“All right, if you are sure.”
Quinn went to the study and returned with the plastic bag containing the hamsa. It glinted in the light from the lamps above the worktop, its opal center as fiery as it must have been when the amulet was first crafted. Jo reached for the bag and held it up, examining the little charm through the plastic.
“It’s exquisite,” she said. “I’ve seen a number of these in the Middle East.”
“So have I. They sell them in every shop. Some are made of gold and precious stones, others of silver. And there are many cheaper versions that are used as keyrings, wall ornaments, and other trinkets.”
“It must have belonged to a woman,” Jo said. “This is too feminine to have been worn by a man.”
“It had belonged to a woman, but she’d given it to a man as a keepsake,” Quinn replied. She didn’t want to give anything away, curious what Jo would experience when she held the hamsa in her hand. She was nervous, too. If Jo truly felt the pain as the victims had felt it, this experiment could go horribly wrong.
Jo carefully extracted the amulet from the bag and dropped it into her palm. The sisters stared at her hand, transfixed.
“Well?” Quinn finally asked after several tense minutes had elapsed.
Jo placed the charm on the granite worktop and took a shuddering breath. “I saw a dark-eyed, dark-haired young man. He looked Hispanic, and his clothes were very old-fashioned. Tudor era, perhaps. He seemed lost and frightened.”
Jo suddenly reached for a scone and wolfed it down in three bites. She took several large gulps of tea before speaking again. “I’m sorry, all at once I felt a gnawing hunger, the type of hunger that permeates your every waking thought. I am not one for mindless eating, but I feel as if I could eat a dozen of these.”
“Yes,” Quinn said, nodding. “That makes perfect sense. He was starving. Did you feel anything else?” she asked eagerly.
Jo shook her head. “I felt bone-weary, but the predominant feelings were of overwhelming fear and crippling hunger. I felt no other physical discomfort. Perhaps I’ve outgrown the more extreme side effects of the visions.”
Quinn retrieved the charm and returned it to the bag. “I suppose that’s a good thing. I don’t know what I would have done had you felt as if iron nails were being driven into your wrists.”
Jo smiled sheepishly. “I wouldn’t have let it get that far, but I suppose I wanted to see what you see. And now that I’ve seen him, I feel great sadness. He was hardly more than a child. Tell me about him. Who gave him the hamsa?”
“His name was Rafael de Silva, and the charm was given to him by his fiancée shortly before he sailed with the Spanish Armada. It was meant to bring him protection and luck.”
“Clearly, it didn’t work,” Jo scoffed.
“No.”
“Unless he gave it to someone as a gift, or as payment. I almost hope that’s the case.”
“I can’t see that he would have done that. Given the hatred and mistrust the other Spaniards felt toward anyone who wasn’t Christian, Rafael would have been risking his life by even admitting to having the charm. He swallowed it to keep it safe.”
“That’s one way of doing it, I suppose,” Jo replied, grinning.
Quinn stared at Jo, amazed that she hadn’t considered the possibility that had just occurred to her. “The charm was found below the body, in the dirt. It’s quite possible that it was still inside his body when he died. Once the soft tissue decomposed, the metal object would have fallen to the ground, landing around the pelvic area, which was where I found it.”
“That makes perfect sense,” Jo agreed.
“But, if the charm was safely hidden, why would anyone want to crucify this poor young man?” Quinn asked, trying to find a theory that fit.
“I can’t begin to imagine what he must have endured in his short life. No wonder I felt such fear in the few moments I held the charm.”
“His story is not one that had a happy ending. And speaking of happy endings, how was your date with Rhys?”
Jo shrugged and looked away, focusing her gaze on the kitchen window. “It was nice,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay, Quinn. You can ask, but I’m afraid there’s nothing to tell. We had a nice meal at a restaurant of Rhys’s choice, and then he kissed me on the cheek and sent me on my way.”
“Were you hoping for more?” Quinn asked carefully.
