The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  Then she turned and saw the look on Paul’s face. It was radiant with pride and delight. Catching her look, seeing the glimmer of tears in her eyes, he smiled and reached for her hand.

  ‘Isn’t it just — wonderful?’ he whispered, shaking his head as adequate words escaped him.

  As she watched him she felt her anger slowly evaporate. Gerald may not have written this music, but he hadn’t stolen it either. Daniel had sold it to him; sold it so that he could give Cathy the things he wanted her to have. He would never have published the music himself; probably never even have played it to anyone. This way at least it would live on to be enjoyed. And Gerald couldn’t possibly have imagined the pleasure it would bring to Paul, the son he had never known. Gerald Cavelle was dead and so was Daniel Oldham. Things like credit, success and acclaim meant nothing to them any more. But Paul was alive and so was she. Between them, the two fathers had left them a legacy of love and life to share. Things that were infinitely more precious than riches.

  The music came to an end and the audience roared its approval in a storm of applause. The soloist and conductor acknowledged their appreciation with smiles and bows; the applause continued, refusing to let the soloist leave the platform. Gerald Cavelle’s rhapsody was an outstanding success. Tomorrow the record companies would be clamouring to buy the recording rights. The royalties would pour in and the dishonoured debts and broken promises that Gerald Cavelle had left behind would be no more than an insignificant memory, eclipsed by this newfound fame. It was strangely ironic, Cathy told herself, that fate often had a roundabout way of settling scores.

  As the applause began to die Paul was pulling at her hand. ‘Shall we slip out?’ he said urgently. In the corridor he looked at her. His eyes were still shining and his cheeks flushed. ‘I couldn’t have sat through another piece of music,’ he said, ‘however good. I’m far too excited.’ He grasped both her hands. ‘Oh, Cathy — Cathy! Wasn’t it marvellous? I had no idea he was as brilliant as that. Why on earth didn’t he take up composing before? He could have been even more famous as a composer.’ He pulled her close and kissed her. ‘God! I think this must be the proudest moment of my life.’

  She smiled and said nothing. She’d already made up her mind to let him go on believing the music was Gerald’s. It was to be her gift to him. But a gift he must never know about. A sacrifice she could make from the depths of her heart only for the man she loved.

  Paul said he wanted to end the evening by the river, so they took a taxi to the Embankment and stood looking out over the black satin water in the mellow warmth of the summer night. The sky was clear, bright with a thousand stars; the river shimmering with reflected lights. A magic night. The kind of night that gave rise to memories.

  Cathy touched his hand as it lay on the parapet. ‘Paul. There’s something I have to tell you.’

  He turned to look at her, his dark eyes slightly apprehensive. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just that I love you, that’s all.’

  For a long moment he stared at her. Then, ‘Just? Did you say just?’ He let out his breath on a shaky, tremulous laugh. ‘I thought you were about to shatter my evening by telling me you didn’t want to see me again. All evening I’ve had this awful feeling that you only came to the concert with me as a final gesture because you were about to send me packing.’ He took her shoulders and turned her towards him. ‘Would you mind saying it again for me?’ he asked. ‘Just in case I didn’t hear it right the first time.’

  ‘I love you, Paul Franklin,’ she said softly. ‘I think — no, I’m sure now that I always have.’

  ‘Again,’ he demanded.

  She was laughing now, though tears were not very far away. ‘You haven’t told me yet.’

  ‘Only because you refused to let me. You know I love you, Cathy. With all my heart. For ever. I’ve loved you since the first moment I set eyes on you. And, I believe, even before that. Somehow I think you’ve always been there, waiting for me in the shadowy corners of my dreams.’ He kissed her and for a long moment they clung to each other. ‘But what made you so sure, tonight of all nights?’ he asked at last.

  She smiled gently as she hid her tear-dewed face against his shoulder. ‘I think it might have had something to do with the music,’ she said. ‘Though don’t ask me how.’ She looked up at him with shining eyes. ‘And now do you think you could walk me back to the hotel, please? I think we have some catching up to do.’

  He drew her close and kissed her long and deeply. ‘I said this was the proudest night of my life,’ he said huskily. ‘I never expected it to be the happiest too.’

  Pressed close to each other, their arms entwined, they walked all the way back to the hotel. And beneath their feet the pavement sparkled with stardust.

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