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Terri drove the long winding lane up to Le Chant du Mistral and parked her car next to Angela’s BMW. It was already after seven o’clock - much later than she had expected to be. All the way back Basma’s story had run through her mind, over and over and over. Getting out of the car, she tried to clear her head and focus on the evening ahead instead. Walking up the path from the car park, she was aware of the diary in her bag. Now it felt like an incendiary device, waiting to burst into flames. Had Celia realised what Terri would find out if she found the diaries and followed up the leads? What strange game was she playing? It would have been so good to talk to Luc; she badly needed his input into her confused thoughts but that was out of the question now. Even if he was prepared to speak to her, there was no time; the party would be starting in a few minutes.
Terri crossed the courtyard. The meeting with Basma had left her jumpy and she regularly glanced round, checking to see if anyone was watching her. Letting herself in through the front door, she stepped as quickly and lightly as she could across the hall and through the sitting room to the rear hall. Once in her room, she locked the door with hands that shook, then leant back against it.
She knew she should do something about what she had just learned. But what? And was Basma to be trusted? In a sudden change of heart at the end of their meeting, she’d said Terri could do what she liked with the information, that it was time that the truth came out. She would not cover it up any more. But was it the truth?
Terri straightened up and began to peel off her clothes. She needed to wash and dress; she needed to compose her thoughts and paint on a smile.
*
Peter unlocked the door to the studio and let himself in. The falling sun shed a warm pink glow through the room. He loved this melting light – if it had a smell it would be musky – and the place was empty, as he preferred. Even so, it was going to be strange without Terri squirrelled away in her makeshift office. He wandered across to the door of her room. All her things had gone and it was a storeroom again. It had a forlorn air, he thought, like an empty ballroom when the dance is over. He was going to miss her enthusiasm and her drive – and, yes, even the verbal sparring. Stubborn, forthright and tenacious, she had shaken him up, breathed new life into him.
He walked into his study and glanced at the clock on the shelf. There was no need to rush; he was dressed and ready. He poured himself a whisky, his mind still on Terri. It was unthinkable that she should be his granddaughter and yet he’d become increasingly convinced that it was so. He had certainly heard stranger stories. But if Terri’s mother was Josie, his daughter was dead and the thought wrenched at him deep inside. How he wished now that he had never pushed her away. It had been an act of self-preservation, a way of coping with his own sense of guilt. He’d been cowardly and cruel.
He knocked back the whisky and took Maddy’s jewellery box from the cupboard. There was still time to make some reparation. He extracted the small padded box containing the sapphire earrings, put it in the pocket of his trousers and put the rest away. Locking the studio door and retracing his steps back to the house, he found himself whistling.
*
Terri walked through and paused inside the drawing room door. Someone was playing ragtime piano while guests stood around in small groups, clutching drinks. A buzz of conversation punctuated by occasional laughter competed with the music. She could see Angela, stunning in a sheath of pale blue satin, chatting nearby to an elderly couple.
‘Terri darling,’ said Angela, smiling a welcome and moving across to join her. ‘Don’t you look pretty? I was beginning to get worried about you. Is everything all right?’
Terri forced a smile. ‘Yes, fine. I’m sorry I’m late. I completely misjudged the time.’
‘Not to worry. Not everyone has arrived yet.’ Angela leaned close and dropped her voice. ‘I’m afraid Luc isn’t here. Peter says he hopes to come along later. I’m so sorry.’ She straightened up and gave an expansive smile to the room. ‘But you know most of these people don’t you? We’d intended something smaller but it’s difficult to leave people out, you know? Anyway, everyone’s waiting to see you. Oh, Hugh and June have just arrived. Do excuse me.’
Terri stood, looking round blankly. She recognised a few faces and some of them had been at the preview the night before though she barely remembered their names. Fortunately there was no sign of Celia but Lindsey was standing with Thierry by the patio doors. At the top of the room, Corinne, wearing her customary black dress and white apron, was moving back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, carrying plates of food.
