He speaks with great eloquence, thought Jack, spellbound like all the others. A pin dropping on the stone floor would have sounded like thunder in the silent church as the Bone Scraper paused.
‘Cassandra is an assumed name. Most of you would have at least suspected this, and some of you knew. But I’m sure none of you know her real name. Not even you, Tristan,’ he said, looking at the frail boy sitting in the front row.
‘Yet a name is very important. It tells us who we are and where we come from. Hers is a traditional name, an echo of our Maori past. She and I, and my late brother Joe, are branches of the same tree reaching back to Parema Te Pahau, a great warrior chief. Now I’m the last one ...’
The Bone Scraper turned towards the coffin and put his hand on the lid.
‘The woman lying in this box is my sister,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ Staring at the coffin, the Bone Scraper paused again, not sure if he should go on. ‘She had a twin,’ he said at last, ‘our brother Joe. She and Joe were one. Now they are together again.’
The Bone Scraper stood in silence for what seemed an eternity, his striking face like chiselled stone. Then softly, he began to chant in Maori. He was saying goodbye to a younger sister he had lost along the way, only to find her again when it was already too late. After a while the chanting turned to a whisper and then stopped completely. Turning around, the Bone Scraper looked straight ahead and stared at something only he could see, before walking slowly back to his pew.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ whispered Rebecca, tears streaming down her pale face. Jack squeezed her hand, but didn’t reply.
Choking with emotion, the countess stood.
‘I, too, would like to say something,’ she said, her voice quivering. Clutching a handkerchief in her right hand, she walked over to the coffin and stood where the Bone Scraper had addressed them just moments before.
‘My daughter Anna is too ill to be here and speak, but I know in my heart that she would like to be. So I shall speak on her behalf. A few days ago, Cassandra saved my daughter’s life. I was there and saw it all. There is no greater gift one mother can give to another, yet Cassandra did just that. Tragically, in doing so, she gave up her own life, without hesitation or complaint. It is important that you, Tristan, should know this. There are no words to describe the gratitude I feel towards this woman we came here to honour and farewell. Not only did she save Anna’s life, she was instrumental in finding her and bringing her back to us. During all these lonely years Anna has been missing, presumed dead by most, I believed that she was alive. Unbeknown to me, Cassandra believed that too. My belief was based on faith, but Cassandra knew. She had a gift to see and feel what others couldn’t, and her extraordinary mind was able to go where others feared to tread. I believe she was an instrument of God.’
The countess paused and looked at the Bone Scraper. ‘Can you tell us her real name, Sir,’ she asked, ‘so that all of us here can learn who she really was and where she came from?’
How extraordinary. The Russian countess is addressing the Maori bikie in church, thought Jack.
‘She’s named after a famous Chieftainess of our tribe. Her name is Ina Te Papatahi,’ replied the Bone Scraper, speaking slowly.
‘Ina Te Papatahi,’ repeated the countess, ‘you will live in our hearts forever.’
‘Does anyone else wish to speak?’ asked the celebrant after the countess had returned to her seat. With her aching heart almost bursting in her chest, Rebecca listened to the silence around her urging her to say something. Do it, she told herself, you owe her so much!
‘Yes; I do,’ said Rebecca, her voice barely audible. Jack looked at her, surprised. Rebecca wiped the tears from her cheeks, stood up and turned to the Bone Scraper watching her. ‘With your permission,’ she said. The Bone Scraper nodded and pointed to the casket covered in flowers.
Rebecca walked slowly down the aisle until she reached the coffin. Remembering that stormy night at Never Never Downs, she stared at it for what seemed – to her – an eternity. There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn’t find the words.
‘Ina Te ...,’ she began haltingly at last, trying to remember the name.
‘Papatahi,’ whispered the Bone Scraper softly.
