The Lost

by J. D. Robb

  Aidan looked up from the last of the letters, her eyes moist. What would it be like, she wondered, to love someone so deeply, and then face the loss of that love for a lifetime?

  Cullen had poured out all his feelings on the pages of his letters. Had emptied his heart and soul, until she wondered that he had any passion left. And still he’d refused to give up his search for his Moira. There were piles of requests for information regarding immigrants from Ireland by the name of Fitzgibbon. A thick folder compiled by a private detective agency in New York State documenting every Fitzgibbon who had entered the country legally, and some who had found their way via illegal channels. And finally she found the current file, with her mother’s obituary from her local newspaper.

  A lifetime search had ended with a death.

  Aidan stood, flexing her cramped muscles just as a knock sounded on the parlor door.

  She opened it to find Charity poised to knock again.

  “Oh.” The girl snickered. “I thought you might be napping. Bridget sent me to fetch you. There’s a hospital technician in the library waiting to administer a test.”

  “Thanks, Charity.” Aidan followed the girl down the stairs, aware that everyone working at the lodge knew just what was going on. There were no secrets here.

  In the doorway of the library she paused. Cullen was seated behind his desk. Ross and a stranger were standing by the windows talking.

  They all looked over as she stepped into the room.

  Cullen walked around his desk to stand beside her. As though, she thought, to shield her.

  “Easiest test I’ve ever taken,” he said with a grin. “A quick comb of my cheek, in triplicate just to be certain, and we were done with it.” He turned to the young man wearing latex gloves. “Patrick, this is Aidan O’Mara. Aidan, Patrick is with St. Brendan Hospital. He’ll administer the DNA test.”

  “Miss O’Mara.” The young man handed her a long plastic stick with something that resembled a tiny comb at the end. “If you’ll comb your mouth for a full minute and place the comb in this vial, please.”

  “Comb? I thought I’d be swabbing my mouth.”

  “It’s the same. We call it combing.” He glanced at the tiny comb. “I’m sure you can see why.”

  She did as he instructed, pleased that the tiny comb easily detached from its handle as she slid it into the vial. After handing over the vial, he sealed it in a plastic bag, which he carefully marked with a pen.

  “And now again,” he said, handing her a second.

  She swabbed a different section of her mouth before dropping the tiny comb into another vial.

  The technician followed the same procedure and handed her a third.

  When she’d finished, he turned to Cullen. “The results will be sent by courier within forty-eight hours, Mr. Glin, and possibly sooner. As you requested, we’ll give this top priority.”

  “Thank you, Patrick.”

  When he was gone, Aidan touched a hand to her middle, and wondered at the feelings churning inside her. She ought to be relieved. The decision was now out of her hands and placed in the capable, unerring hands of science. One way or another, she and Cullen would soon know the truth.

  The old man touched a hand to her shoulder, and she wondered if he meant to soothe her or himself. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”

  “No.” She forced a smile. “Easy as pie.”

  “Indeed.” He turned away. “I’ve ordered Sean to bring the car around to drive me to Glinkilly. Would you care to go along?”

  She was about to refuse when a thought occurred to her. “I’d like that. I told Charity that I’d help her father with the figures for the Farmers’ Cooperative’s books if I stayed here long enough. It seems he’s feeling overwhelmed. And since I now have forty-eight hours to do with as I please, it’s the least I can do for her.”

  Cullen arched a brow. “You’re good with numbers?”

  “It’s what I did at the bank. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Cullen turned to Ross. “Would you care to join us?”

  “Sorry.” Ross started toward the door. “I have things to attend to here.”

  “I’ll just get my purse and meet you outside.” Aidan walked away.

  “There’s the new wing of the school.” Cullen pointed with pride to the Glinkilly Academy, bearing his name, where stonemasons had perfectly matched the new stone to the original, so that it was impossible to tell the new wing from the old.