‘Terri, you haven’t got a drink.’ Peter’s booming voice cut through the chatter and he descended on her, pushing a glass into her hand. ‘Don’t look at it so suspiciously. It’s a Manhattan. Haven’t you had one before? Try it. Everyone’s talking about the exhibition. Such a success. Have you seen the reviews today?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘No? I’m shocked. I thought that would’ve been the first thing you’d have done.’ Peter stared at her as if only now seeing her properly. ‘Are you feeling well? You’re pale.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m fine, just a little tired.’
‘Reaction,’ said Peter stoutly. ‘Hardly surprising. Well, believe me, the reviews are excellent.’
‘Good, I’m glad. You deserve them.’
‘We all deserve them.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘Congratulations my dear.’
Terri raised her own glass to touch his. ‘And to you.’
‘I’m afraid Luc’s not here. I was hoping you’d both...you know.’ Peter cleared his throat and left the thought unfinished. A stocky man with a grey moustache approached and patted Peter on the back. ‘Nigel, how are you?’ Peter turned and flashed Terri a smile. ‘Excuse me, dear. Nigel’s an old friend. I’ll go and get those reviews for you when I get a moment.’ He moved away. ‘Yes, Nigel, thank you. Glad you enjoyed it.’
The next couple of hours passed in a daze. Terri spent time with Lindsey and Thierry, chatted to people she didn’t know and ate food she didn’t want. She was complimented on the exhibition and accepted the congratulations by rote. Angela, drink in hand, sang a couple of songs; Peter persuaded Lindsey to play the piano. He retrieved the reviews and Terri dutifully read them but struggled to take them in. Then he was standing at the head of the room, clapping his hands and calling for quiet.
‘Thank you everybody. I won’t keep you long. But, as you all know, this little party tonight is a farewell affair for Terri.’
People moved back leaving a broad semi-circle of space in front of him and several hands pushed Terri forward until she was standing on the edge of it. Behind Peter, she saw Celia walk into the room and look in her direction. Terri quickly pulled her eyes away.
‘Don’t be shy, Terri,’ said Peter. ‘You weren’t that shy in the studio as I recall when you were telling me how I should re-organise myself.’ There was a sprinkling of laughter. Terri tried a smile. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you for long.’ He paused and embraced his audience with a roaming gaze. ‘It’s hard to believe that it’s only six months since Terri came into our lives. She’s managed to not only change my working habits – something which no-one would have thought possible...’ (More laughter) ‘...but she has entered our affections too and become, if I might make so bold, one of the family.’
Peter turned towards the archway and nodded. Corinne walked towards him pushing a trolley bearing glasses filled with champagne. Peter turned back to his audience.
‘I’d like you each to take a glass of champagne for the toast.’ He waited while the glasses were distributed. The buzz of chatter in the room slowly subsided and was replaced with an expectant silence. ‘The retrospective is excellent,’ Peter went on. ‘Thanks must go to Terri who has done me proud, but sadly she must move on. Someone else’s gain will be our loss. But we would like, Terri, to drink to your future health and happiness and what we are sure will be your continued success. Though we hope that your success won’t be so great that you forget where we are.’ He hesitated. ‘Indeed there is actually a strong possibility that Terri is a member of the family and I couldn’t be happier about it.’ He looked at her directly. ‘I’m sure I speak for Angela and Lindsey if I say that you will always be welcome here.’ Peter lifted his glass. ‘To Terri,’ he bellowed.
Her name was echoed round the room and everyone drank the toast.
‘Terri?’ Peter produced a small blue padded box and held it out to her on his upturned palm. ‘Please accept this small gift as a token of my appreciation. These belonged to Madeleine. It seems appropriate that you should have them.’
Terri frowned and glanced around uncertainly. Celia had moved to her left. A short distance to her right, Angela was staring, open-mouthed, an expression of horrified amazement on her face.
‘Really Peter, it’s not necessary,’ said Terri.
