Suddenly remembering he was not alone, Stanton said, “Please leave.” His voice was taut, the last scraps of control holding him together, “Now.”
Jason turned to go. Frustrated at not being able to talk to the man, he was fully aware that this opportunity was a once in a lifetime thing. And yet he couldn’t push. Not after causing such pain.
And then it came again, this time not so much a voice as a gentle, internal nudge. Digging in his pocket, Jason pulled out one of his homemade business cards. Braving the wrath of Trent, he turned back and deposited one on the desk before quickly finding his way out.
He sat in the car outside for a long time, hoping against hope — almost praying — that this was not the end of his quest.
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“It was the strangest thing.” Rebecca sat opposite the Goodwood’s on their patio, wrapped snugly in a fluffy blanket, mug of hot cocoa in hand. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she was calm. All traces of the debilitating fear had gone, to the point that she was able to recount her flashback in miniscule detail, without as much as a shudder.
They had spent just short of an hour together on the bridge. As soon as Rebecca had calmed down, they’d made their way home, where they now sat — trying to figure out what had happened.
“The closer I got to the water, the more I panicked. Water must have been the key to that portion of my memory. The ‘memory flash’ or whatever it was, happened when my fear of the water was simply too overwhelming. It was like watching a movie in my head, yet inside I know that it really happened.”
“What else can you remember?” asked Pete.
“Only the episode I’ve described and little bits of things that had happened before the shipwreck. I can remember… my… Mom.”
The last was said slowly, savoring the fact of having been cherished, of belonging. “And then nothing. Up until I woke up in hospital.”
“Well, that’s a very good start. The Doctor described it to us as the mechanics of a clock that had seized. Once one cog is oiled and runs freely, the rest are sure to follow.”
Doreen took Rebecca’s empty mug, “I’m sure you could do with a rest. This morning must have taken a toll on you.”
Rebecca stood and took the tray from Doreen, “I could do with a nap, let me take this through on my way. I’m starting to feel the need to feel useful again!”
Doreen released the tray and gave Rebecca a gentle hug, “As long as you don’t over do it young lady. Give your body the time it needs.”
___________________________________________________
Setting the tray down, Rebecca began rinsing the teacups and stacking them for drying. Pete came through to the kitchen, “What is your favorite chocolate? I’m popping into town to buy some milk; I’ll get us each a treat.”
Rebecca looked baffled. “How silly; I can’t remember.” Her face fell, “Sorry Pete.”
“Never mind, love. I should have known better than to ask, it was insensitive of me.”
“It’s okay. I’ll have whatever you’re having. I trust your taste!” Her smile echoed itself on his lined face.
Crossing to the bread bin, Pete dug around inside and fished out his wallet from behind the whole-wheat rolls.
Rebecca laughed, “What a strange place to keep your money!” Pete put on his ‘know-it-all’ face, “If I was to rob someone’s house, the last place I’d look for valuables would be the bread bin.” He grinned broadly, “Besides, I’m just keeping my dough by the dough!”
“Very clever, Pete. Very clever! I could picture you hacking off your own leg with a bread knife before stealing anything from anyone! Anyway, I get the point. After all these mental gymnastics, I definitely need my rest now!”
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Alone in her room, Rebecca lay on the bed with her eyes closed. Inside, she felt completely wrung out, as if her heart and mind had been taken out, trampled on, and shoved back inside. Sleep would be a welcome, much needed break from all this mental and emotional agonizing.
And yet, she couldn’t. Five minutes of tossing and turning later, Rebecca sat up in disgust. Reaching across to the bedside table, she picked up the Bible Doreen had given to her. She flicked through the pages until she found Psalm 139 and began reading:
Glancing over the first three verses, Rebecca felt her insides flip-flop.
Words came, once again, unbidden to her mind…
“God… I want to know who I am, and where I come from. You know all about me. If You can give me what I want, I’ll know that You are real, and I’ll give You… Me…”
Something (or Someone), had heard her, and less than 24 hours later, was already beginning to keep their end of the deal. Coincidence? Rebecca kept reading. Ten verses later, her insides leapt again, as she read:
‘For you created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother’s womb….
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
Your eyes saw my unformed body…’
Once again, Rebecca addressed her thoughts to the “You” in the verse.
“I had a Mom and she really loved me! And You — You were there when I was conceived. Where no one else could see, You were carefully and lovingly shaping me, putting me together just the way You wanted.”
She thought for a moment and the hope in her heart floundered. If only this were true. I would actually feel that my life had meaning. Who am I trying to fool?
She imagined her Mom as she’d seen her in the memory flash “Whatever happens… remember that Mommy loves you.” With that, Rebecca’s stubborn, positive streak flared. “Well, at least I know that I came from a Mom that loved me. I don’t know where we came from, or who I am yet, but it’s a good start. I’ll hang onto this fool’s hope until our bargain is over.”
Setting the Bible aside, Rebecca curled up, pulled the feather duvet over herself and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 9 – Fathers and Parents
21 June 1983
Dear Catherine,
It’s been three letters since I’ve heard from you. Are you alright? Please write and let me know what’s happening. You are the very air that I breathe.
