Crossing to the bread bin, Pete dug around inside and fished out his wallet from behind the Whole-wheat rolls.
Rebecca laughed, “What a strange place to keep your money!” Pete put on his ‘know-it-all’ face, “If I was to rob someone’s house, the last place I’d look for valuables would be the bread bin.” He grinned broadly, “Besides, I’m just keeping my dough by the dough!”
“Very clever, Pete. Very clever! I could picture you hacking off your own leg with a bread knife before stealing anything from anyone! Anyway, I get the point. After all this mental gymnastics, I definitely need my rest now!”
***
Alone in her room, Rebecca lay on the bed with her eyes closed. Inside, she felt completely wrung out, as if her heart and mind had been taken out, trampled on, and shoved back inside. Sleep would be a welcome, much needed break from all this mental and emotional agonizing.
And yet, she couldn’t. Five minutes of tossing and turning later, Rebecca sat up in disgust. Reaching across to the bedside table, she picked up the Bible Doreen had given to her. Opening up to Psalm 139, she began reading:
Glancing over the first three familiar verses, Rebecca felt her insides flip-flop. The words came unbidden to her mind,
“God… I want to know who I am, and where I come from. You know all about me. If You can give me what I want, I’ll know that You are real, and I’ll give You… Me…”
Something (or Someone), had heard her, and less than 24 hours later, was already beginning to keep their end of the deal. Coincidence? She kept reading.
Ten verses later, her insides leapt again,
For you created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother’s womb….
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
Your eyes saw my unformed body…
Once again she addressed her thoughts to the “You” in the verse.
“I had a Mom and she really loved me! And You—You were there when I was conceived. Where no one else could see, You were carefully and lovingly shaping me, putting me together just the way You wanted.” She thought for a moment and the hope in her heart floundered. “If only this were true. I would actually feel that my life had meaning. Who am I trying to fool?”
She imagined her Mom as she’d seen her in the memory flash “Whatever happens… remember that Mommy loves you.” With that, her stubborn, positive streak flared. “Well, at least I know that I came from a Mom that loved me. I don’t know where we came from, or who I am yet, but it’s a good start. I’ll hang onto this fool’s hope until our bargains over.”
Setting the Bible aside, Rebecca curled up, pulled the feather duvet over herself and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 9 – Fathers and Parents
21 June 1983
Dear Catherine,
It’s been three letters since I’ve heard from you. Are you alright? Please write and let me know what’s happening. You are the very air that I breathe.
By the end of the year, I should have enough saved up to come and see you. You and Rebecca. I can’t wait to meet her!
Please let me know that you are both okay. I need to hear from you.
Yours eternally,
Stanton.
***
Lisa arrived for work at eight o’clock the next morning to discover Stanton Trent asleep on his desk. Still dressed in yesterday’s suit, he’d discarded the jacket and tie, but still had on the fine cotton dress shirt, so wrinkled that it was barely recognizable. Five o’clock shadow traced the line of his jaw and deep black rings encircled his tightly shut eyes.
He looked so vulnerable. Lisa’s breath caught, and she froze for a moment studying the face that she’d come to love. It was a love that she never dared hope would be returned, yet so strong she could never hope to escape.
Stanton never spoke of the past, of the tragedy that had frozen him inside. Lisa knew whatever it was would need to be unearthed and dealt with before he would allow himself to live again, and perhaps… love again. She dare not allow herself to even hope along those lines.
Ever practical, Lisa also knew that he found life easier to face with a cup of coffee in hand, and quickly went in search of one before attempting to wake him.
Carefully placing his mug on a coaster, Lisa wondered how on earth to wake the man. Leaning across the desk, she gently stroked a hand through his hair. No movement. He didn’t even budge. If not for the warmth of his scalp, she would have feared him dead at that moment. Taking a deep breath, she moved to stand behind him. Holding both shoulders, she shook him. “Mr. Trent. Wake up.” No response. She tried again, this time using a good bit of force and a louder voice, “Stanton! Wake up!”
