“Rebecca. Are you alright?” From inside a starry halo, Pete and Doreen’s worried faces appeared in her vision. Gradually the blackness subsided and Rebecca came to. The old couple gathered closely around her, looked desperately worried. Rebecca looked at them blankly as the memories came flooding back. Tears began to spill down her cheeks. “I had a Mommy… she loved me.” Between sobs, “She drowned and I didn’t. It’s not fair. Why did she die and leave me? I want to die too.” Overcome with grief so raw and new, Rebecca clung to Doreen and wept.
They sat on the bridge for a long time. Doreen rocking Rebecca and crying with her, Pete a little way off, feeling helpless. He resorted to the only thing he knew when he was out of his depth. Pete prayed. And the God of All Comfort heard.
Chapter 8 – A Quandary and an Answer
Claude sprawled across the B&B’s bed, flicking through the channels on the TV. Finding nothing of interest, he flicked the ‘off’ button and tossed the remote aside. He sipped his whiskey and held the cool glass against his forehead. For a brief moment, he toyed with the idea of going home. This place was having a bad effect on him. Nothing he could put his finger on, he just didn’t feel completely like himself anymore.
At the same time, the thought of home soured his insides. There was nothing there for him either, not since that woman left. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of her as his mother anymore. When others wrote him off as ‘weird’, she would always understand. It didn’t matter what he’d done, she would always be willing to look at things from his perspective. But in the end, she took off and left. So much for love. It had all been a show. A cruel, unforgivable show. His insides grew hot just thinking about it all.
So… mother wanted nothing to do with him, and he wanted nothing to do with her. Left at the mercy of his whip-cracking father, and his two-faced idiot brother, the only reason life on the farm had been bearable, was Rebecca. Sooner or later, she would have given in. She would have been his and nobody could have taken her away. Until the little strumpet went and pulled the same stunt his mother had. His insides boiled.
Searing pain slashed his palm, followed by the warm trickle of liquid down his wrist. In his anger, he’d crushed the cheap whiskey glass in his hand. Blood and whiskey flowed, staining his shirt and the bedding. Fueled by the sight of his own blood, anger and resentment shattered any thoughts of leaving. “This is also your fault Rebecca.” he growled, “I will find you. And you will pay for all the pain you’ve caused me.”
***
Jason sat on his bed, surrounded by letters. One in particular had gripped his insides. Reaching over, he picked it up and read it again, for the umpteenth time.
30 May, 1979
Dearest Catherine,
WE HAVE A DAUGHTER!!! I have a daughter!
We made a little girl… I can’t believe it. You are so brave and so wonderful. I should have been with you, my love. Life can be so cruel, but our day will come.
Yes, I love the name Rebecca. It’s perfect. Just like you are perfect.
You’re wondering what the meaning of her birthmark is? I can tell you that! It’s shaped like a seagull because she belongs here at the coast, by me. You both do. I’m working as hard as I can to make it possible. Don’t give up hope!
Please would you cuddle our daughter and tell her that her Daddy loves her?
Yours forever,
Stanton.
Jason put the letter down and sighed.
From downstairs Shane yelled, “Pizza’s here.” It was Shane’s turn to cook again, mercifully he’d chosen not to. Jason headed to the kitchen, loaded his plate and joined Tim and Shane in the lounge.
Their apartment was a spacious, stylish affair, though somewhat chaotic in the trend of a house full of bachelors with better things to do than clean all day. The fact that the three of them shared the rent was the only reason they could afford to stay there. The entire block of flats catered for the young, upwardly mobile section of the community, boasting few married couples and virtually no children. Each apartment had its own balcony looking out over the communal swimming pool - the regular trysting ground for the inhabitants of the block. All in all, it was a great life for three single guys.
Jason sat down with his pizza, only to discover his appetite had disappeared. The other two ate in almost sacred silence, rapidly emptying their plates. Jason gave up and put his plate on the coffee table, not even pretending to pick.
