As soon as she was back in Edinburgh, Sarah went to see her mother.
She was in her chair but more upright, even without the cushions. Her hair was neatly combed and she was wearing all her own clothes.
When she saw Sarah walk into the ward, her face lit up.
‘Sa… rah!’
‘Mum, a whole word! You’ll be rattling away soon.’ Sarah pulled over a chair and sat down next to her. On the drive back from Skye she’d thought very carefully about what to say to her mother and how to broach the subject of where her mother had been born. She knew she had to tread gently.
‘Mum, the solicitors have found Magdalena!’
‘Ma… lena! Alive!’
‘Yes, Mum. Hopefully she’ll be coming to Scotland and we’ll meet her.’ She took her mother’s hand. ‘Mum, I think I’ve discovered where you came from – before you were adopted. I’m pretty sure it was Poland. Do you remember?’
Tears sprang to her mother’s eyes.
‘Don’t cry, Mum. Please. We don’t have to talk about it. Not now. Not ever if you don’t want to.’
‘Want – to – see – Ma… leena.’
‘So do I, Mum. So do I. I promise you, if she doesn’t come soon I’ll fetch her myself.’
As the solicitors refused to give Sarah Magdalena’s address, there was little Sarah could do but wait - and hope – that Magdalena would get in touch with her.
She’d told her mother she’d broken up with Matthew and thought she’d caught a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes when she’d given her the news. She’d mentioned Neil, too. Come to think of it, having only met the man a couple of times, she managed to talk about him rather a lot. She’d written to him, care of Katherine, to tell him she’d seen his work and that she’d been wrong to accuse him of not caring.
She spent most of the week working and when she wasn’t at the office or with her mother, she was at the library reading everything she could get her hands on about Poland and the war – dismayed by how little she’d really known about it. If Mum’s parents were Polish then Sarah was part Polish too – perhaps even part Jewish. She read everything she could about the camps in Poland, down to the last sickening detail. They’d been taught about the holocaust in school but then it seemed too far in the past to seem real. Now it did. Heartbreakingly real. What about the rest of Mum’s family? Had any of them survived?
While at the library, on impulse she’d looked up newspaper cuttings from the journals Neil had mentioned he worked for, searching through them until she found ones with his name on the byline.
His pictures were stunning in their simplicity. One photo depicted an old man, sitting outside the ruins of what must once have been his home. He was looking slightly to the left of the camera, yet somehow Neil had managed to capture the pain and despair in the eyes. There was another of Mrs Thatcher taken during an official trip to Africa. She was in the middle of a group of ragged children who had wide smiles on their faces. In their excitement they were pressing close to her and Neil had perfectly captured her discomfort. He seemed to have a canny instinct for catching people in their most unguarded moments, as if he could see into their very souls. Which is how she had felt when he had looked at her – as if he knew her better than she knew herself. And liked what he saw. Mostly.
There were other, more graphic, photos too. Ones that had been taken in China during the recent student protests – of young men and women, kneeling on the ground, their eyes blindfolded, their hands tied behind their backs.
The last ones she looked at had been taken somewhere in Africa – of children, their tiny bellies swollen, eyes covered in flies, a mother holding her baby to a breast that clearly no longer held any milk.
She sat back and closed her eyes. Neil was right. Someone had to bear witness, someone had to tell these people’s story. And if not people like Neil, then who?
Today, she was back in the house in Charlotte Square. She’d already spent some time there, browsing Richard’s extensive collection of books about the Second World War.
She brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face, sat back on her heels, adding one more book to the pile she’d made on the floor to take home with her to read. She’d lit the fire in the small sitting room and although the rest of the house was chilly, this room was warm and cosy.
Selecting a book she wanted to read, she went downstairs to make some coffee. She’d brought a small jar with her as well as milk, bread, salad and a few other essentials.
She took her coffee into the small sitting room and looked outside. An elderly lady was sitting on a bench, her handbag neatly placed on her lap. She appeared to be waiting for someone.
Sarah sat at the writing desk and started reading, taking notes as she went along. The first-hand accounts of what had happened to survivors of the war were harrowing and draining. Therefore when the doorbell rang, she was almost pleased.
Rubbing the small of her back, she went into the hall and opened the front door.
On the doorstep was a thin, elderly woman with short grey hair, clutching a cheap, vinyl bag. She’d been the one sitting on the bench opposite a short while ago.
‘Can I help you?’ Sarah asked.