By the end of the year, I should have enough saved up to come and see you. You and Rebecca. I can’t wait to meet her!
Please let me know that you are both okay. I need to hear from you.
Yours eternally,
Stanton.
___________________________________________________
Lisa arrived for work at eight o’clock the next morning to discover Stanton Trent asleep on his desk. Still dressed in yesterday’s suit, he’d discarded the jacket and tie, but still had on the fine cotton dress shirt, so wrinkled that it was barely recognizable. Five o’clock shadow traced the line of his jaw and deep black rings encircled his tightly shut eyes.
He looked so vulnerable. Lisa’s breath caught, and she froze for a moment studying the face that she’d come to love. It was a love that she never dared hope would be returned, yet so strong she could never hope to escape.
Stanton never spoke of the past, of the tragedy that had frozen him inside. Lisa knew whatever it was would need to be unearthed and dealt with before he would allow himself to live again, and perhaps… love again. She dared not allow herself to even hope along those lines.
Ever practical, Lisa also knew that he found life easier to face with a cup of coffee in hand, and quickly went in search of one before attempting to wake him.
Carefully placing his mug on a coaster, Lisa wondered how on earth to wake the man. Leaning across the desk, she gently stroked a hand through his hair. No movement. He didn’t even budge. If not for the warmth of his scalp, she would have feared him dead at that moment. Taking a deep breath, she moved to stand behind him. Holding both shoulders, she shook him. “Mr. Tren
t. Wake up.” No response. She tried again, this time using a good bit of force and a louder voice, “STANTON! WAKE UP!”
“WHAT—” He shot upright, flinging her off-balance. She teetered for a moment, before keeling over and landing with her bottom solidly wedged in the waste paper basket.
“Lisa! Are you alright? I’m so sorry.” Awkwardly, brain still sleep-numb, he tried to pull her up and overbalanced himself. He landed on top of her, sending them both rolling. As she rolled on top of him, the bin popped off her rear like a cork.
Shocked at the sheer ludicrousy of the moment, they both burst into helpless laughter. They lay there for a good few seconds, tears streaming and shoulders heaving. Suddenly desperately embarrassed, Lisa rolled to the side, straightening her pencil skirt, attempting to look dignified.
Stanton regained his feet first and stretched out a hand to help her up.
“Do you think I can trust you this time, Mr. Trent?” she asked, placing her hand in his anyway.
“At least I’m awake now. I’m sure I’ll manage.” The smile on his face looked so good that Lisa’s heart ached. He pulled her up with slightly too much force. She shot up, bounced off his chest, and would have fallen if he hadn’t quickly moved to put his arms around her. Finding her balance, Lisa stepped hurriedly out of his embrace. She could feel blood rushing to her cheeks.
Completely rattled, she headed frantically for solid ground. “Are you ready for the Board Meeting Sir?”
Growing quiet, he appeared to be debating something within himself. Silence for a few moments, and then, “There are a few things I need you to do for me.”
Relieved to be the efficient Personal Assistant again, Lisa picked up her note pad and pen.
“Firstly, you need to cancel this morning’s Board Meeting.”
It took every scrap of Lisa’s training to stop her bursting out in protest. She actually managed a meek, “Yes, Sir. What else?”
Reaching over to the broad expanse of his desk, Stanton picked up a dog-eared business card and handed it over.
“Cancel all my other appointments for today and schedule an appointment with this gentleman for me, for as soon as possible.”
He had the look of a man who’d resigned himself to facing a firing squad, tense but resolute. “I’m going to shower and get into some fresh clothes.”
___________________________________________________
Jason retraced his steps through the mansion, unable to stop grinning. He’d been skipping for joy since the call had come through earlier this morning. It was now 8:55am, and he was on his way to see the elusive Mr. Stanton Trent, who was hopefully going to be more talkative than during their previous meeting.
After a short wait in the reception area, Stanton’s personal assistant, Lisa, appeared; the picture of efficiency. “Mr. Trent will see you now. Please follow me.”
Trent was leaning against the side of his desk, in a pool of sunlight that poured in through the high-arched windows that lined the east-facing side of the room. The faint sound of the ocean filtered in from outside.
Once again, he was impeccably dressed, but to Jason’s eye there were telltale traces that told a story of one less-than together — the ashen tone of his skin accented by deep lines of weariness, dark circles of sleeplessness around his eyes, hair still damp and peppered with gray.
Trent unfolded his arms to shake Jason’s hand,
“Mr. Halloway, thank you for coming so promptly. I do apologize for being such a bad host yesterday. You caught me completely off-guard. Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please.” With a nod to Lisa, Trent led Jason away from the desk, towards a leather lounge suite sprawled across the rear end of the office, next to one of the large arched windows.
Not one for small talk, Trent began,
“After your delivery yesterday, I spent last night—remembering.”
A lifetime’s worth of emotion was packed into that one word. Clearing his throat, he continued, “I have some questions for you. Do you mind?” The question was rhetorical, a mere courtesy.
Gratefully accepting his coffee from Lisa, Jason shook his head,
“Not at all. Ask away.”