Licking his fingers, Shane helped himself to Jason’s, “You snooze, you lose, Buddy.”
“Go ahead. Help yourself.”
Tim frowned, “Are you sick?”
“I’m having a moral dilemma. Maybe you guys can help me think this through.”
Shane helped himself to more of Jason’s dinner. “Having my brain picked in return for an extra helping of food? That sounds like a good deal to me. Fire away!”
He briefly covered the trail he’d been following, as much to clear his own mind as to fill them in. Tim had been with him when he’d called the reunion chap and got Stanton’s address and phone number, and so asked, “You’re making good progress. Why don’t you just go see the bloke?”
That’s the whole dilemma. Go see him and tell him what? That I found, and even worse READ, his letters to Catherine? I get the feeling he wouldn’t be too impressed. You even said you’d deck me if the letters were yours.” He looked bleak, “Besides, what am I achieving by going to see him, other than churning up all sorts of memories he’d rather forget?”
Shane stopped mid-bite, “Have you asked yourself why you’re trying to get to the bottom of this story anyway? It’s nothing but that – a good story.”
Jason sat silent for a moment. “I want to know why she stopped writing. Call me a hopeless romantic, but surely a grand love like they had – which blazed strong for five years, I might add – wouldn’t just fizzle for no reason.”
Shane shrugged, “Maybe she got tired of waiting.”
“No way. I’m not buying that. You haven’t read these letters. Besides–I found these on a ship headed for East London. Maybe she was coming to see him, a surprise visit?” Cool blue eyes floated through his consciousness. “And there’s the mystery of our little blue-eyed girly. They called her Rebecca. What if she’s still alive? She’d be just younger than we are now.”
Shane put down his empty plate, “Interesting thought. I doubt that it’s possible. Maybe you should just leave it alone. You don’t want to go getting this guy’s hopes up for nothing.”
Jason had wondered about that himself. The truth was that he was just too stubborn to quit without exploring the thing from every angle. The proverbial bulldog and his bone.
“Call it a gut-feel. Have clue, will investigate. I need an excuse to see Stanton. Apparently he’s a very busy man. I can’t go there on the strength of his old letters.”
Shane shrugged, “Why don’t you take him the portrait? It was probably intended as a gift for him. That would give you a reasonably good excuse for going to see the man.”
Tim sniffed and added, “Maybe he would know where you can find Catherine’s parents. If anyone knows Rebecca’s fate, it would be them.”
Jason snapped his fingers, “Bingo. I’ll make an appointment for as soon as he can fit me in.”
Deciding to bear his soul, Jason took out the drawing he’d made on the night of his dream and placed it on the coffee table.
“Guys, what do you make of this?”
Tim studied it intently before pronouncing his verdict. “Makes absolutely no sense. What is it? A trick question?”
“Nah. Just something I picked up. Looks like it might have meant something.”
“Looks like garbage to me.” Shane was his usual sparklingly diplomatic self.
Jason tucked it back in his pocket. Even though it made no sense, he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. “Never mind. I’m going to give Stanton a call.”
“Sure. Glad we could be so useful. If you ever need anythin
g, you know where to find us.”
Shane sounded so pleased with himself that Jason didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble.
***
“Once you’ve got the Boardroom in order for tomorrow’s meeting, you’re free to leave, Lisa. Thank you.”
Touching her bun to make sure no stray hairs had escaped, Lisa replied, “Everything’s in place Mr. Trent. I’ve also put sufficient copies of the Financial Times for all the Board Members. The article they ran on your company is sure to have a really positive effect on the market.”
Stanton Trent let the statement pass with no comment. What people thought of him or his company mattered little to him. His success had been built through diligence and hard work, not a successful advertising campaign.
Picking a tiny speck of fluff from the lapel of his double breasted navy jacket, Lisa asked, “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’ll be needing before I go?”