‘I believe this is Lord Glendale’s house? At least it used to be.’ Her English was perfect but accented. She peered past Sarah as if expecting someone to appear. ‘I might have made a mistake. It’s been so long and my memory isn’t what it used to be.’
Immediately Sarah knew this was Magdalena. ‘Yes this is Lord Glendale’s house. Are you Miss Magdalena Drobnik, by any chance?’
The woman straightened. ‘Dr Magdalena Drobnik, dear.’
‘Please. Come in!’
Suddenly Magdalena seemed to deflate and she clutched the door jamb for support. Sarah caught her, putting her arm under the woman’s shoulder, noting the fragility of her bird-like bones. She helped her inside and onto the sofa, lifting her legs so she was lying flat.
‘Please don’t fuss,’ Magdalena protested. ‘I’m a little light-headed, that’s all.’
Sarah shook her head. Magdalena’s lips had a bluish tinge to them. ‘Stay put,’ she said. ‘I’ll just get some water.’
By the time she returned from the kitchen a few moments later, Magdalena was sitting up and fumbling in her handbag. She brought out a brown plastic bottle and tapped a blue pill into the palm of her hand. Sarah passed her the glass of water and Magdalena washed down the tablet with large noisy gulps.
‘The beginnings of heart block, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry to have alarmed you.’
‘It’s all right. Take your time.’
Magdalena placed the glass carefully on the coffee table. ‘I came as soon as I could, but it took a while to get my passport in order. My country might be a democracy again,’ a smile flitted across her face, ‘but it seems the bureaucrats still hold the power.’
‘The solicitors didn’t tell me you were already here.’ Then she realised she hadn’t introduced herself. ‘I’m Sarah Davidson.’
Magdalena’s face brightened. ‘Sarah – I rather hoped you were.’
‘I’m sorry if it looks as if I’ve taken up residence in what is, after all, your property, but you probably know that Lord Glendale appointed my mother as his executor in your absence.’
A look of unutterable sadness passed across her face. ‘If I’d known Richard was ill… I should have guessed when he stopped answering my letters. Not that it would have made any difference. I couldn’t have come to him then. If only he had been able to hold on a little longer – I would have been able to see him one last time.’
‘Would you excuse me? I’ll be back in a moment.’ Sarah ran upstairs and took the photograph of Magdalena from the mantelpiece before hurrying back downstairs.
‘He has a painting of you like this – in his bedroom – opposite his bed. You were the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes, the first thing he saw in the morning.’
Magdalena took the photograph. ‘Oh, Richard.’ Her eyes filled and she dabbed them with her handkerchief. ‘I thought I had cried all the tears I was going to.’
Sarah sat down and waited for Magdalena to gather herself.
‘I’ve been longing to meet you,’ she said, when the older woman seemed composed again. ‘My mother remembers you. She really wants to see you again.’
Magdalena’s head snapped up. ‘She remembers me?’
‘Oh, yes. You meant – mean – a great deal to her.’ She took the photo Richard had left her mother from her handbag and passed it across. ‘That’s her.’
Magdalena covered her mouth with her hand and when she looked up her eyes were luminous. ‘So it is,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, and look, she’s wearing my necklace.’
‘You gave it to her? It’s her most precious possession.’ Sarah hesitated. ‘What I don’t understand is why Mum remembers you and not Irena Kraszewska. The woman who rescued her from Poland.’
Magdalena smiled. ‘My dear, that’s easy to explain. Magdalena is my assumed name. I had to change it when I went back to Poland and so I chose the name of a very dear friend of mine who died in the war. I couldn’t take her last name, though – the Germans were very zealous record keepers. But Irena Kraszewska was the name I was born with and if you don’t mind, now I’m here, it’s the one I’d prefer to use.’
‘You’re Irena!’ Suddenly it all made sense. Perfect sense. Magdalena and Irena were one and the same. Now she could see it. She had the same almond-shaped eyes as the woman in the photograph, the same full bottom lip, even the way her mouth turned up at the corners as if caught in a permanent smile. ‘I can’t wait to tell Mum.’
‘How is Leah – I mean Lily? Is she here?’ Irena looked around, her eyes shining. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to seeing her again.’
‘She’s not well. She had a stroke a few months ago and is in hospital getting intensive rehab.’
Irena’s face fell. ‘But she’s so young! How is she now?’
‘She’s improved quite a bit in the last few weeks. I think knowing Magdalena – you – were alive gave her something to look forward to.’
‘Do you have a recent photograph of her?’