‘For once in your life, don’t argue.’ Peter thrust his hand further towards her. ‘For God’s sake, just take it.’
Terri relinquished her champagne flute to Celia’s grasp, reluctantly picked up the box and lifted back the sprung lid. Inside, resting on a padded cushion was a pair of stunning diamond and sapphire earrings. She pulled one out and watched the stones dance with light as they fell over her fingers.
‘They’re beautiful.’ She lifted her eyes to Peter’s face. He was smiling but she felt dead inside.
‘I remember Madeleine wearing those,’ proclaimed Celia. ‘She loved them. She’ll be so glad they’ve come to you.’
‘Indeed,’ Peter grunted. ‘Well, time we got the coffee going, hm?’
He moved away towards the kitchen. People began to cluster round, wanting to see Peter’s gift. There were murmurs of astonishment at the generosity of it, puzzled questions about the reference to Madeleine and then whisperings about ‘some long lost granddaughter’.
‘Silly old fool,’ Terri heard Angela mutter at her shoulder. ‘Stupid, bloody silly old fool,’ she said more loudly as her temper grew. ‘What does he think he’s playing at?’
Her anger was palpable. The veneer of hospitable charm had slipped away and the green eyes now fixed on Terri held pure hatred. Terri had a sudden memory of the dinner they had shared, out under the pergola, when Angela’s easy conversation had smoothly given way to insinuation, accusation and barely veiled warning, before just as smoothly reversing again. This woman wore a different mask for every occasion; she was clearly able to change them at will.
Angela turned on her heel, pushing her way through the circle of people towards the kitchen. A couple of minutes later raised angry voices could be heard from behind the half-open door.
The interest in the earrings quickly subsided and people began to shuffle away, embarrassed, talking loudly to cover the row. Lindsey exchanged a few words with Terri and said she was leaving with Thierry. Corinne, with a fixed expression, emerged through the door with a trolley of coffee things. Terri quickly closed the jewellery box and pushed it into her clutch bag. Celia thrust Terri’s champagne flute back at her.
‘Drink up,’ she said. ‘You can’t waste good bubbly.’
Terri took it and immediately put it down on a side table nearby.
‘I don’t want it,’ she said crisply.
‘Now, now. What’s got into you?’
‘You should know,’ snapped Terri. She couldn’t tolerate Celia’s whimsy when the woman had been manipulating her into this intolerable position all along.
The kitchen door banged and there was silence. The conversation started up again and an atmosphere of fake bonhomie filled the room. Peter walked in, looking strained, took a cup of coffee and engaged in loud but flat conversation. Celia began telling Terri about a painting she’d started on the Thursday but hadn’t been able to finish because of the weather. She rambled on, wondering when the light conditions would be the same again. Terri excused herself and walked away.
People had started to leave; Peter was sitting on a sofa, looking suddenly very weary. A few people made their excuses; others just slipped away. Terri went across to him.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
He raised bleary eyes. ‘Mm? Yes, champion m’dear. Champion. Did you have a good party?’
‘Yes, thank you. And thank you for the earrings. They’re lovely but you shouldn’t have done that.’
‘I wanted to.’
‘Angela didn’t like it.’
‘No. No, she didn’t. I hoped she’d understand.’ He frowned, then sighed heavily. ‘God I’m tired. I should go to bed.’ He made a weak effort to get up and she automatically put out a hand to help him. He waved her away impatiently and struggled to his feet. ‘I’m not decrepit yet,’ he said brusquely.
The salon had rapidly emptied; footsteps and subdued voices could be heard from the terrace. Celia, a fresh glass of champagne in one hand, a cigarette in the other, was standing just outside the open patio doors, staring up at the sky.
‘Is the sky more of an ultramarine or an indigo, do you think?’ she could be heard enquiring of no-one in particular.
