The Missing Sister, page 32
‘I think the words “apart from” are the common denominator for anyone of my age. Apart from the rheumatism, and the rather high cholesterol – which I hasten to add I’ve lived with since my fifties – I’m as fit as a flea.’
‘Do you get down to West Cork much these days?’
Ambrose’s smile faded from his lips. ‘Sadly I don’t. In fact, I haven’t been there since the early seventies, just a year or so after you left.’
‘But what about Father O’Brien? You and he were such good friends.’
‘Ah, now, Mary, that is a story for another day.’
I watched Ambrose’s gaze move to the window and realised that whatever had ended their friendship had been a painful experience for him.
‘I see you’re still wearing the ring I gave you,’ he said, turning back to me and pointing to it.
‘Yes, although technically, it belongs to my daughter – I gave it to her on her twenty-first birthday, but then I asked her if I might borrow it for this trip. I was worried that you might not recognise me after all these years, so I brought it with me as insurance.’
‘Not recognise you? Mary, you are perhaps the most beloved person of my life! How could you possibly have thought that? Unless . . . ah.’ Ambrose put up a finger to his head. ‘You thought I may have lost my marbles, gone senile in my old age, eh?’
‘To be truthful, it did occur to me that I may need something to jog your memory. Forgive me, Ambrose.’
‘I will think about whether you deserve my forgiveness whilst you make us both a cup of coffee. I presume you remember the way I like it?’
‘Strong, with just a hint of milk and one spoonful of brown sugar?’ I asked him as I stood up.
‘Precisely, my dear, precisely.’
I arrived back with the coffee five minutes later, having made myself a tea.
‘So, where do you wish to start?’ he asked me.
‘I know it should be at the very beginning, but we may have to work backwards a little. If I give you the outline, would you let me fill in the blanks later?’
‘Whatever you wish. I’m no longer needed at Trinity by my peers or students – I retired just over fifteen years ago – so the floor is yours for as long as you desire.’
‘Actually, I didn’t just bring the ring with me today to jog your memory, Ambrose, I brought it because it seems to have become a centre point of my problem. Back then and now.’
‘Really? I’m most sorry to hear that.’
‘The thing is . . . the reason I left Ireland was because I had to, well, escape from someone. I went to London first, but then I had no choice but to move on. I decided to go further afield, first to Canada, and then to New Zealand.’
Ambrose remained silent as I collected myself to say more.
‘I changed my surname when I got married – I’m now McDougal – and became a New Zealand citizen a few years later. I had a new identity, which I truly believed had freed me from the threat of him finding me. As I said earlier, I was able to enjoy my life there, running a vineyard and bringing up my family with Jock. But then . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d only just embarked on my Grand Tour and my first port of call was Norfolk Island – a tiny isle between New Zealand and Australia. I was visiting my old friend Bridget who’d recently moved there. Do you remember Bridget?’
‘How can I forget her, given we have established I am definitely not senile? Your flame-haired enemy as a child and best friend at university.’
‘That’s the one, yes. Anyway, there I was on Norfolk Island, drinking with Bridget and her new husband, when I received a message from my daughter Mary-Kate. Apparently, she’d had two women enquiring about her, saying she could be the “missing sister” in their family of six other girls – all adopted by a very odd-sounding man, who died a year ago. The proof of the connection was supposedly an emerald ring shaped like a star, with seven points around a small diamond.’ I lifted my hand and indicated my ring. ‘Mary-Kate told me she’d seen a drawing of the ring that the women had brought with them. She said she was pretty sure it was this one.’
‘Really? Pray, continue.’
‘Anyway, these women were so desperate to track me and the ring down that Mary-Kate said they were flying over to Norfolk Island to see me.’
‘Do you know why they were so desperate?’
‘Some cock and bull story about their dead father; how it had been his dearest wish to find the “missing sister”. Even though it was too late for him, these sisters are having some kind of a memorial service a year on from his death, by going to the spot where they think he was buried at sea. I mean, these girls even have the same names as the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades! Have you ever heard such a ridiculous story?’
