by Ruth Hay
Wesley could not disguise his horror. All this time Zoe had blamed her father’s behaviour for her beloved mother’s death. She had separated herself from the only person close enough to help her recovery; the only one who shared her total shock and disbelief and who could have helped her through the trauma.
She had fled in anguish without understanding the true facts.
He had to mentally shake himself to focus on the man beside him who continued to speak in a low and urgent voice.
“Before you ask, sir, I did everything in my power to try to comfort my daughter in the next weeks.
She refused to see me or speak to me and my attempts were clearly causing her more distress each time.
I did not know where to turn. I couldn’t talk to anyone about this. Grace valued her good reputation above all things. I had to keep the authorities out of it completely so I kept quiet when I should have been screaming for help.
I signed the deed of sale for the house, thinking Zoe wanted to escape from the dreadful site of her mother’s death. I had no idea she was preparing to escape her entire life in Glasgow. Please remember I was traumatized also. I was not thinking straight.
By the time I realized she was gone, it was too late. I could not find a trace of her until years later when her photograph began to appear in the national newspapers. As far as I could tell, by then Zoe had remade her life successfully. I thought she would not appreciate being reminded of all the sadness she had left behind her.”
Wesley was still trying to absorb this new information but he could see how exhausting the confession had been for Michael Morton. His whole body collapsed down into his chair and his dull complexion grew even more pale until Wesley was forced to consider he might be having a heart attack.
He rose quickly and found a waiter to bring two brandies to their table. By the time he returned, Michael Morton had recovered somewhat and was anxious to resume his account.
“It has been an enormous relief to me to finally have someone hear my story, Dr. Philips. I don’t know what benefit it can be for Zoe at this point but I do know it has done a power of good for me to unburden myself to you today and I thank you for this, most sincerely.”
There was no way Wesley Philips could deny the sincerity of the man’s emotion. The story he had told had the ring of authenticity. He had not requested contact with his daughter or sought money or asked for anything for himself other than the chance to be free for a moment of the lies and deception that had haunted him as much, or more, than they had haunted Zoe.
Wesley was deeply aware he was dealing with a tragedy that had now assumed even greater dimensions than it had before this meeting. How to move forward from here was something he could not yet contemplate but he had to bring this meeting with Zoe’s father to some kind of conclusion then give himself time to consider his next move.
“I thank you, Mr. Morton, for your frankness. I realize this could not have been easy for you today. If you don’t mind, I will say nothing more at this time but I promise to keep in touch with you.”
He stood again to turn away for the final time, then hesitated. “May I ask one question of you?”
“Of course, sir, anything!”
“Do you hold any animosity toward your daughter for her actions?”
“Good God, no! As soon as I understood what had really happened to her mother I forgave her utterly for everything. Zoe had no idea what she was dealing with. How could she have?”
“I’ll say goodbye for now. You have given me a great deal to think about, as I am sure you must know.”
Michael Morton nodded his head and for the first time a smile flitted across his face and Wesley saw a fleeting resemblance to his daughter. That reserved, almost apologetic smile was a trademark of Zoe’s.
He wondered if he would see it again when he delivered an account of this meeting to the woman he loved.
Friday.
Zoe Morton closed the door of her office after bidding Suzanne a good evening. She had spent the day in a state of barely concealed anxiety. She felt badly about sending Suzanne in her place to deal with Carla’s emergency. The meeting with her father today loomed over everything else. She had no energy left over, even for Carla.
Wesley had promised the confrontation with her father would be cancelled if she did not feel comfortable about it. He claimed he knew she had made her peace with the idea of seeing her father again, but she knew that peace was hard won. Neither of them could be completely sure of her reaction when face to face with the man she had falsely accused of everything wrong in her early life, including the suicide of her mother.
She had decided she needed a few minutes to calm herself down before heading home to face what was to come. She almost regretted the decision to allow Wesley to hold the meeting in her precious home. She had shown the kind of indecision that was not in her nature over this. In the end she felt her home showed her personality and her growth in a way that no words could express. She had no desire to meet her father again in a public place. She might break down and that was unbearable to think about.
Ever since Wesley had told her, with great sensitivity, about his encounter with Michael Morton she had been in turmoil. Eventually the first shock had subsided. She was calmer now than she had been then. Wesley had predicted there would be a regression in her recovery so he had stuck with her every minute for several days knowing the entire perspective of her pre-London life had to undergo a severe change. She had stormed and raged for hours on end at the waste of time and energy. She railed at her mother for cheating her of her innocence and at her father for not breaking through all the barriers she had raised against him. Had it not been for Wesley’s support and reassurances that she could, indeed, cope with this final step, she would have dissolved in tears. She had never in her life needed anyone the way she needed him at that time. Their tentative personal relationship jumped several hurdles then and had been on a whole new plane ever since.