‘Papatahi,’ said Rebecca, ‘you reached out in friendship, took me by the hand, and touched my soul. When you looked inside and saw that I was lost, you lit up the darkness with your wisdom and your kindness and showed me the way. When you saw that I was searching for love, you showed me where to find it.’ Rebecca paused, and dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, hoping that the pain would stop her from losing control. ‘You were right,’ she sobbed, ‘love was right there in front of me. The door was open wide. Thanks to you, I’m in the cage no more.’
Leaning forward, Rebecca pulled a red rose out of the floral arrangement covering the lid of the coffin. As she lifted the exquisite little flower to her lips – her fingers trembling – a teardrop fell on one of the petals and slowly rolled towards the thorny stem. ‘Goodbye, dear friend,’ she whispered and placed the rose carefully back on the lid. ‘You’ve joined the whisper of angels, and become part of eternity. Watch over us.’
After Rebecca had returned to her seat, the Bone Scraper stood up and started to sing. As the haunting Maori farewell to the dead rose to the rafters, the Warriors stood as one and joined in. What had started as a quiet service had turned into an unexpected celebration of an extraordinary life.
At the conclusion of the funeral, the Maori pallbearers stepped forward again and carried the coffin outside. The Bone Scraper placed it carefully on the waiting sidecar, dismissed the funeral director, and sent the hearse away. In line with club tradition, Cassandra – Ina Te Papatahi – would be taken to the crematorium in style, and laid to rest next to her twin brother. Riding slowly in groups of four, the Warriors formed a deafening guard of honour as they followed the coffin down the street.
Jack and Rebecca stood outside the church and watched the Warriors leave. Jack turned to Rebecca. ‘That took some guts in there,’ he said. ‘Not many are brave enough to bare their soul.’
‘She was an extraordinary person.’
‘I didn’t know you were so close.’
Rebecca looked away. ‘We were,’ she said, a wave of sadness washing over her.
Linking arms with Rebecca, Jack pointed to the bikies. ‘I wouldn’t mind a send-off like that one day ... And have the things you said about Cassandra ...’
‘Yes?’
‘Said about me.’
‘The way you’ve been going lately, your send-off could be closer than you think,’ said Rebecca, feeling better.
‘Are you kidding? I haven’t done all the things I want to do before I die.’
‘Bucket list?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You must be getting close.’
Jack shook his head and waited until the last bikie had turned the corner before replying. ‘Still a long way to go,’ he said.
‘I was afraid you’d say that.’
‘Have you found what you were looking for?’ Jack asked, a sparkle in his eyes.
‘I think so, but only time will tell ...’
‘Then why don’t you stick around, and we can find out?’
‘Together?’
‘Is there another way?’
‘You mean it?’
‘Absolutely! And I can promise you one thing ...’
‘What?’
Jack pulled Rebecca into a doorway and kissed her tenderly on the back of the neck. ‘The ride of your life.’
Epilogue
Kuragin chateau, three months later
I
Jack put on a brave face. He found driving in France challenging at the best of times, but the traffic leaving the airport was particularly chaotic that morning. The pressure was on. Getting lost again was unthinkable. ‘I hope you’re impressed,’ he said, furiously changing lanes.
‘Why? S
hould I be?’ asked Rebecca.
‘I’ve taken the correct exit – there. See?’
‘Good boy. I wasn’t looking forward to getting lost in Paris again. As long as we get to the chateau today, I’m happy, but the countess is expecting us around lunchtime. I would keep that in mind.’
‘No worries. I know the way to the Kuragin estate. We’ll get there with time to spare. Trust me.’
‘I’m glad you’re confident. Just remember what happened last time.’
‘Bloody French drivers! Did you see that?’ Jack raised his fist. ‘Bastard!’
‘Temper, temper. If you don’t keep your eyes on the road, we might not get there at all!’
‘You know what?’
‘Tell me?’
‘It’s a bit of a worry ...’
‘What is?’
‘I’m getting used to your nagging.’
Gritting her teeth, Rebecca looked out the window.