‘Well, I certainly recognise the theme of the missing sister from any number of mythological tales around the globe, as you must have done, Mary. You wrote your Bachelor’s dissertation on Orion’s chase of Merope, after all.’
‘I know, Ambrose, but the Seven Sisters were . . . are imaginary, not a real-life human family.’
‘If you’d said that to the ancient Greeks, Mary, they’d have you left on the top of Mount Olympus as a sacrifice to their gods.’
‘Ambrose, please, this isn’t a laughing matter.’
‘Forgive me, Mary. Do continue. I am sure there must be a method behind the madness of these events.’
‘Well, when I heard that they were going to fly over to Norfolk Island, I spoke with Bridget about it, given she knew all about my past, and she agreed that I should leave earlier so I didn’t have to meet them. I flew to Canada, which was to be the next stop on my tour, but on my first day in Toronto, I got calls and messages from the concierge saying that two women were coming to see me. When they arrived in reception, I asked the concierge what they looked like and he told me that they were in Muslim dress.’
‘So they are not the same two women who followed you to Norfolk Island, then?’
‘No. From what I briefly saw of them, they were dark-skinned, and even though I told the concierge to tell them I was out, they simply sat there and waited in the lobby. In the end, I couldn’t bear it any longer, so I came down to take a look at them for myself. One of them must have recognised me, because she called my name after she’d spotted me, as I was running for the lift. Thank God it closed before she could get to me. She also left me a letter that told the same story as the girls who had visited Mary-Kate. I was so frightened that I decided to fly straight to London.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Ambrose as I took a breath and a sip of my tea.
‘By chance, I bumped into what seemed like a very nice man in reception on my arrival at the hotel. He asked me whether I’d be interested in giving him an interview about the vineyard that myself and my husband built up and ran, as he was a wine journalist. He invited me to the suite of his friend, who introduced herself as Lady Sabrina. They really couldn’t have seemed more above board. But then’ – I took a sip of my tea – ‘as this man Orlando was interviewing me, I noticed the woman was staring at my ring. Once the interview was over, she asked me about it. She said the seven points looked very unusual and then the man mentioned the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades, and the missing sister . . .’ I shook my head despairingly. ‘At that point, I stood up and left. And then the next day, I noticed that Orlando was tailing me when I went to Clerkenwell to look up the records of marriages and deaths. They’d invited me to dinner that evening, but I cancelled, and lay in my room that night, completely sleepless, watching the hours pass by. The next morning, thinking I’d slip out early, I saw the man was already reading a newspaper in the lobby by the front entrance. In the end, I had my baggage taken downstairs and stored by a porter. I had to wait for this Orlando to leave for the lavatory before I could slip out. And here I am! I . . .’
I put a hand to my brow, embarrassed that I felt like sobbing at his knee, as I’d sometimes done as a child when things had seemed too much. ‘I’m so exhausted, Ambrose, really I am. They’re after me again, I know they are.’
‘Who are “they”?’
‘Some very ugly, violent people – or rather a person who knew ugly, violent people and who threatened me a long time ago. He also threatened my family and anyone I loved, including you. Which is why I . . .’
‘Ran away,’ finished Ambrose.
‘Yes. Do you have a tissue by any chance?’
‘Here, Mary, dry your eyes.’ He handed me his handkerchief, and it smelt so very much of my childhood with him that it brought more tears to my eyes.
‘I’m just so worried for Mary-Kate. She’s alone at the vineyard in New Zealand and knows nothing about my past. Nor does Jack, my son. He’d send them after my children, I know he would, and . . .’
‘Hush now,’ Ambrose said gently. ‘Obviously I know little of the past scenario you are talking about, but—’
‘The missing sister was what he always called me! Back then, when . . . oh,’ I said, feeling totally out of words to describe the complexity of what had happened.
‘So now, I presume you are talking about someone I knew of when you were living here with me?’
‘Yes. I am, but please don’t say his name. I can’t bear to hear it. He’s found me, Ambrose, I know he has.’