She could only find true peace of mind in her new home. The risk of ruining that peace by introducing such a dramatic encounter was making her fearful, even now. From the start of the renovation she had sensed this place had a power she could not identify. As each stage was completed she felt the power grow. It was as if she were breathing life into a fossil animal and it was becoming something alive, wonderful and mystical as it was slowly unearthed from its stone prison. This was a long way from the normal thinking of Zoe Morton, Chief Executive Officer of a major company. She kept it quiet even from Wesley, afraid he might scoff at her fantastical notions.
It was a long and drawn out process. The building resisted her plans in different ways and consumed money at every turn. Where she thought interior patching would be possible, the Angelovs informed her of the old stone that was crumbling inside and would not hold together with new applications.
When she wanted a barrel ceiling installed to fit her ideas of old churches she had seen, the builder said he could not find workmen who could match the ancient technique and the seasoned wood required for the job was not available anywhere in the country. She compromised with wooden beams and gained a higher roof over the mezzanine level.
Compromise became her watchword as the project progressed into the third year. The Angelovs were amazing. She could rely on their advice as she had seen, over and over again, how dedicated they were to bringing the old building back to life in a new century.
Morna Angelov had gone to considerable trouble to fulfil one of Zoe’s wishes. She had researched the old records of the diocese and found a drawing of the original church that had stood on the site. It was hard to believe the wreck Zoe had found had once been a beautiful, marvel of a building with a pale stone exterior and decorative stone work everywhere. Both Marina and Zoe were stunned to discover the bell tower that had been located two-thirds of the way along the side of the church. There was no evidence now of that structure. But Zoe knew the building project was not going to be complete until the tower was restored.
Wesley just threw up his hands at this development. He was beginning to wonder if the job would ever be completed. Marina and Zoe put their heads together and devised a design that would look similar but not identical to the original. Wesley drew a line at a bell in the tower and the women agreed provided they could install a clock face with no audible chimes.
And now, Dunstan’s Close had fulfilled its early promise. It had become the sanctuary she had needed and desired. As she turned the metal ring that opened the front door, she prayed this evening with Wesley and the meeting with her father would not ruin its peace and tranquility
Wesley Philips had called Zoe first thing Friday morning. He had to reassure himself that she was still prepared for this vital meeting. He had no intention of bringing Michael Morton to Dunstan’s Close if Zoe was not sure of what to expect.
She said she was fine. She said she had slept well. She said she was ready. She sounded calm on the phone but he would not know the true story until he actually saw her face.
He ran over in his mind the checklist of precautions they had agreed upon.
He would collect her father from the hotel where he had spent Thursday night.
He would bring him to Dunstan’s Close where Zoe would be sitting on her favourite chair in the living room facing the entrance from the hall.
If, at any time, Zoe excused herself and left the room to go upstairs to the master suite in the mezzanine, the meeting was over and he would conduct Michael Morton out of the premises and back to the hotel.
On the way to Zoe’s home, he had told Michael what had been decided and why it was essential to preserve Zoe’s comfort level at this crucial juncture.
“I share your concerns, Doctor. The last thing I want is to cause my daughter further grief. I know what you told her of our Edinburgh meeting must have been utterly distressing to her. You have her best interests at heart and I am happy to abide by your plan. I will respect your wishes in this.
Again, I am so grateful to get this chance to see her, if only for a few moments.”
Silence ensued in the car until they reached the quiet side street and saw the renovated church building soaring above them surrounded by green lawns and trees in full leaf. A young cherry tree near the porch entrance was just coming into bloom.
He heard Michael catch his breath. “Why, this is a beautiful place! It’s so unexpected in the middle of such an urban area. How did she find it?”
“That is a tale for another time, Mr. Morton. For now, it’s sufficient that you know this is a private and very special home for your daughter and the fact that she is willing to meet you here must be taken as a good sign.”
Michael Morton followed Wesley to the old arched door and immediately saw the name on a carved board.
“Dunstan’s Close! How unusual! Who chose it?”
Wesley assumed this enquiry was a delaying tactic to allow the man to gather his strength. The meeting was, of course, no less worrying for him than it was for his daughter and for Wesley.
“It was a joint decision, I suppose. The saint’s name came from me but Zoe contributed the second word.”
“Close is a Scottish word, you know. It’s a noun used for an enclosed or restricted space which seems appropriate in this protected area surrounded by a metal railing.”
His voice tailed away as he straightened his tie.
“Are you ready, Michael?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Zoe heard the voices outside. She wiped her hands on her dark skirt and noticed she had reverted to the security of her black and white clothing. She breathed out and sat back, feeling so glad that she had the support of Wesley in what might well be a difficult encounter with her father. So many years had passed since she had seen this man. So much wrong thinking had to be revised. She repeated in her head what Wesley had said. ‘This is a first step. Don’t expect too much.’
