It occurs to Jesse that angular is a good word for this woman. There’s little flesh covering the basic structure of muscle and bone, but the effect is not gaunt, it’s strong.
Helen clears her throat. “I hear you’ve been given some news about your mother.”
Jesse opens her mouth. And closes it. “Did Mack—”
“No. But I was sorry indeed when I was told. Very sad. I hope you’re not too upset.”
“It’s . . . That is, I’d hoped . . .” Jesse’s struggling.
“Since you know . . .” Helen hesitates. She puts both hands flat on the desk. “I should tell you that I did meet your mother—before you were born.”
Jesse’s more than bewildered. “But you—”
Helen cuts in carefully, “Your mother was a drifter, Miss Marley, a poor, troubled girl without family. No one knew where she came from. And when she died”—a pause, just a tiny fragment of time—“the authorities did not know whom to contact. I believe the parish took charge.” She shakes her head. “As I said, very, very sad.”
“That can’t be right. Dr. Nicholls said her body”—a swallow of breath—“he told me it disappeared. That it’s still missing and . . .”
Helen allows Jesse to flounder. “From time to time, we all make difficult decisions, Miss Marley. When you first began asking questions, I felt nothing useful could come from telling you what I knew; considering the facts as they are, the sadness this has caused you, I still think I was correct.” Her eyes soften. “You should go home, Jesse. I’m sure your adoptive parents love you very much. That’s where you belong: Australia, not here.”
Something clicks in Jesse. “You know nothing about me, Mrs. Brandon. You have no right to speculate on where I might belong.” Jesse gets up.
“If I can help you further, of course . . .” Helen’s half risen. Her expression is uncomfortable.
“Thank you. I’ll certainly be in touch.” Jesse means it. If words are nails, no one’s hammering this box closed.
“There you are.” Mack hurries toward Jesse as she enters the dining room. Given the news that she’s here, he’s sprinted through the pub on his way to Helen’s office. He stops. “What’s wrong?”
Jesse’s expression is dazed. “Your mother, she . . .”
Mack closes the gap between them. His arm’s around her waist as if that’s the natural thing to do. “Come with me.”
An inglenook hidden by a settle is at the back of the empty bar. With great gentleness, Mack deposits Jesse against the cushions. “Do you want to talk?”
Jesse shakes her head. Her lips are blue-tinged, and that’s almost the only color in her face.
“Right.” Mack sprints to the bar, returns with a shot glass. “Drink.”
“What is it?”
He puts the glass in her hand, guides it to her mouth. “All of it.” He watches her swallow. And splutter.
“That’s brandy!”
“Not much left. Keep going.” His reward is the flush that changes her skin from white to faint pink. “You’re having no fun at all right now, are you?” He sits beside her.
“Except there’s you.” Jesse almost topples as she leans against him. “Helen lied to me, Mack.”
A nonplussed pause. “Why would you say that?”
“She knows what happened when I was born, but she pretended she didn’t. She thinks I should go back to Australia.” Jesse starts to shake. Sometimes, sometimes, it would be so comforting to talk to her mum in Sydney. Ask her advice. They used to be close when she was little. Tears leak and track down her face.
“Hey. Hey there.” Mack thumbs the tears away. He murmurs, “There must be a reason she’d say what she did.”
“She said she thought I’d be upset. She was lying.”
“Mum’s tough. Life’s made her like that. But this is not about her, it’s about you.” He cups his hands around her face. “And me.”
Jesse stares at him with huge, drowned eyes.
Mack lowers his head and kisses her. Soft. He murmurs, “Us.”
She rests against him. And returns the kiss. His mouth is so sweet.
“When you’re sad, I’m sad. Don’t go back to Sydney, Jesse. Stay here. We’ll work on being happy together.” Mack was never a reckless man before today.
A movement catches Jesse’s eye.
Rory’s standing by the bar.