  “And this is where the Farmers’ Cooperative meets.” He glanced beyond Aidan to Charity, who had volunteered to come along and introduce their guest to her father.

  The car came to a stop and Sean hurried around to open the passenger door. Aidan and Charity stepped out.

  Aidan turned. “How much time do I have?”

  “An hour or two. Will that be enough?”

  She laughed. “I have no idea the condition of the ledgers, but I’ll be ready to leave whenever you say.”

  “Miss O’Mara, your car is here.”

  It had been nearly three hours before the ancient Rolls pulled up to the door of the Farmers’ Cooperative. Before he could hurry inside to collect Aidan and Charity, the two young women stepped out into the sunlight, accompanied by four men who were all smiles.

  As Sean held the passenger door, each man shook Aidan’s hand and thanked her for the work she’d done on their behalf.

  “If you’ve a chance to visit us again, miss,” Charity’s father said in his thick brogue, “we’d be honored to have you to supper.”

  “Thank you. If I’m ever back in your lovely town, I’d be honored to accept.”

  One of the men turned to Cullen and tipped his hat. “Such a fine young lady she is, sir.”

  The others nodded.

  “She made it all so easy. A wizard with numbers, she is, and now that the columns of figures are properly tallied, we won’t be forgetting what she taught us this day.”

  Aidan hugged Charity, who had elected to walk home with her father and the others, rather than return to the lodge.

  As the car started away, the men were still smiling and waving.

  “Well.” Cullen turned to study the young woman beside him. “You seem to have made quite an impression on the lads.”

  “It was all very simple, really. Just columns of numbers. I showed them a few tricks to keep them from getting overwhelmed when the tallies don’t match up.”

  “That was generous of you, Aidan.”

  She shook her head. “I enjoyed it. It was nice to dip my hand in the work again. I’ve missed it.”

  Cullen fell silent as the car moved along the familiar country roads. Then, playing the part of genial host, he began to point out things of interest, until they were once again home.

  “If you don’t mind, my dear, I have some work to tend to in my office.”

  “I don’t mind a bit.”

  As she walked away, there was a spring to her step. She hadn’t been completely honest with Cullen. She hadn’t just enjoyed working with the farmers in town; she’d been over the moon at the chance to work again.

  Aidan sat on a stone bench, watching birds splashing in a fountain. The sound of the water, and the perfume of the roses all around her, brought a sense of peace. She was glad now that she’d sought the solitude of the garden. It was the perfect counterpoint to the chaos in her soul.

  So many doubts. So many things she’d taken for granted for a lifetime were now in question since coming here.

  On the one hand, she wanted to forget everything she’d heard this morning. The image of a frightened young woman, forcibly separated from all that was comforting and familiar, only to find herself in a new and uncharted existence, was too painful to contemplate. On the other hand, it would explain the lack of tenderness between her grandparents, and the fierce loyalty of her grandmother to her only child.

  Had her mother been the love child of Moira and Cullen? As much as she wanted to deny it, she found herse
lf unable to completely reject the idea. She found herself comparing her mother’s smile to Cullen’s. The shape of that full lower lip, the merest hint of a dimple in the left cheek, the arch of brow. Despite both her grandparents’ dark hair with hardly a trace of silver, her mother had gone prematurely gray. Now that she had met Cullen, she realized her mother’s white hair was so like his silver mane.

  In less than forty-eight hours she would have the truth.

  Too agitated to sit any longer, she stood and began to follow a winding path that led from the rose garden to a wooded section.

  As she rounded yet another curve in the path, she found herself standing in front of the guest cottage.

  From inside, the wolfhounds set up a chorus of barking. The door opened and Ross greeted her with a smile. “I see you decided to look around a bit. Would you like to come in?”

  “Thank you.”

  He held the door and she moved past him into the most charming cottage.

  The dogs circled her, sniffing and curious. With a softly spoken word from Ross, they retreated to the far side of the room.