“Wha—” He shot upright, flinging her off-balance. She teetered for a moment, before keeling over and landing with her bottom solidly wedged in the waste paper basket.
“Lisa! Are you alright? I’m so sorry.” Awkwardly, brain still sleep-numb, he tried to pull her up and overbalanced himself. He landed on top of her, sending them both rolling. As she rolled on top of him, the bin popped off her rear like a cork.
Shocked at the sheer ludicrousy of the moment, they both burst into helpless laughter. They lay there for a good few seconds, tears streaming and shoulders heaving. Suddenly desperately embarrassed, Lisa rolled to the side, straightening her pencil skirt, attempting to look dignified.
Stanton regained his feet first and stretched out a hand to help her up.
“Do you think I can trust you this time, Mr. Trent?” she asked, placing her hand in his anyway.
“At least I’m awake now. I’m sure I’ll manage.” The smile on his face looked so good that Lisa’s heart ached. He pulled her up with slightly too much force. She shot up, bounced off his chest, and would have fallen if he hadn’t quickly moved to put his arms around her. Finding her balance, Lisa stepped hurriedly out of his embrace. She could feel blood rushing to her cheeks.
Completely rattled, she frantically headed for solid ground. “Are you ready for the Board Meeting Sir?”
Growing quiet, he appeared to be debating something within himself. Silence for a few moments, and then, “There are a few things I need you to do for me.” Relieved to be the efficient Personal Assistant again, Lisa picked up her note pad and pen.
“Firstly, you need to cancel this morning’s Board Meeting.” It took every scrap of Lisa’s training to stop her bursting out in protest. She actually managed a meek, “Yes, Sir. What else?”
Reaching over to the broad expanse of his desk, Stanton picked up a dog-eared business card and handed it over. “Cancel all my other appointments for today and schedule an appointment with this gentleman for me, for as soon as possible.” He had the look of a man who’d resigned himself to facing a firing squad, tense but resolute. “I’m going to shower and get into some fresh clothes.”
***
Jason retraced his steps through the mansion, unable to stop grinning. He’d fairly been skipping for joy since the call had come through earlier this morning. It was now 8:55am, and he was on his way to see the elusive Mr. Stanton Trent, who was hopefully going to be more talkative than during their previous meeting.
After a short wait in the reception area, Lisa appeared - the picture of efficiency. “Mr. Trent will see you now. Please follow me.”
Trent was leaning against the side of his desk, in a pool of sunlight that poured in through the high-arched windows that lined the east-facing side of the room. The faint sound of the ocean filtered in from outside.
Once again he was impeccably dressed, but to Jason’s eye there were telltale traces that told a story of one less-than together—the ashen tone of his skin accented by deep lines of weariness, dark circles of sleeplessness around his eyes, hair still damp—peppered with grey.
He unfolded his arms to shake Jason’s hand, “Mr. Halloway, thank you for coming so promptly. I do
apologize for being such a bad host yesterday. You caught me completely off-guard. Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please.” With a nod to Lisa, Trent led Jason away from the desk, towards a leather lounge suite sprawled across the rear end of the office, next to one of the large arched windows.
Not one for small talk, Trent began, “After your delivery yesterday, I spent last night—remembering.” A lifetime’s worth of emotion was packed into that one word. Clearing his throat, he continued, “I have some questions for you. Do you mind?” The question was rhetorical, a mere courtesy.
Gratefully accepting his coffee from Lisa, Jason shook his head, “Not at all. Ask away.”
“How did you come by that portrait?” Ice blue eyes bored into his intently. Sensing that he was dealing with a man of little patience, Jason chose his words carefully. “I’m a part time history lecturer at the University, old things have stories to tell and I’m always intrigued by anything that hints at a story.”
Trent’s expression stated clearly that this obviously had nothing to do with the matter at hand.