Sarah reached into her handbag and opened her purse. She had one that was taken when they were on holiday in Dorset and which she always kept with her. It was her favourite. In it, her mother looked so happy, so carefree.
Irena studied it. ‘Leah,’ she breathed.
‘What can you tell me about her? How did you meet her? Who was she? Are any of her family still alive?’
Irena smiled. ‘So many questions! Of course, I’ll tell you everything – at least what I can.’ She drew her hand across her face. Suddenly she looked exhausted. Of course it was bound to be emotionally draining for her to be here. Sarah also needed to give her time to recover from her journey.
‘We’ll leave that for later.’ She glanced at her watch. It was after seven. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Not since lunchtime. I don’t eat very much, although I have to admit, I’m a little peckish.’ She smiled in delight. ‘There! I remembered one of your idioms.’
‘Are you planning to stay here?’ Sarah asked. ‘I could easily make up a bed for you. Or you could come home with me, if you prefer? There’s plenty of room. You’d be on your own tomorrow, but there are shops nearby and a bus stop if you wanted to go anywhere.’
‘Thank you, you’re very kind, but I would prefer to stay here.’
‘Of course.’ But Sarah wasn’t sure she should, not on her own, not when she clearly wasn’t well. However, it wasn’t up to her.
‘This house holds so many memories for me,’ Irena continued, looking around, and fingering the velvet tassel of one of the cushions. ‘I never thought I’d see it again.’
‘If it’s all right with you, why don’t we both stay? I’ve slept here myself, once or twice. It keeps it aired as well as making it easier for me to use the library. I’m sure there’s enough in the fridge to throw together a sandwich.’
‘I don’t wish to put you to any trouble.’
‘You won’t. Now I’ve found you, I’m damned if I’m going to let you out of my sight – not until I know everything.’
Irena took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m a little tired, but I’d love to see your mother again. Would it be possible to visit her this evening, after we’ve had supper?’
‘I’m afraid visiting hours are over for today. For some bizarre reason, they’re restricted on Mondays – I guess they don’t want hordes of people cramming into the ward and tiring the patients. But you must come with me tomorrow afternoon – Mum will be thrilled.’
‘I’d like that very much.’
‘How long are you in Scotland?’
‘A month.’
‘Then we have plenty of time for you to tell me everything.’
Sarah made Irena a cup of tea and left her while she made up some sandwiches and placed them on a tray. As an afterthought she added the remains of the bottle of wine she’d opened the other night. Even if Irena didn’t need a drink, she did.
‘Would you mind if we had supper on our laps?’ Sarah asked when she returned with the tray. ‘I’m afraid the dining room is a little chilly.’
‘Of course not. I’m sorry to put you to all this trouble.’
‘Believe me, it’s no trouble. You can’t imagine how much I’ve being hoping to meet you.’ Sarah held up the bottle of wine and to her surprise, Irena nodded. ‘Let’s have our supper, then we can talk,’ she said.
When they’d eaten, Irena leaned back in her chair and took a sip of wine. ‘If you would indulge an old lady, I’d like to start at the beginning?’
Sarah nodded.
Irena closed her eyes. ‘My – our, because it is your story too – story begins in Warsaw. I was about to begin the fourth year of my medical training, but all that changed when the Germans invaded my country.’
Sarah listened, fascinated, as Irena told her about her life in Warsaw, the typhus ruse and why she’d decided in the end to leave Poland.
‘The boy, Dominik. Did he make it?’
‘Then, yes. Although I’m not sure if he survived the war.’
‘I couldn’t have done what you did. I would have been terrified.’
‘I was terrified. Almost all the time.’
‘No, you were brave. Incredibly brave.’
A shadow crossed Irena’s face. ‘Oh my dear, I wasn’t always as brave as I should have been.’ She brushed a hand across her eyes. ‘Would you mind if we left the rest of the story until tomorrow?’ She looked utterly drained.
Sarah hid her disappointment behind a smile. ‘Of course. I’ll show you to your room. There’s plenty of water if you’d like a bath before bed?’
She went to help her out of the low sofa but Irena brushed her away with an impatient hand. ‘I might be old, but I’m not yet incapable of getting to my feet unaided.’
Sarah should have known from the little she had learned about her guest that she was made of stern stuff. All the women she’d met in the course of her search seemed made that way.
After Irena was settled in her room, Sarah went back downstairs and cleared away their dishes.
Irena and Magdalena were one and the same and she couldn’t wait to tell Mum she was here.