Already absorbed in the document in his hand, he dismissed her with a small headshake. With a sigh, Lisa took the empty teacup from his desk and left the office.
Within a heartbeat she was back. “Stanton—”
The shock of being called by his first name hit him like a bucket of ice water. Lisa looked even more shocked than he felt, but plunged ahead anyway, “Could we get some lunch together? We could go out somewhere.”
“Thank you, Lisa. But—”
“Before you say no, just hear me out. You live in this mansion; your office is in this mansion. You have your own private indoor heated pool, your own private gym – all on the premises. You have servants that do your shopping. When last did you go outside of these walls? I worry about you—for the sake of the business.” Her voice faltered. She’d stepped over an invisible line and she knew it.
“Do not make me the object of some well-meaning crusade. The life I have is the life I’ve chosen.” Stanton’s voice was crisp, bordering on cold. “That will be all for today.” Deliberately ignoring her, he studied the report in his hands with furious intent. Lisa left his office, looking like she’d been punched in the belly.
The door clicked shut. Knowing he was alone, Stanton threw the document onto his desk and swore. Just then the phone rang. And kept ringing. Normally Lisa would answer from her office, and only put the essentials through to him. “Lisa! Get the phone!” No answer. For once she must have listened to him and gone home. Frustrated and irritated by the incessant ringing, he picked up the receiver and barked, “Trent.”
“Mr. Trent, my name is Jason Halloway. I’m a history lecturer at the University, and I found something I believe is meant to be yours.”
“What are you talking about? Please be more specific.” His tone said very clearly ‘don’t waste my time’.
“I would prefer to come and show you. I have your address. I can be there in half an hour.”
“Fine. Use the servant’s entrance on the south side and give it to one of my staff. They’ll see that it gets to me. Good-bye.” He replaced the receiver with a little more force than was necessary.
***
Jason was impressed. Palatial in size, Stanton Trent’s dwelling was larger than some of the Hotels along the beachfront. And yet, the whole feel of the place was not intimidating, as is common with such large buildings. The house seemed to snuggle into the landscape as if fashioned from the earth itself. The very air about the place breathed refuge.
It was clear that the owner was a meticulous, details person. Fine finishing touches completed each and every part of the mansion, leaving no feature overlooked.
Finding the servants entrance, Jason rang the bell and waited. An ancient African man in a blue overall opened the door, and invited him in. He grinned at Jason with a toothless smile and shook his head when Jason spoke to him. “No eengleesh.” was all he could manage. Desperate to get to Stanton, Jason tried again, “Mr. Trent. You take me to Mr. Trent.” He found himself speaking loudly as if the old chap were deaf, instead of just Xhosa-speaking.
The name ‘Trent’ registered and the man began nodding and beckoning Jason to follow him. Through a warren of corridors and rooms, the old man led him to the heart of the home. The rooms were all exquisitely appointed in simplicity of style that Jason found very appealing.
Shifting the portrait from one arm to the other, Jason was hard-pressed not to lose the energetic old man as he led the way through the house. He would have loved to be able to stroll through at his leisure, studying the paintings, examining the carvings – absorbing the atmosphere.
They came to a part of the house where a thickly woven carpet deadened any footfall. So far, their passage through the house had gone unmarked by any other inhabitants. In fact, they passed no people at all, and Jason found himself wondering if Stanton were a recluse.
No more time to wonder. They had reached twin oak doors of gargantuan proportions. With no ceremony at all, the old man reached out and pushed with all his force to open the right hand door. Grabbing Jason’s arm, he all but pulled him into the room beyond, grinning broadly and saying, “Meeser Trenn! Meeser Trenn!”
From inside the room a voice erupted, “What the—Isaac! What are you doing?” Jason fairly flew into the room, just managing to catch himself on the backrest of a leather armchair. Regaining his balance, he watched in fascination as the highly distinguished gentleman in such immaculate dress, lapsed into Xhosa and gave the old man a stern talking to. His eyes were gentle though, in sharp contrast to the firmness in his voice. The old man seemed suitably mortified and soon left with many a “Sorry Boss” and a wave and a grin for Jason.