“I expected more. I must have misread the signs. Think you can shed any light?”
Quinn lifted her cup to her lips and took a slow sip. It was a delaying tactic, but she wasn’t sure how much she should say. More than anything, she wanted to forge a close relationship with Jo, but Rhys was not only her boss, he was a dear friend who’d confided in her and allowed her to see a side of himself he shared with few people. She had no right to betray his confidence by gossiping about his pain.
“Jo, Rhys is a very private person. He doesn’t discuss his personal life with me.” Unless he has no choice, Quinn thought, recalling the night she’d found Rhys sprawled on his bed, cold and unresponsive. He’d tried to drown his pain in sleeping tablets and alcohol after his fiancée miscarried their baby and had its remains incinerated before Rhys even got to the hospital. She’d then walked out on him after a heated argument in which she implied that the child hadn’t been his. Rhys had managed to pull himself together, but he’d carry the scars of his loss for the rest of his life.
“But you do know something?”
“Rhys went through a difficult time a few months ago. I think he’s still trying to come to terms with what happened. Perhaps he wants to take things slow. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you any more than that.”
“I admire your loyalty, Quinn,” Jo replied coolly, making Quinn feel like a worm. “I really should get going. Thanks for the tea.”
“Jo, would you like to come for dinner next Saturday? I can invite Rhys,” Quinn said, hoping that would be an added incentive.
“Sure, why not. I’ll ring you.”
Jo gave Quinn a quick peck on the cheek and walked out, leaving Quinn feeling as if she’d betrayed her sister somehow by not gossiping about Rhys.
Chapter 16
Jo slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the nearest station. Having reached it, she changed her mind about taking the Tube and continued walking, eager for physical exercise and a chance to marshal her thoughts. She’d enjoyed the little experiment with Quinn. Talking about the past and the unfortunate Rafael de Silva had allowed them to bond in a way that didn’t make Jo uncomfortable. She admired Quinn’s desire to tell the stories of the common folk who’d been forgotten, their names erased from history. Jo liked to tell stories as well, only she preferred to see the world from a distance, a tactic that allowed her a modicum of control.
Of course, that approach didn’t always work, given the fiasco in Kabul, but she did care about shining a light on places and individuals who were struggling for survival in some of the darkest corners of the world. In a way, her chosen profession was more relevant than Quinn’s flights into the past. After all, did any of these stories break new ground? Hadn’t they learned about these historical events at school? What could Quinn add to the plethora of information on each given subject besides the sad story of one man or woman? She simply put a name and a face to a well-documented time in history, giving her narrative a more personal angle.
Some psychics might be brave enough to tell the world what they saw, but Quinn preferred to keep her ability a secret, and Jo didn’t blame her. Not everyone could deal with that type of exposure, or the ridicule that would inevitably follow the revelation. Quinn would be a laughingstock in scientific circles, a pariah. If the truth came out, her program might get cancelled altogether, the BBC not wishing to align itself with a psychic unless the context was purely fictional. Is that what I am? Jo thought as she strolled along. A psychic?
The idea was intriguing. She’d always hated her unwelcome ability and worked hard not to access it, even by accident, but what if she were to try? Would she see exactly the same things as Quinn if she spent time with Rafael de Silva, or would she see a different set of memories? Perhaps it was safe to try now that she knew she wouldn’t get nailed to a cross, so to speak. And what of Brett Besson? What was his gift like? Quinn said they’d never openly discussed it, but it would be interesting to compare notes.
Jo filed away the question for later. Brett wasn’t a topic Quinn wished to discuss, and Jo could hardly blame her after what she’d endured at his hands. Seth and Kathy Besson were in the process of filing an appeal, hoping Brett would get acquitted on a technicality, since Seth had beaten a confession out of his son in order to get to Quinn on time. She would have died had Seth not pummeled his son within an inch of his life, but that very desperation could now be used to undermine the conviction against Brett. He’d confessed under duress.