The meeting with Jack’s New York publisher the week before had been quite a challenge. It was Jack’s first visit to New York since Anna’s return. Rebecca, on the other hand, had barely left the Big Apple, and had looked after Jack’s interests and placated the impatient publishers demanding results. Rebecca realised that her relationship with Jack had turned into an internet arrangement suffering from all the symptoms imposed by different time zones and the tyranny of distance. Skype and Viber had become their bedfellows and Rebecca was hoping that this was about to change.
Author-publisher meetings were always a bit tricky – big egos rubbing shoulders. That’s why Rebecca, as Jack’s PR agent, insisted on attending all the meetings in person. Rebecca remembered the showdown with the publishers two days before. Jack had become more assertive and less reluctant to express his point of view. To her surprise, instead of being put off by this, the publishers didn’t seem to mind. They began to look at the boy from Down Under in a different light.
Patronising complacency had given way to respect; the soaring book sales spoke volumes. Well done, Jack, thought Rebecca.
The outline of The Disappearance of Anna Popov had more than piqued the publishers’ interest. Helped by the huge international publicity Anna’s remarkable survival story had received around the globe, and Jack’s exclusivity arrangements with the Popov family, the book appeared to be well on its way and had the market buzzing with anticipation. It had all the hallmarks of a blockbuster with serious movie potential.
However, before formally submitting the manuscript, Jack had insisted on first showing it to the countess and Professor Popov in person. This wasn’t unusual, but when questioned further about this by Rebecca, Jack appeared evasive and a little uneasy. Rebecca sensed that there was more to all this than he was prepared to tell. All he said was that he wanted to talk to Anna and see for himself if she was able to throw further light on her story.
So far, Jack had relied entirely on others and had painstakingly pieced the facts together, from the outside. He had told the publishers that he was hoping to add at least a glimpse of what it must have been like to be on the inside. This trip to the Kuragin chateau would be his first opportunity to speak to Anna and her family since her rescue. What Rebecca didn’t know was that Jack had another, hidden, agenda that would take everyone by surprise, and change everything.
After the turbulent events surrounding the Wizard’s death and Cassandra’s funeral, no one had been allowed near Anna. The medical advice had been both clear and adamant: the patient required rest and treatment. From the day she had been reunited with her daughter, the countess wanted to take Anna and her baby back to France and away from the glare of publicity surrounding her in Australia. Professor Popov agreed and came up with the answer: he made arrangements to have Anna admitted to a private clinic just outside Paris. One of his close friends, an eminent neuro-psychiatrist, would oversee her recovery and rehabilitation.
Anna had spent more than two months at the clinic, and had only recently been discharged. She was now living with her baby son at the Kuragin chateau.
Right from the beginning, Anna’s parents had been tight-lipped about their daughter’s condition and return home, and had kept her out of the limelight. The Australian authorities had welcomed this, and had assisted the family in protecting Anna’s privacy. The spin doctors were happy too: the heat had been taken out of a potentially embarrassing situation.
However, fascinated by leaked snippets of Anna’s remarkable survival, a news-hungry public wanted to know more. The press had a juicy tabloid bone it wouldn’t relinquish without a fight.
Privately, Professor Popov and the countess had become increasingly concerned about the impact Jack’s much awaited book would have on their lives in general, and Anna’s recovery and future, in particular. However, due to their relationship with Jack and the understanding reached between them regarding the book, they hadn’t voiced their concerns. After all that Jack had done for them, he deserved his reward.
With the Wizard and his henchmen dead, the notorious Wizards of Oz had all but disappeared. Without leadership and most of their assets confiscated under the Proceeds of Crime legislation, the once feared outlaws had become a nonentity. This was hailed a great success by the police and the Australian government.
‘There, what did I tell you?’ said Jack, pointing ahead to the moat. ‘Just like the Kalumburu painting, don’t you think?’ Rebecca nodded. ‘Here we are. On time and without detours. Please take note.’
‘Not bad,’ conceded Rebecca. ‘You are getting better.’
‘I do try hard, admit it.’
‘You also know how to boast.’
‘You call this boasting? I get us here safely, I’m driving on the other side of the road and I cannot read the bloody street signs, and you ...’