Then it was Jason’s turn. “I’m assuming you’re Halloway?” The full force of those ice blue eyes turned on Jason and he visibly flinched. Awe-struck, Jason spoke, his voice barely a whisper, “You must be Rebecca’s father. She has your eyes.” A mixture of confusion and pain briefly touched Stanton’s features, before the wall shot up again.
“You have something for me.” It was a statement not a question. Thrown for a moment by this blunt approach, Jason searched for the right words, “I was hoping that I would be able to see you in person. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”
“I do not have time for this. I don’t know what you want from me, and frankly, I don’t care. The only reason you are standing here, is courtesy of a very strange set of circumstances that have my staff otherwise occupied. Had you arrived ten minutes earlier or later, you would never even have seen the inside of my kitchen. Now, my parcel please.”
At a complete loss for words, Jason handed over the portrait. The play of emotions across Stanton Trent’s face was heart wrenching. Forgotten for the moment, Jason stood in silence absorbing the full impact of the emotional upheaval he had caused. Tears welled in Stanton’s eyes. Hands shaking, he tenderly traced the contours of the face he had loved so much, and the little face he had never even seen.
Suddenly remembering he was not alone, “Please leave.” His voice taut, the last scraps of control holding him together, “Now.”
Jason turned to go. Frustrated at not being able to talk to the man, he was fully aware that this opportunity was a once in a lifetime thing. And yet he couldn’t push. Not after causing such pain.
And then it came again, this time not so much a voice as a gentle, internal nudge. Digging in his pocket, Jason pulled out one of his homemade business cards. Braving the wrath of Trent, he turned back and deposited one on the desk before quickly finding his way out.
He sat in the car outside for a long time, hoping against hope – almost praying—that this was not the end of his quest.
***
“It was the strangest thing.” Rebecca sat opposite the Goodwood’s on their patio, wrapped snugly in a fluffy blanket, mug of hot cocoa in hand. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she was calm. All traces of the debilitating fear had gone to the point that she was able to recount her flashback in miniscule detail, without as much as a shudder.
They had spent just short of an h
our together on the bridge. As soon as Rebecca had calmed down, they’d made their way home, where they now sat – trying to figure out what had happened.
“The closer I got to the water, the more I panicked. Water must have been the key to that portion of my memory. The ‘memory flash’ or whatever it was, happened when fear of the water was simply too overwhelming. It was like watching a movie in my head, yet inside I know that it really happened.”
“What else can you remember?” asked Pete.
“Only the episode I’ve described and little bits of things that had happened before the shipwreck. I can remember… my… Mom.” The last was said slowly, savoring the fact of having been cherished, of belonging. “And then nothing. Up until I woke up in hospital.”
“Well, that’s a very good start. The Doctor described it to us as the mechanics of a clock that had seized. Once one cog is oiled and runs freely, the rest are sure to follow.” Doreen took Rebecca’s empty mug, “I’m sure you could do with a rest. This morning must have taken a toll on you.”
Rebecca stood and took the tray from Doreen, “I could do with a nap, let me take this through on my way. I’m starting to feel the need to feel useful again!”
Doreen released the tray and gave Rebecca a gentle hug, “As long as you don’t over do it young lady. Give your body the time it needs.”
***
Setting the tray down, Rebecca began rinsing the teacups and stacking them for drying. Pete came through to the kitchen, “What is your favorite chocolate? I’m popping in to town to buy some milk; I’ll get us each a treat.”
Rebecca looked baffled. “How silly; I can’t remember.” Her face fell, “Sorry Pete.”
“Never mind love. I should have known better than to ask, it was insensitive of me.”
“It’s okay. I’ll have whatever you’re having. I trust your taste!” Her smile echoed itself on his lined face.