Terri walked with Peter through to the hall. Corinne had already set the dishwasher going and gone home. After the bustle of the party the house had a melancholic air. Terri watched Peter slowly climb the stairs to his room, then turned away and walked into the sitting room. The front of the room was thick with darkness but the table lamp was still lit on the cupboard at the back and in the circle of light it shed, Terri noticed something wrong with the portrait. She moved closer. The canvas had been repeatedly ripped across Madeleine’s face, leaving sections of it hanging down in strips.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, stretching her fingers up to push the canvas back in a completely futile gesture. ‘No...it can’t be...what’s happened?’
‘Yes, such a shame,’ said a voice behind her.
Terri spun round but struggled to see into the gloom. A dark shape rose up from the wing-backed chair and walked into the ring of light. Terri already knew who it was, though Angela’s distinctive voice now had a slurred edge. She’d clearly drunk a great deal and still had a balloon glass in her left hand containing a finger of brandy. In the dim light her eyes glinted darkly. It was clear her anger had little abated.
‘But I suppose we’ll manage to find something...’ Angela hesitated and gestured vaguely with her right hand which held a sharp little kitchen knife. ‘...fresher, to replace it. Did I hear Peter going to bed, by the way?’
‘Did you do this?’ Terri pointed at the canvas with a shaking hand. ‘What the hell were you thinking of?’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Terri Challoner. You’re not family, whatever the stupid man says. Not now, not ever, not if I have anything to do with it.’ Angela’s eyes narrowed. ‘I knew all along that you were in some conspiracy with that crone. And now you’ve got the old fool giving you Madeleine’s jewellery. What’s next? A new car perhaps, a down payment on a flat? Lindsey pushed out and forgotten because you’ve got Madeleine’s eyes.’ She scoffed.
‘I didn’t ask for presents...or anything else. That’s not what it’s been about and you know it. I just wanted to know if Josephine was my mother.’
‘Darling, you can drop the act now. This is me, remember?’ Angela took a sip of brandy. ‘You know, I really thought Peter had begun to lose interest in this fantasy but then we get that nauseating performance...and in front of everyone too.’ She regarded Terri disdainfully. ‘There’s no proof that Josephine was pregnant, you know. That’s just Celia’s bit of fiction.’
‘But she was pregnant,’ said Terri, increasingly angry. ‘She said so in her last diary.’
‘Oh please. There are no diaries, Terri.’
‘Yes there are. There are four and I’ve read them all.’
‘You found them?’ Angela was frowning now. ‘Where?’
‘In the attic.’
Angela studied Terri’s face, then laughed shortly.
‘You’re bluffing. I searched everywhere up there for those diaries. They weren’t there.’
‘They were. I found them weeks ago. Though it took me a while to find the last one. It was hidden in the writing box.’
A flicker of doubt ran across Angela’s eyes. She raised her chin in a show of defiance. ‘Show me this diary then.’
Terri shook her head. ‘I’m keeping it in a safe place.’
‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’ Angela pointed the knife dangerously close to Terri’s face, her eyes blazing. ‘You are, aren’t you? Well, it won’t work. You’re a parasite.’
‘No,’ said Terri in a quiet, steely voice. ‘It’s you. You’re a cheat and a liar.’ She met Angela’s gaze and stared her out.
Angela looked disconcerted, momentarily uncertain. She let the hand drop and turned away, glancing back at Terri uneasily. ‘What is it you want exactly? Tell me. I can see you’re not going to go until you get something out of this.’
‘What I wanted was to find out the truth about Josie and Tom. And now I have.’ Terri snorted, scornfully. ‘And what a sordid story it is. Even so, I’d half decided to let it go. I thought, why make Peter hurt again after all this time? But I can’t let it go. And no, Angela, I won’t.’
‘Peter? Everyone always worries about Peter, don’t they? Poor Peter this and poor Peter that. What about me? No-one thinks how hard it was on me, always playing second fiddle to that.’ She pointed the knife towards the shredded portrait. ‘Little Miss Perfect there. And not only do I have to live in her shadow but I inherit her insolent daughter and a spastic boy as well.’