‘Enough!’ interrupted Rebecca. ‘Watch the peacock! There – by the moat!’ Jack had to swerve to miss the strutting bird and almost ran off the road. ‘Leaving a dead peacock in the middle of the bridge wouldn’t look too good, admit it.’
‘Feathers flying on arrival? No.’ They both burst out laughing.
The countess ran outside to greet them as soon as the car pulled up. She threw her arms around Jack and kissed him on the cheeks. ‘I can’t begin to tell you how good it is to see you both,’ she said, taking Rebecca by the hand. ‘Come, Anna’s waiting inside. She’s been excited for days.’ Jack shot Rebecca a meaningful look. They had received mixed reports about Anna’s recovery and state of mind.
‘How is she?’ asked Jack.
‘Judge for yourself,’ replied the countess, turning serious. ‘We have good days and bad ones.’
To protect the family’s privacy, the countess had temporarily closed the hotel, and had the conservatory at the back of the chateau converted into a studio for Anna. The conservatory had plenty of light and a splendid view of the garden and was the ideal setting for an artist. Anna spent most of her time there – painting.
The specialists at the clinic had discovered that Anna’s mind had made a remarkable adjustment: it had retreated from reality in order to deal with the trauma and horror she had been subjected to. At first, this was viewed as a temporary defence mechanism. However, instead of returning slowly to normal with the passage of time as the specialists had expected, Anna was channelling all of her energy and emotions into her art. She was expressing herself through her paintings, and her paintbrush had become her pencil. Anna was communicating through brushstrokes and paint, but kept reality at arm’s length.
The countess opened the glass door to the conservatory and stepped aside. ‘There she is,’ she said. ‘She has something to show you ...’ Dressed in jeans streaked with paint and a long white shirt, the young woman standing in front of the easel looked confident and at ease. Jack could barely recognise her as the frail creature he had rescued from the cave. Her hair had grown longer and was a shade or two darker than he remembered. Her face had filled out a little and her skin had a healthy glow. The baby was asleep in a bassinet by the win
dow, with the countess’ Labrador watching over him.
‘Thanks to you, Jack, I have a family again,’ whispered the countess, gently pushing Jack towards Anna.
‘Brown is a difficult colour,’ said Anna without turning around. ‘Ochre or yellow are easy. Brown is hard, especially Outback-brown. I can’t seem to get it right. Merriwarra knew how to make it by using the earth itself. Painting colour from memory is very difficult. There are so many shades of brown, don’t you think?’
Jack walked across to Anna and looked over her shoulder. ‘You may not remember me,’ he said quietly.
‘We thought you were death coming into the cave to take me away, but you turned out to be life itself,’ said Anna, pointing with her paintbrush to the canvas in front of her. ‘That’s you, right here.’ The painting captured the inside of a cave decorated with spectacular rock art in surprising detail.
Looking fearful and dejected, two Aboriginal women sat on the floor. Wrapped in a blanket, a blonde girl was lying on the ground next to them. One of the women was cradling the head of the girl – obviously Anna – in her lap. A shaft of light reached inside from an opening in the cave wall and fell on a white man dressed only in shorts. He was kneeling in front of the women with his hands – palms up – pointing to the girl in a gesture reminiscent of prayer. The wide-eyed women, however, stared at something behind the crouching man, an expression of horror and shock on their wan faces. Jack could just make out the outline of a human skeleton painted in shades of grey, floating through the shaft of light away from the women. An apparition? he thought, trying to interpret the strange composition. ‘That’s death leaving,’ said Anna, pointing to the skeleton. ‘It’s almost finished. I just have to get these annoying browns right.’
‘You have a great gift,’ said Jack. ‘Will you sign it Lucrezia?’
Anna looked at him and smiled. The painting reminded Jack of a strange nativity scene. It looks like the adoration of the Magi, he thought, but with only one king, bringing the gift of life after banishing death.
The Disappearance of Anna Popov: A supernatural suspense thriller (Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 2) Page 36