Jason continued, “Diving is another one of my hobbies. A few months back I discovered a wreck just off our coast. During one of my dives, I found a box buried under one of the floorboards in a cabin. It contained a carefully sealed parcel.” He started squirming. “The portrait was in the parcel, as well as a large wad of letters.” He could see Trent’s lips tighten. He plunged off the cliff, “Letters from you to Catherine.”
Trent’s voice was cold - human kind’s natural defence when their deepest innards are exposed. “I see. I take it you read the letters.”
“Yes I did. And I followed a trail that led me to you.” The whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Trent seemed lost in thought for a moment. “What conclusions have you drawn from what you’ve discovered?” His voice was subdued, deliberately detached.
“My theory, and I must stress that that’s all it is at this point, is that Catherine was on her way to see you, to introduce you to Rebecca. She probably wanted to surprise you, which is why some of your letters went unanswered – she didn’t want to let anything slip and ruin the surprise. The portrait was to be a gift for you, and the letters were so precious that she never went anywhere without them. Something went wrong – a storm possibly? The yacht sank. If Catherine had survived, she would surely have made contact with you. I’m assuming that she didn’t.”
“Then why are you pursuing this matter?” He may as well have been discussing the weather.
Jason braced himself and looked into Trent’s icy eyes, “What if Rebecca somehow survived?”
Trent passed a shaking hand across his face, breaking contact. His chin sank to his chest and he let out a shuddery sigh.
“I’ll be honest with you; I didn’t know that Catherine was on her way to East London. I simply thought she’d given up on us. I assumed she stopped writing to me because she no longer wanted anything to do with me. I gave up hope.” He sat in silence for a long time, eyes hidden behind his palm. Jason was beginning to feel really awkward when Trent spoke, “I’d rather she were still alive. Even if it meant never seeing her again.” Another long pause. “Please keep looking for Rebecca. If you find her, bring her to me. Please.”
“I don’t know where to look. You were my last lead.”
“Start with Catherine’s parents. I tried to make peace with them a number of times, but they wouldn’t even let me talk to them. Visiting, phoning, they wouldn’t give in. Eventually I gave up trying. Maybe you will succeed where I failed.” There was a measure of peace in his tone and he was able to meet Jason’s eyes.
“I’ll have Lisa make a color copy of the portrait that you can give to them. That will be your ticket.” Having determined their course of action, Trent immediately got up and buzzed Lisa. Reaching into his top draw, he pulled out his check book. He handed over a check worth a good deal more than Jason’s regular monthly salary to cover any expenses. “Please call me Stanton. I feel we’ve shifted onto a different level.”
Jason left armed with an address, a check and a copy of the portrait that he’d known would change his life.
***
Catherine’s parents lived in an old house in Greenfields. It had been the jewel of the street in its day, but many years of neglect had taken their toll. The size of the house was its only remaining asset.
A large flake of paint fell off as Jason knocked on the door. Jason quickly stood on the flake to hide it. An elderly gentleman shuffled to the door in answer to his knock. “My name is Jason Halloway. I’m looking for Angus Grey?” The old man shook his hand and introduced himself as Angus. “Come in, come in.” Shuffling along, he showed Jason to the lounge. If the furniture could speak, Jason was sure that it could tell tales of many generations come and gone. In fact, it looked too dodgy to sit on. The old man himself carried the weight of years and gave the impression of one starved for company. Yet there was also a distinct calm about him that Jason found appealing.
“How can I help you young man?”
Jason was surprised at the warm reception he’d been given. It stood in stark contrast to what Stanton had described to him. It would be interesting to see what happened once he revealed the true reason for his visit.
Wishing he could make a recording of his story and simply press ‘play’, Jason launched into the whole background again. History lecturer, diving, portrait…
At that point he handed over the copy, waiting for the explosion. Angus took the picture with no comment. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Catherine did die in the shipwreck you described.” It was a simple statement of fact, yet Jason read in his eyes the undercurrents of grief, remorse and guilt.
“What about the little girl, Rebecca, did she die too?”