‘Is that why you let Josephine take the blame for Tom’s accident: to get rid of both of them in one go?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes you do. You’d arranged to meet one of Peter’s students in the pool house. I’m guessing you’d found out somehow that Josie had an appointment at the doctor’s so you thought you’d be safe. Then you saw Basma bring Tom to the pool instead and you had to get her out of the way. But if you’d told her to take the boy and go, Tom would have made a fuss, so you said you’d watch over him and you sent Basma away. Or maybe you saw a perfect opportunity to get rid of him permanently and it wasn’t an accident at all.’
‘You’re making this up,’ said Angela. ‘I wasn’t even at the house when Tom went swimming. I only got back after it happened.’
Terri ignored her. ‘When Tom asked for his arm bands, you told him to manage without them. You’re too big a boy to use those now, you said.’
‘You can’t possibly know what happened,’ said Angela, looking scared. ‘It won’t say in the diary; Josephine wasn’t there.’
‘No, exactly, because Josephine wasn’t there. But Basma was - and she heard what you said to Tom. She hung around, didn’t she?’
Angela’s expression froze, then she laughed, ostentatiously downed the last of the brandy and put the glass on the sideboard. ‘Basma was a liar, a thief and an illegal immigrant. I sent her packing.’
‘Well, she’s legal now - and ready to talk. She was never a thief or a liar, she simply didn’t want to leave Tom with you - she’d seen the way you treated him. So you got cross and told her to disappear, permanently, or you’d tell the authorities about her. You couldn’t risk her saying who you’d been meeting. Later, you’d tell Josie that it was Peter who’d sent her away. And then you let Tom drown while you made out with your lover, just a stone’s throw away. Tell me, was it easy to ignore his distress while he thrashed around in the water, struggling to breathe?’
‘No,’ pleaded Angela. ‘No, you’re twisting everything. I didn’t do it intentionally. I would have helped him if I’d realised there was a problem. By the time I got dressed he was already dead. I never meant that to happen.’
‘But you didn’t give him his arm bands on purpose. He had to have them to protect him from his spasms.’
‘No, no,’ she almost shouted. ‘I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t like handling him. He was...all hands and silly grins...and he dribbled. I didn’t like to touch him. And he could swim surprisingly well. I didn’t know about the spasms. I didn’t.’
‘You knew. Everyone knew. And you abandoned him. When Josie came back from her appointment with the doctor, she found Tom dead in the water and no-one else around. What sort of woman are you to leave a boy to die while you cheat on your husband, then let the boy’s sister take the blame?’
‘The sort who is treated as second best behind a dead woman who can do no wrong.’ Angela pointed angrily at the painting again. ‘I was just looking for a little tenderness,’ she said pathetically. ‘I mean is that so bad? I was unhappy. I was young and lonely. I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Her voice hardened again. ‘Don’t you dare lecture me.’
‘You had tenderness,’ said a man’s voice.
Terri swung round to see Peter standing in the doorway behind them. He stepped further into the room and let his gaze wander over the scene, then settle on the damaged portrait beyond the two women.
‘Peter darling...’Angela stepped quickly across to join him. ‘...what are you doing here?’
‘I came down to get a book and I wondered what was going on. What have you got in your hand?’
Angela looked down at the knife. ‘Oh, this, I...’ She put it down hastily on the side table and looped a hand through his arm. ‘Peter, darling. I’m so sorry I got cross earlier. I’d had too much to drink.’
He shook her off. ‘I’ve been standing outside the door, Angela,’ he said coldly.
‘Darling, what’s the matter? Oh, it’s the picture isn’t it? I’m so sorry. Really I am. But we can get it restored can’t we? They can do wonderful things now. I don’t know what got into me. I...I had a brainstorm, that’s what it was. I’ve been under a lot of pressure recently.’