Tired after the long walk, Jo found a café and ordered a cup of tea and a turkey sandwich. The hunger she’d felt after holding the charm for only a few minutes still gnawed at her, even after eating several scones, and she felt unpleasantly weakened by the experience. She settled at a corner table and gazed out the window, watching the passersby as she enjoyed her meal.
She had been born with a gift that enabled her to look into the past, but she would gladly exchange this ability for one where she could examine the living. How different her life would be if she could hear the thoughts of those around her. Jo supposed she was curious about Rhys, especially now that Quinn had implied that he’d suffered some great personal tragedy. Rhys always seemed so cool, so in control. What would it take to make a man like him unravel? And what would make a man like him throw caution to the wind and rush off to Afghanistan to look for a woman he hardly knew? Was it unrequited love for Quinn or was it a despair so deep that he needed to feel his life threatened in order to value it once again?
She was sure Rhys had been hurt in Kabul. She’d seen his careful movements when he visited her at the hospital. There were no marks of violence on his face, but his hand had strayed to his side several times as if to contain the pain and his grimace had betrayed the depth of his suffering. Had Rhys been set upon, or might he have been in the vicinity of an explosion? And had risking his life given him the absolution he craved? Had he been able to work through whatever it was that ailed his soul? She hoped so, because she genuinely liked Rhys, and even if they never saw each other again, she wanted to know that his quest to find her had benefitted him as well.
And Quinn… She supposed Quinn was the one person she really wished to understand on a deeper level. They were twin sisters, they’d shared a womb, and an adoption experience that had left Jo scarred and broken. Quinn had found a way to turn her anger and confusion into something positive, whereas Jo used it as a shield. She was in awe of Quinn’s ability to trust, especially after her boyfriend of eight years had cheated on her and broken up with her via text. She had such unwavering faith in Gabe. Such commitment to another human being could only exist when the person giving her trust was utterly secure in herself and her place in the world.
Jo supposed that despite Luke’s betrayal, Quinn’s experience of men had been very different from her own. Every man Jo had known, since the time she was a small child, had been a selfish, lying bastard—every man except Jesse. But Jesse had been smitten with her, maybe even a little obsessed. She’d been young, emotionally fragile, and hesitant to commit. Would he have remained true to her if she’d married him and allowed herself to settle into a life of domesticity? Would he have still loved her after she had several children and was no longer a girl, but a woman who had other priorities besides satisfying him in bed and helping him in his work? Perhaps that was why she’d run, because she hadn’t really cared to discover that Jesse had cloven feet, just like every other man in her life.
Her father had had affairs. She’d heard her parents arguing many times, late into the night, her mother threatening to leave him if he didn’t end his latest fling. He usually did, but not because he loved his wife. It was because he was already bored and ready to play the devoted husband for a while until a new flame sprang to life in his heart, or more accurately, his prick. By the time Jo was a teen, her parents had no longer shared a bedroom, and her father stayed out several nights a week, telling his wife he was “at the hospital,” when they all knew it was a euphemism for saying he was staying at the current girlfriend’s flat.
By his own admission, her biological father, Seth, had cheated on his wife and destroyed their marriage. Seth and Kathy had got back together recently, a development that had made Seth happy, but would he do better the second time around? Was it possible for someone who’d cheated once to stay faithful for any length of time? Were second chances really an opportunity to do better or just another chance to fail miserably?
Most men she’d come across in her work indulged in casual affairs, secure in the knowledge that their wives would never find out they’d shagged someone in Kabul or Tokyo. Was it possible to have a loving, committed relationship for the rest of one’s life? Did Gabe, who was attractive and urbane, never stray, even in his thoughts? Was he still content, having won the woman of his dreams? The fact that Quinn didn’t appear to be plagued by these doubts was what intimidated Jo and made her grudgingly admire her sister. What was the first step to such unwavering sense of self? Perhaps it was being honest, and Jo hadn’t been honest with Quinn, not by a long shot. But was she ready to bare her soul?