Angus hesitated. Just then the front door opened and shut and a very high nasally female voice called, “Angus, who is here?”
“We’re in here Lydia.” Angus seemed relieved, and yet strangely frustrated at the interruption. In a moment Jason knew why.
Lydia Grey entered the room. The strength of personality was so overwhelming that she would have bulldozed half the politicians in parliament, given a chance. Vividly decked out in a crimson suit that had long since seen its heyday, legs poured into grey support hose, red courts to match the suit – everything about her screamed 'look at me!’
Peering down her nose at Jason, she demanded, “Who is this fellow, Angus? What does he want?”
Jason stood, donned his most charming smile and held out his hand to introduce himself. Bristling with suspicion, she brushed his hand aside and glared at her husband, “What is going on here Angus?”
Angus said nothing, but handed over the copied portrait.
For a brief moment Lydia Grey was actually speechless. Turning on Jason, she asked in a dreadfully quiet voice, “Why are you here?”
“I want to know what happened to Catherine and Rebecca.” The whole truth.
“He put you up to this, didn’t he? Wasn’t it enough that he stole our daughter and ruined her life? It was his fault that she died, and now he wants to dig up the past and hang it out for the vultures?” She drew herself up to her full five foot height, “Well, I’ve got news for both of you. I will not have this family's name dragged through the mud all over again. Have I made myself clear?” She’d built up to such a volume that Jason was sure the whole neighborhood could hear every word.
Throughout the whole exchange, Angus had sat with his head in his hands, growing smaller with each climb in decibel. Now he stood to his feet and planted himself between Jason and his little pressure cooker wife. Holding her gently, he spoke firmly, just loud enough to be heard over her tirade. “Lydia, I will see Mr. Halloway out. You go put the kettle on; I will come and make you some tea as soon as Mr. Halloway is safely on his way, okay?”
Remarkably, the old lady responded and headed off to the kitchen with a loud sniff. She did, however, give Jason a d
ouble-dagger glare as she pushed past him. Jason decided that she was definitely the sort that always had to have the last word in any argument.
Angus all but pushed Lydia out the lounge before coming back to see Jason out. Checking the hall to make sure it was safe; he leaned toward Jason and whispered, “Meet me at the corner café in five minutes. Park around the corner so that your car isn’t obvious. Wait in the car.” Then in his normal voice, “I’m sorry we can’t help you Mr. Halloway. Please don’t bother to come back. It will be better for all concerned if you let this matter go once and for all.” In front of his chest, hidden from sight from behind, he held up his right hand with all five fingers spread, then pointed off to his left. Jason nodded with a grin, but responded out loud, “Thank you for your time Mr. Grey. I apologize for any distress that I’ve caused. That was never my intention.” The last was added in all honesty. “Good evening Sir.”
***
Jason waited for five minutes. No Angus. Ten more minutes went by with no sign of the old man. Jason’s patience was beginning to wear thin. Surely he hadn’t heard wrong? Maybe the old codger suffered from memory loss and had forgotten that he’d arranged this secret rendezvous. Forty-six minutes later Jason had had enough.
He turned the key in the ignition, and was about to pull out into the deserted street.
“Jason, wait another minute.”
Frustration boiled over into rebellion. Turning the steering wheel sharply to the right, he floored the accelerator, pulled halfway out of the parking space and cursed as the engine died. Smacking the steering wheel he yelled, “Come on! Stupid car.”
At that moment Angus tapped on the window. Embarrassment heated Jason’s cheeks as he leaned over to open the passenger door. “Sorry, I’m not very good at waiting.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry for being so late. It took more time than I expected to settle Lydia. She’s a real firecracker. Once the fuse is lit all you can do is run for cover and pick up the pieces afterwards. She’s resting now, so we have a little time.”
Rolling back into the parking space, Jason pulled up the hand break, and turned to Angus, impatience barely hidden. Forcing himself to breathe, he asked, “Why do you want to see me Angus? Is it to do with Catherine and Rebecca?”