  Dappled sunlight spilled through the wide windows to form patterns of light and shadow on gleaming hardwood floors.

  “Oh, this is lovely.” Aidan looked around with interest.

  Exposed wooden beams ran across the ceiling, giving the room a rustic look. Pale stucco walls added to the feeling of light. The comfortable upholstered furniture had a definite masculine appeal. A wall of bookshelves was stocked with leather-bound volumes.

  “Your law library?”

  He nodded. “Some of it. I have an office in Dublin, as well.” He led her toward a small kitchen, with a wall of glass overlooking a brick-paved patio.

  “I was just about to pour myself an iced tea.” He indicated a pitcher on the counter. “Will you join me?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  While he filled two glasses she looked around. The room, though small, was beautifully appointed, with Spanish tile flooring, marble countertops, and a round glass table and chairs that fit snugly into a bay window.

  He handed her a frosty glass before snagging the pitcher. “Let’s sit on the patio and take advantage of the sunlight before it fails.”

  She opened the French doors and stepped out, with Ross following. At a word from him the dogs came bounding outside and ran off.

  Several deep, padded chairs had been positioned for easy conversation. The blue of the cushions matched the blue of the ceramic pots holding red roses and trailing ivy.

  “I can see that you like beautiful things.”

  His eyes were steady on hers. “I do, yes. Which is why I can’t seem to stop looking at you.”

  She colored slightly and forced herself to look around. “It’s easy to see why you prefer this to the lodge.”

  “Most people would think me a fool for disdaining luxury for simplicity.”

  “This isn’t simple. It’s charming.”

  He merely smiled and sipped his drink. “Did you read Cullen’s letters and documents?”

  She nodded.

  “Have they answered any of your questions?”

  She gave a dry laugh. “If anything, they’ve just caused more questions. I’ve tried blocking all these new details from my mind, but it’s impossible to stop thinking about them. Each question leads to another.”

  “Such as?” He was watching her intently.

  “Why my grandmother seemed different after my grandfather died.”

  “In what way?”

  Aidan shrugged. “She seemed . . . free. All that talk about a grand trip to Ireland. She was like a girl planning her first dance. And then there’s my mother. Why didn’t she look like either of her parents? Not just her face, or her body type, though there was that. But also the fact of her prematurely gray hair. Both of her parents were barely gray when they died, with just a few silver threads. She went gray in her forties, and by the time she died she had a silver mane.”

  “Like Cullen’s.” He smiled.

  “You think it’s funny.”

  He shook his head. “I think it’s a family trait, and though you’re trying to deny it, you’re beginning to believe.”

  “Maybe.” Restless, she set aside her glass on a side table. “But it would take more than gray hairs or a few old love letters to convince me that everything I’ve held to be true for a lifetime is a lie.”

  “It happens more often than you think. Adult children are told after the death of a parent that they were adopted, or learn that the woman they called mother was actually their biological grandmother, covering for the mistake of a too-young daughter. Though we may wish it otherwise, life isn’t all neat and tidy.”

  “Knowing it happens to others doesn’t make it any easier to accept. I wonder if you’d be so philosophical if this were happening to you. How would you feel about catching your mother in a lie?”

  His smile remained in place, though there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes. “I would have had to know my mother to catch her in a lie. And since she disappeared from my life before I was old enough to talk, that wasn’t possible.”

  Aidan felt a rush of remorse. “I’m sorry. I had no right . . .”

  He looked beyond her and seemed almost relieved as he got to his feet. “Cullen. Aidan and I are having some iced tea. Will you join us?”

  “I will. Thank you.” The older man settled himself comfortably in the chair beside hers and began petting the two dogs that rushed up to greet him.

  Ross returned with a glass and poured him a drink.

  Cullen sipped. “Have you been enjoying the gardens, my dear?”

  “I have. Almost as much as I’m enjoying Ross’ cottage.”