Chapter 17
Quinn glanced at the kitchen clock as she stowed the remaining scones in a container and rinsed out the mugs. If she were lucky, Alex would nap for another half hour. Once he woke, she’d take him for a long walk. Alex needed the fresh air and she could use the exercise. In the meantime, she could ring Jill. They’d spoken several times since Quinn had returned from Germany with Jo but hadn’t seen each other due to their conflicting schedules. Jill, who’d closed her vintage clothing shop in Soho at the beginning of the year, had just started a new job, working as a forensic accountant for an international conglomerate. It had been Jill’s dream to have her own business, but even though things hadn’t worked out, she wasn’t bitter or disappointed. She’d bravely moved on and was settling into her new position. Quinn hoped Jill wouldn’t be too busy to talk for a few minutes.
“Quinn!” her cousin exclaimed when she picked up the call. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Must be telepathy, then. How are you? How’s the new job?”
“Job’s all right. When it comes to accounting, it’s like riding a bike; once you get on, you immediately recall how to pedal. To be honest, I enjoy the predictability of it, because the simple beauty of a perfect balance sheet can gladden the heart.”
“Do I sense a note of sarcasm?”
“Well, maybe just a little,” Jill admitted. “I do miss the shop sometimes, but I’m determined to make a go of this.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’m having a little dinner party next Saturday and I’d love it if you and Brian could join us. I want you to meet Jo,” Quinn added nervously. Jill was her best friend, her childhood partner in crime, adolescent confidante, and honorary sister. She’d been there for all the important moments in Quinn’s life, but they’d barely seen each other since Quinn’s quest for Jo had begun.
Jill sighed. “All right. We’ll be there.”
“Jill, what is it? Don’t you want to meet my sister?”
“No,” Jill replied, surprising Quinn with her bluntness. Jill wasn’t one to mince words, but this was harsh even for her.
“Why? I’d like my sister and my best friend to get to know each other.”
“I won’t remain your best friend for long,” Jill replied in a sulky tone.
“What are you talking about? You’ve been my best friend since we were little.”
“That’s because she wasn’t around to spoil t
hings.”
“You can’t be serious. Are you jealous of my relationship with her?”
“Quinn, all I’ve been hearing for months and months is Jo this and Jo that. It’s like the sun rises and sets on Sister Jo. I understand how important she is to you, but you’re piling an awful lot of expectations on this woman. You hardly know her.”
“I’m getting to know her, and it’d be nice if you gave her a chance. Jill, Jo will never replace you. Never. Now, tell me you’ll put this childish jealousy aside and keep an open mind.”
Jill exhaled deeply. “All right. I will put this childish jealousy aside and meet Jo. But I won’t like her,” she added. Quinn could tell by the tone of her voice that she was smiling.
“Fair enough. See you next Saturday.”
“Okay.”
Chapter 18
September 1588
Connaught, Ireland
“It’s time to go,” Father Liam said.
Rafael rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his tangled hair. It seemed as if he’d just fallen asleep, and already it was morning. His head ached and his neck was stiff. Rafael rolled his shoulders to get the crick out, but it didn’t do much good.
Captain de Cuéllar got to his feet with some difficulty, using the bench to support his weight.
“Are you all right, Captain?” the priest asked.
“Spending the night on a stone floor didn’t do my back any favors,” the captain replied in Spanish, then switched to Latin for the benefit of Father Liam. “I’m just fine, Father. I thank you for your help.”
“Here,” the priest said as he handed the captain a cloth-wrapped parcel. “I’m afraid that’s all I can spare.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” the captain replied. “We’ll be on our way, then.”
Father Liam extinguished the candle before leaving the church. “Best not to draw attention to ourselves,” he explained.
The Betrayed (Echoes from the Past Book 7) Page 9