I watched as Ambrose steepled his fingers under his chin and stared at me for what felt like a very long time. A gamut of emotions that I couldn’t easily read crossed his features. Eventually, he gave a long sigh.
‘I understand, Mary dear, and I just might be able to allay your fears somewhat. But I’m afraid you will need to excuse me. My one nod to my age is to take a short nap in the afternoons. And rather than doze – or even worse – snore loudly within your hearing, would you mind if I retired to my bedroom for an hour or two? Your sudden appearance seems to have rather taken it out of me.’
‘Oh Ambrose, of course not. I’ll leave and come back later. I’m so sorry, really I am. After all these years, I hadn’t expected our first meeting to be like this.’
‘Please do not apologise, Mary dear. Just accept that I am not as young as I used to be.’ Ambrose offered me a weak smile as he stood up and we walked along the narrow corridor towards the back of his maisonette. ‘Please feel free to stay here. As you well know, there’s a plethora of books at your disposal. If you wish to go out, the key is where it always was: in the Copenhagen Blue china pot on the table in the corridor.’
‘Do you need any help?’ I asked as he began to descend the steps to the basement, which housed two bedrooms and a bathroom.
‘I seem to have managed quite well in the years since you left, and I hope to manage a few more in the same vein. I will see you at half past four, Mary, but . . . please be assured, I believe you are quite safe.’
As he disappeared from view, I decided that perhaps I too would go back to the hotel for a nap.
Taking the key, I left the maisonette and walked the few hundred yards round the corner, breathing in the familiarity of the atmosphere and the voices I could hear around me. This city had provided the backdrop to some of the happiest moments of my life, before it had gone so badly wrong.
Stepping inside the hotel, I went to the desk to retrieve my key.
‘There you are, Mrs McDougal,’ said the receptionist as he handed it to me. ‘Oh, and there’s someone waiting for you in the lobby.’
My heart started to thud so fast that I thought I might faint where I stood. I hung on to the desk for support and bowed my head, trying to get my breath back.
‘Are you all right, Mrs McDougal?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. I . . . did you get a name from this person?’
‘I did, yes. He only arrived fifteen minutes or so ago. Now, let me see . . .’
A hand descended onto my shoulder from behind and I let out a small scream.
‘Mum! It’s me!’
‘Oh, I . . .’ I clutched the desk tighter as the world spun.
‘Why don’t you take your mammy to sit down in the lounge and we’ll bring some water through for her?’ the receptionist suggested.
‘No, I’m all right, really.’ I turned towards the great, tall man I had brought into this world, and rested my head against his chest as he hugged me.
‘I’m so sorry I startled you, Mum. Why don’t we go to the lounge like the man said, and maybe order some tea?’
‘Okay,’ I agreed, and Jack manoeuvred his arm around my waist to support me as we walked.
Once we were sitting on a sofa in the quiet lounge and tea had been ordered, I felt Jack’s gaze upon me.
‘Seriously, I’m fine now. So, tell me, what on earth are you doing here?’ I asked him.
‘It’s simple, Mum: I was worried about you.’
‘Why?’
‘You just sounded . . . odd on the phone the other day. I tried calling you again early this morning, but you didn’t pick up.’
‘I’m perfectly fine, Jack. I’m sorry you felt you had to chase halfway across the world to see me.’
‘It wasn’t across the world, remember, Mum? It only took me a couple of hours to get here from Provence. The flight wasn’t much longer than going from Christchurch to Auckland. Anyway, I’m here now, and after your reaction to my arrival at reception, I’m glad I am. What’s going on, Mum?’ he asked as the tea arrived.
‘Let’s drink the tea, shall we? You pour,’ I said, not trusting my own hands to hold the pot steadily. ‘Add an extra spoonful of sugar to mine.’
Eventually, a hot sweet, tea and Jack’s comforting presence slowed my heart rate and cleared my head.
‘I’m feeling much better now,’ I said, to ease my son’s concerned stare. ‘I’m sorry about jumping the way I did.’