  Cullen gave a broad smile. “He and I have enjoyed many a night of heated debate out here. Though I must confess that on my part the heat may have come from a bottle of Bushmill’s finest.”

  “And many a headache in the morning, as you’re fond of telling me.” Ross laughed.

  She could imagine Ross and Cullen sitting here often, debating business or politics or world affairs.

  Aidan glanced from Cullen to Ross. “Who most often wins the debate?”

  “There are no winners,” Cullen declared firmly. “To be Irish is to understand that the joy of a debate is not in the winning or losing, but in the argument itself.”

  “Ah. So that’s where this comes from. My father used to accuse me of enjoying a good argument way too much. Now I learn that it’s the Irish in me.”

  Cullen was still smiling, but his look had sharpened, and she had the distinct impression that he was searching for parts of himself in her face. Wasn’t she guilty of doing the same, when she thought he wouldn’t notice?

  Ross was watching them both, and keeping his thoughts to himself.

  “What else do you enjoy, my dear?” Cullen sipped his iced tea and continued to study her.

  “Good books.”

  “Fiction or non?”

  Without a thought, she said, “Nonfiction. Usually. I devour biographies.”

  He and Ross shared a glance. “And what is your taste in music?”

  “I love it all, I suppose. But especially classical. Operas in particular.”

  He arched a brow. “Do you have a favorite?”

  “I love all I’ve seen. But I always cry at Madame Butterfly.”

  He smiled at that. “Do you play an instrument?”

  “I never had lessons, so I don’t play well, but I play piano for my own amusement. And I’ve been known to pick up a violin and play a tune or two.”

  “Any other great loves?” He paused. Smiled. “I should clarify that. Any you can speak of?”

  She laughed, enjoying the teasing. “No special man, if that’s what you’re asking. But I do love to garden. That’s something that my mother and I both shared.”

  He leaned forward. “Your mother was aptly named. Her namesake, my mother, had a garden that was admired by all in our county. I swear she could put
a dead stick in the ground and it would bloom for her.”

  He saw Aidan’s smile fade. “Forgive me, my dear. I don’t mean to push. It’s just . . .” He spread his hands. “When I hear you speak, it’s as though I’ve known you for a lifetime. I forget that this is all new and awkward for you.”

  She surprised herself by reaching over to take his hand. “You’re a kind man, Cullen Glin, and I don’t want to hurt you any more than you’ve already been hurt. I admit that I’m puzzled by all the similarities between my family and the one you’ve been seeking. But I can’t put aside my beliefs of a lifetime because of a few coincidences.”

  Keeping her hand in his, he drained his glass and got to his feet. “You’re right, of course. Forgive an old man’s impatience. We’ll have our answers soon enough. Why don’t we walk up to the lodge and see what Kathleen has prepared for our dinner?”

  He turned to Ross. “Will you be joining us?”

  Ross gave a quick shake of his head. “Not tonight. I have some work to take care of.”

  “You can do that later. Come. Join us.”

  Ross gave the old man a gentle smile. “I suspect that you and Aidan can find plenty to talk about. Maybe I’ll walk up later for coffee.”

  “Your loss.” Cullen tucked Aidan’s hand in the crook of his arm. “On the way to the lodge I’ll show you my favorite roses. Moira and I once planned to fill our yard with them.”

  Ross watched them walk away, then settled back down in the chair, idly scratching behind Mayo’s ears, until Meath nudged her aside. “Jealous, are you?” He glanced toward the old man and young woman, walking along the path arm in arm. “I’d know a thing or two about that.”

  Six

  “Bridget.” Cullen sat back as the old woman removed his plate. “Be sure and tell Kathleen that this was the finest salmon I’ve ever tasted.” He glanced at Aidan. “What did you think of it, my dear?”

  “I agree.” She sighed. “And those tiny potatoes and carrots right out of the garden. You’d spend a fortune for something that fresh in a restaurant.”