Wesley came forward into the open living room and immediately his eyes sought hers as he waited for her slight nod. The man who followed him was smaller than she had remembered. His hair, which had once been as dark as her own, was now grey but still thick and full. His face had none of the florid complexion of a Scot used to the outdoors. This man was pale and worried. He had the marks of sorrow and solitude and disappointment etched into his face and his eyes drooped at the outer corners as if smiles were foreign to them. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, and a tie that was the only spot of colour in his appearance.
She thought she would not have recognized him in any other situation than this one. Despite her decision to reserve her opinions until the end of the meeting she could not help feeling sad; for herself, that she had condemned this man to an existence of exile, and for her father that he had accepted this punishment, all the while knowing she was the one who was in the wrong.
Wesley stood aside and Michael Morton spoke to her.
“Zoe, it is so good to see you again, even under these difficult circumstances. You have a beautiful home here. Grace would have loved this so much.”
He could not have prepared this speech. It was heartfelt, spontaneous, and ended on a barely-concealed sob. He stood rooted to the floor and watched her face.
The effect of hearing his voice with its unmistakable Scottish inflection combined with the name of her mother coming out of his mouth, completely undid her resolve. A huge wave of emotion rose from somewhere deep inside her and every logical thought vanished in its wake. She jumped up as if electrified and without further delay she crossed the floor with her arms wide and tears, to match his own, rolling down her cheeks.
“Daddy!” she cried. “Daddy, I am so sorry! Forgive me!”
He cradled her head in his free hand and choked out the words that would heal her heart.
“Nary a thing to forgive, my darling girl. It’s all gone and forgotten. Hush now! Hush now! Dry your tears. All is well.”
Wesley had to flee to the entrance hall to wipe his own tears away. He left father and daughter together to talk and he went up the staircase to the mezzanine master suite to hide away until one or the other of them needed him.
He had to chide himself a little. All his professional training had indicated this meeting would be fraught with the rapid onset of deep currents of guilt and suppressed anger. He had feared the worst outcome for both participants. Obviously, he had underestimated Zoe Morton’s progress toward mental health and he had to give himself a small portion of the credit for that. His analytical mind weighed both findings and came to the happy conclusion that one cancelled the other. As Michael had said, ‘All is well’.
He suddenly remembered the Robert Frost quote he had shared with Zoe when she was his client, years before. The hope of forgiveness for the past as well as for the future was exemplified in the scene now being played out below him. It was the reconciliation she had needed without knowing why.
A new Zoe was being born. When she had blotted out the pain of her family’s disintegration she had condemned herself to an existence with none of those sad lows, but a price was exacted. Lacking the lows she also lacked the ability to experience the highs of life. It had made her a brilliant business person with ruthless tendencies when required, but it had stifled the joyful, emotional woman she could have been.
At long last, she would be free to make the total commitment to him he had waited for so patiently.
The conversation, side by side on the couch, went on for almost an hour. They had roamed lightly over many topics, practical and personal. They had looked into each other’s face and noted the changes. They had smiled and seen the same smile echoed in the other. Zoe’s voice became more Scottish as they spoke, although she could not hear the difference. Their postures altered gradually until they were moving closer to each other without noticing.
“Are you staying in a hotel?”
“Yes, Wesley arranged it for me. It’s very comfortable but I’ll need to leave to get back to work tomorrow.”
“I hope you wi
ll stay here the next time you come.”
He squeezed her hand slightly to let her know how touched he was at the invitation with its promise of future meetings.
“Would you ever consider living in London, Dad?”
“I think I would be happier where I am most at home, and that’s Scotland.”
“I can understand that. Would you ever want to go back to Glasgow?”
“It has been in my mind but I would not want to be near where we used to live, too many memories.”
They both felt it was true and said nothing.
“Zoe, do you remember my sister Isobel?”
“Oh, I do. Aunt Izzie went away to Chicago with her husband when I was just seven or eight. Do you hear from her?”
“We have kept in touch from time to time. Strangely enough, she asked me the same question about where I wanted to live when I retire. She lost her husband a few months ago and she says she would like to live out her years in Scotland. She wants to buy a small house in Lenzie, in the countryside just outside Glasgow, and she asked me if I would share the house with her and help her integrate back into life in her homeland again.”
“Will you do it?”
“I wasn’t sure before, but now I think I will accept her generous offer. I feel as if my path has cleared toward that goal.”
“Good!” She was thinking back over the years and a picture of her Aunt Izzy became clear.
“Do you know? She gave me the nicest gold brooch in the shape of a sword, before she left for the States. I have it upstairs in a special box. I don’t wear much jewellery but I always kept it safe. Mum used to say, Zoe, you don’t need much adornment…………………”
“………………it’s too much like gilding the lily!” he finished for her.
Neither of them could summon a smile at this old memory but it was another step on the way to a comfort level they hoped to attain one day. Michael decided he would request a favour and change the subject at the same time.