‘That’s okay,’ Jack shrugged. ‘You obviously thought I was someone you didn’t want to see.’
My son glanced at me through eyes that were a bright blue, very like mine. ‘Yes, I thought that maybe you were,’ I sighed. I’d always found it extremely difficult to lie to Jack face-to-face; his intrinsic openness and honesty – along with an acute perceptiveness, especially when it came to me – made it almost impossible.
‘So, who was it you were expecting?’
‘Oh Jack, it’s such a long story. In a nutshell, I think . . . well, I think that someone who used to live here in Dublin – a dangerous man – may be on my trail again.’
Jack sipped his tea calmly as he took this in. ‘Okay. And how do you know this?’
‘I just do.’
‘Right. So, what has happened in the last week to make you think this?’
I glanced around nervously. ‘I’d prefer not to talk about it in public. You never know who is listening.’
‘Blimey, Mum, you sound completely paranoid! And a little crazy, to be honest, which worries me because you’ve always been the calmest and sanest person I know. For now, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and not drag you off to the nearest shrink to find out if you’ve suddenly developed delusional tendencies, but you’d better explain who this man is.’
‘I’m perfectly sane.’ I lowered my voice just in case the waitress standing in the corner of the otherwise deserted lounge could hear us. ‘It all started when those girls came to visit your sister at The Vinery, with some story about how she was the long-lost missing sister that their dead father had been looking for.’
‘Ah,’ Jack nodded. ‘Okay. MK told me the proof was something to do with that emerald ring you’re wearing at the moment. They just wanted to take a look at it.’
‘Yes. Well, since they arrived, I’ve had strangers turning up at every hotel I’ve visited, asking to see me. Then when I was in London, do you remember I called you about the man who wanted to interview me about The Vinery for his newspaper?’
‘I do, yes. Hold on, you told me you were in New York!’ Jack narrowed his eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Jack, I knew you’d worry and ask questions if you thought I’d derailed so much from my original trip itinerary. Anyway, this man definitely wasn’t who he said he was. The woman he was with saw the ring and asked about it. He even followed me the next day when I left the hotel. That’s when I decided to leave for Ireland and why I sounded odd on the phone when we spoke yesterday.’
‘Okay,’ Jack nodded. ‘And do you know why these people are following you? I mean, what do they want? Is it just the ring? It’s only small,’ Jack said as he stared at it. ‘It doesn’t look that valuable . . . oh Mum, you didn’t steal it, did you?’ He gave me a wry smile.
‘Of course I didn’t steal it! I promise I’ll tell you the whole story at some point – it’s time, I suppose.’ I sighed, then checked my watch. ‘I’m going to have to leave in a bit. I’ve only popped back to the hotel for an hour while my friend has a nap, you see.’
‘Your friend?’
‘He’s my godfather, Ambrose, actually. I paid him a call earlier. I haven’t seen him for thirty-seven years.’
‘Your godfather?’ Jack frowned. ‘Why have you never mentioned him to any of us before?’
‘Let’s just say I wanted to leave the past behind me. For everyone’s sake. It was him that gave me this ring on my twenty-first birthday.’
‘So he’s involved in all this, is he? . . . Whatever this is?’
‘No, he wasn’t.’ I gave my son a sad smile. ‘Have you heard from Mary-Kate, by the way?’
‘No, not for the past few days.’
‘This may sound ridiculous, but I’m worried about her there at The Vinery all by herself. You haven’t had any visitors recently in Provence, have you? People asking about me?’
‘No, although I did meet a very nice woman who came to stay at the gîte François and Ginette own and . . .’ Jack frowned suddenly. ‘Wow,’ he muttered.
‘What?’ I asked him as my heart rate began to rise again.
‘Nothing, I’m sure it was nothing. I mean, we just got on really well. I was so happy to have someone who spoke English to talk to over dinner. She said she had adopted sisters and, actually, I suppose she did ask quite a lot of questions about you and MK’s adoption.’
‘Oh no, Jack.’ I put my fingers to my brow. ‘They found you as well.’