Peter’s lip curled contemptuously. ‘It’s no good, Angela. I heard everything. I can’t believe you allowed me to think Josie killed Tom. The hell it’s been all these years, thinking she’d done it, blaming her but blaming myself more for letting her become so unstable. What must she have...?’ He broke off and ran a distracted hand across his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them again, fixing Angela with his pale gaze. ‘And you’ve got the nerve to suggest I neglected you. We’d hardly been married six months when Tom died and I’d done everything I could to make you happy in those early days. You lacked for nothing. And you repay me by having an affair with one of my own students? And while my precious son was drowning? For Christ’s sake Angela. Terri was right: what sort of woman are you? God knows I’ve blamed myself for not making you happy these last years, but not then.’ He shook his head. ‘So it’s been all the way through has it? I don’t suppose Lindsey’s even mine, is she?’
‘No, Peter, it wasn’t like that...really...’
Peter turned to Terri.
‘Terri, please leave us.’
She nodded. Peter put a hand briefly to her shoulder as she passed him.
‘How can you treat her like that Peter?’ she heard Angela say, plaintively, as she walked out into the hall. ‘She’s fooling you.’
*
Terri closed the door behind her and stood, dazed. She heard the voices in the sitting room rise in anger and quickly walked away, reluctant to hear any more. Wandering into the kitchen, she removed the stopper from an opened bottle of red wine, poured herself a glass, and meandered through to the drawing room. It was empty. The lights were still on but Celia had gone, leaving the patio doors wide open. The room smelt of expensive perfumes, wine and coffee; odd cups and glasses still lay abandoned in places, some half full. Terri flicked the lights off, paused a moment to let her eyes adapt to the gloom, then picked her way down the room and walked out of the patio doors onto the terrace. The moon was new – an elegant crescent hanging in a clear dark blue sky. Ultramarine or indigo, she remembered Celia asking. Who cared?
Her attention was caught by a flicker of light on the other side of the terrace. Someone sitting on one of the wicker seats under the pergola had just lit a cigarette. In the soft light shed from the sitting room window, there was something very familiar about the person’s shape and manner. Terri walked slowly across the terrace.
‘I thought you’d given up smoking,’ she remarked mildly as she drew near.
‘I have,’ said Luc, looking up at her.
‘May I join you?’
‘Je t’en prie.’
Terri eased herself onto a seat next to him and put the glass of wine on the table.
‘I thought you didn’t like drinking too much,’ he said.
‘I don’t.’
They sat in silence.
‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you so much,’ said Terri eventually.
‘About what?’
‘Oh...lots of things. Why are you sitting here?’
‘Because I was hoping to see you.’
‘I don’t know why. After all the things I said, I didn’t think you’d ever speak to me again.’ She paused, searching to meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry Luc. I should have trusted you. I didn’t even give you a chance to explain.’
He drew on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. ‘I could have tried harder. And the truth is...’ He paused, flicking her an apologetic glance. ‘...I was tempted by Grace’s offer. More tempted than I was prepared to admit to myself. That’s why I reacted so violently to your accusation. I was embarrassed. All those notes... I told myself it was just for my interest, for how the story might shape. And it would have made a great story. It’s hard to break old habits.’
He looked at the cigarette reproachfully then threw the butt onto the ground and trod it down.
‘Grace told me how you rejected her offer,’ said Terri.
‘Did she?’ He grinned. ‘She’s used to getting her own way. She was cross; that gave me some pleasure.’ The smile faded. ‘I saw you with Angela.’
He nodded towards the sitting room window. With the curtains open and the table lamp on at the back of the room, the figures inside were clearly visible. Peter stood, rooted to the spot, while Angela either paced up and down, or stood facing him. Terri took a drink of wine then put the glass down on the table.
‘I couldn’t hear the words but I didn’t like the look of Angela,’ said Luc. ‘Was she threatening you?’
‘Not really...though she did have a knife.’
‘Merde, I didn’t see that or I’d have come in. What was that all about?’