“How did you come by that portrait?” Ice blue eyes bored into his intently. Sensing that he was dealing with a man of little patience, Jason chose his words carefully. “I’m a part time history lecturer at the University, old things have stories to tell and I’m always intrigued by anything that hints at a story.”
Trent looked unimpressed with Jason’s story.
Jason continued, “Diving is another one of my hobbies. A few months back I discovered a wreck just off our coast. During one of my dives, I found a box buried under one of the floorboards in a cabin. It contained a carefully sealed parcel.” He started squirming. “The portrait was in the parcel, as well as a large wad of letters.” Jason could see Trent’s lips tighten as Jason plunged off the cliff, and said, “Letters from you to Catherine.”
Trent’s voice was cold. He was a private man and his deepest wounds had just been exposed. “I see. I take it you read the letters.”
“Yes, I did. And I followed a trail that led me to you.”
The whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Trent seemed lost in thought for a moment. “What conclusions have you drawn from what you’ve discovered?” His voice was subdued, deliberately detached.
“My theory, and I must stress that that’s all it is at this point, is that Catherine was on her way to see you, to introduce you to Rebecca. She probably wanted to surprise you, which is why some of your letters went unanswered – she didn’t want to let anything slip and ruin the surprise. The portrait was to be a gift for you, and the letters were so precious that she never went anywhere without them. Something went wrong; perhaps a storm blew up and the yacht sank. If Catherine had survived, she would surely have contacted you. I’m assuming that she didn’t.”
“Then why are you pursuing this matter?” Trent asked in a tone that suggested he may as well have been discussing the weather.
Jason braced himself and looked into Trent’s icy eyes, and asked
“What if Rebecca somehow survived?”
Trent passed a shaking hand across his face, breaking his eye contact with Jason. His chin sank to his chest and he let out a shuddery sigh.
“I’ll be honest with you; I didn’t know that Catherine was on her way to East London. I simply thought she’d given up on us. I assumed she stopped writing to me because she no longer wanted anything to do with me. I gave up hope.”
He sat in silence for a long time, eyes hidden behind his palm. Jason was beginning to feel awkward when at last Trent spoke,
“I’d rather she were still alive. Even if it meant never seeing her again.” Another long pause. “Please keep looking for Rebecca. If you find her, bring her to me. Please.”
“I don’t know where to look. You were my last lead.”
“Start with Catherine’s parents. I tried to make peace with them a number of times, but they wouldn’t even let me talk to them. Visiting, phoning, they wouldn’t give in. Eventually I gave up trying. Maybe you will succeed where I failed.” There was a measure of peace in his tone and he was able to meet Jason’s eyes.
“I’ll have Lisa make a color copy of the portrait that you can give to them. That will be your ticket.”
Having determined their course of action, Trent immediately got up and buzzed Lisa. Reaching into his top drawer, he pulled out his check book. He handed over a check worth a good deal more than Jason’s regular monthly salary to cover any expenses. “Please call me Stanton. I feel we’ve shifted onto a different level.”
Jason left armed with an address, a check and a copy of the portrait that he’d known would change his life.
___________________________________________________
Catherine’s parents lived in an old house in Greenfields. It had been the jewel of the street in its day, but many years of n
eglect had taken their toll. The size of the house was its only remaining asset.
A large flake of paint fell off as Jason knocked on the door. He quickly stood on the flake to hide it. An elderly gentleman shuffled to the door in answer to his knock. “My name is Jason Halloway. I’m looking for Angus Grey?” The old man shook his hand and introduced himself as Angus. “Come in, come in.” Shuffling along, he showed Jason to the lounge. If the furniture could speak, Jason was sure that it could tell tales of many generations come and gone. In fact, it looked too dodgy to sit on. The old man himself carried the weight of years and gave the impression of one starved for company. Yet there was also a distinct calm about him that Jason found appealing.
“How can I help you, young man?”
Jason was surprised at the warm reception he’d been given. It stood in stark contrast to what Stanton had described to him. It would be interesting to see what happened once he revealed the true reason for his visit.
Wishing he could make a recording of his story and simply press ‘play’, Jason launched into the whole background again. History lecturer, diving, portrait…
At that point, he handed over the copy, waiting for the explosion. Angus took the picture with no comment. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Catherine did die in the shipwreck you described.”
It was a simple statement of fact, yet Jason read in his eyes the undercurrents of grief, remorse and guilt.
“What about the little girl, Rebecca, did she die too?”
Angus hesitated. Just then the front door opened and shut and a very high-pitched female voice with a nasal twang called,
“Angus, who is here?”
“We’re in here, Lydia.” Angus seemed relieved, and yet strangely frustrated at the interruption. In a moment Jason knew why.
Lydia Grey entered the room. The strength of her personality was so overwhelming that she would have bulldozed half the politicians in parliament, given a chance. Vividly decked out in a crimson suit that had long since seen its heyday, her legs poured into grey support hose, with red courts to match the suit – everything about her screamed ‘LOOK AT ME!’
Shackles: The truth will set you free Page 8