‘She’d just trashed the portrait with it. I was too pumped up to be scared.’ She sighed. ‘I think it would have been better if I’d never come here. They were happy before.’ She shrugged. ‘Or at least not unhappy. Look at them now.’
Luc reached across, picked up her glass and took a drink.
‘What are you blaming yourself for?’ he enquired.
Terri took the glass off him and drank another mouthful of wine. She handed the glass back.
‘I opened Pandora’s Box,’ she said lugubriously. ‘I persuaded myself I had a right to know, that it was all about my mother.’ She paused. ‘I found Josie’s last diary.’ She told him the whole story about Basma and Angela and how Peter had overheard it all. ‘I don’t know if I would ever have said anything if Angela hadn’t challenged me like that.’
She took the glass again and had another sip of wine.
‘It would have come out some time. Peter had a right to know.’
‘Yes, but did he want to know? Sami didn’t think so.’ She automatically glanced towards the garden. ‘Basma said Sami was so protective of Peter. He thought Peter was happier not knowing what his wife was up to. But to let Josephine be blamed like that?’ She frowned, put the glass down and tipped her head back to look up at the stars.
‘Peter probably wouldn’t have believed Sami even if he’d told him.’
‘I suppose not,’ she said vaguely. ‘You know, I reckon Van Gogh would have loved a night like this.’
‘Mm.’ He paused. ‘I wasn’t completely honest about the weekend I was away.’
She forgot the stars and looked back at him, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I did go to see maman in Paris. But then I went on to London. I know someone who works at one of the art colleges. I persuaded her to make some enquiries and find out where Josie went. And she did; and she knows a teacher from that college too. But I’m not sure you’ll want to know what I found out.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m afraid you’re not Josephine’s daughter.’
It was like having a bucket of cold water thrown over her; sudden, shocking, taking her breath away. She took a moment to let it sink in, then leaned forward. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because the teacher now at that college was a student in the same year as Josie: her name’s Kate Nayland. I spoke to her. Your mother was a year older and went to a different college but bunches of art students used to hang out in the same places and she knew her quite well. Anyway, Kate was friendly with Josie and was still in touch with her until a few years ago. Apparently, she lives in Australia now. She lost that first baby she was carrying but she’s had a family since then.’
Terri was silent, trying to process this new information. She felt a twisting pain inside, hard to identify, harder still to understand, then a hollowed out feeling of emptiness.
‘You’re disappointed?’ said Luc.
‘I don’t know. Yes. Yes, I am.’ She nodded, frowning. ‘Yes. I felt I sort of knew Josie and I thought...well, you know...’ She shrugged, sat back, offered a weak smile. ‘But I’m glad she’s still alive.’
‘Are you going to drink that?’ Luc indicated the wine glass on the table. Terri shook her head and he picked it up and finished the last mouthful.
‘So this Kate...’ said Terri. ‘She was a friend of my mother’s then?’
‘At one time. She said they’d drifted apart. I sensed maybe a falling out. But I explained how you wanted to learn more about her and she said she’d be happy to talk to you...if you’d like that. Apparently your mother was a loner and a bit of a troubled woman. Her family wanted to emigrate to Australia when she was a teenager and she didn’t want to go. There was a big row and she left home. The family carried on with the emigration. I’m not sure she saw them again. She struggled to come to terms with it. Anyway, I can give you Kate’s number. She can tell you more.’
‘Right...thanks.’
‘You don’t sound that pleased. Won’t it be good to at least know?’
‘Yes, yes. It’s just...’ She fiddled with a leaf that had fallen on the table. ‘I’m absurdly nervous. Isn’t that daft? I’m maybe scared of what I’ll find out. But no, it’s good. I’ll give her a call some time. Thank you.’
The terrace was plunged into sudden darkness as the light in the sitting room was put out.
‘I think it’s time for bed,’ said Luc.
‘I need a cup of tea.’
Luc laughed, shaking his head. ‘Of course you do. OK, I’ll make you some tea. Just to show how much I care.’
