"Daughters, plural?" I queried dully, for I knew, deep in my soul I had always known.
"Yes, Nicola, you and your twin… your sister, Claire."
She carried on talking trying to justify what she and my father had done. We looked alike, and so they each took one of us and felt it was a good compromise. I sat heavy with silent horror.
I had seen the 1961 film The Parent Trap. It had starred the actress Hayley Mills—she had played both of the twins in the film. Separated as babies, each parent had taken a twin and raised her, without either of the girls realising that they had a twin sister. In a chance encounter at a summer camp, the twins realise they are sisters and work out what their parents have done. Each twin swap places with the other, so that they could each meet the other parent. The film ends happily with the parents reunited and the family together once more.
My mother knew that I had been fascinated by that film. I had talked about it for some time afterwards; I even asked her if I had a twin living somewhere since the story in the film had got under my skin in such a peculiar way. She had laughed, teasing me about liking such a childish film. Over the years, I have thought about that film many times, always with a deep and unexplained longing.
As I sat in the overheated room, my skin prickled and burned. Inside me, anger steamed and rose up like molten lava, filling me, bubbling and boiling, desperate for release. With a rush of uncontrolled rage, I leapt forward and slapped her silly, selfish, face.
"How could you!" I said, hissing with rage, pushing my face into hers, this woman, my mother, whom I had trusted had betrayed me. She had betrayed my twin, and she had denied me the right of a father, a sister, a twin sister. Oh God, a twin sister! All fluent command of the English language deserted me; I was speechless with disbelief and absolute fury.
A sudden terrible thought jumped into my mind. "The face on the news, tell me…" Her face had already been pale but now was white. She shook her head, and a tear rolled down her face.
But of course I knew.
Hadn't I felt it all day?
I was the Sycamore seed that would no longer spin joyously in the autumn breeze, for I had lost my other half, and I fell sickeningly to the ground. Suddenly, I felt so alone. My mouth was dry, and I felt desperate. The vitriol poured out of me in a vicious torrent bursting forth towards my mother.
"I asked you if I had a twin!" I think I was screaming at her, so wild and livid was I—so hurt. "You lied about my father… lied about my twin! You… utterly… deceitful… bitch! When I think…"
"Stop right there! I'd say that will just about do. Not-one-more-word-comes out of your mouth, young lady—not if you know what's good for you!"
I spun around in shocked surprise at the sound of the man's voice booming into the room. A large man, with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair, was standing on the threshold of the drawing room. My impression was of a man with a heavy jaw line and deep craggy face; his eyes were the deepest blue.
"If you want to blame anyone, Nicola, then blame me. Blame…" he paused and stared intently at me, "your father."
I stiffened, rigid with shock, unable to speak. He moved swiftly for a large man and caught me as I swayed. The blessed darkness washed over me, ending for a while at least, the horror of it all.
Chapter Two - Disbelief
We talked later when I had rested. He came into what had been my childhood room, bringing me a cup of tea, like any other father would do for his sick child. I marvelled that he was there, sitting on the couch watching me as I sipped the fragrant brew. I longed to touch him, for him to hold me, the child within me needy. Perhaps I felt this keenly because I had been denied his love and support as a child.
He spoke and I listened in wonder to his deep and rolling voice.
I don't believe this, I thought. This is my father. It really is—my father!
"I have seen you periodically over the years, Nicky. Watched you as you were growing up." I looked up at him astonished. He nodded. "Oh yes, when you played Ariel in the school play, I was in the audience. When you played hockey in that tournament in Holland, I was there, standing at the back of the crowd cheering you on. Your graduation was the last time I saw you. You have grown into a very lovely young woman, Nicola." I lowered my eyes and took a sip of tea to cover my emotional confusion.
"Why have you come now? I mean… why wait until now to see me? I needed you as a child and you weren't there for me then, so I wonder… why now?"
He frowned and nodded slowly. "All I can tell you is this, Nicky. I have never stopped loving you, and I want you to know that. I have no excuses for what I did. I thought I was right but now… I just don't know." He ran a hand over his face. I noticed how haggard he looked, how exhausted.
"I am here now because Claire, your sister, has been," he hesitated and his voice shook when he spoke, "murdered."
"Murdered?" I put my cup down with a clatter. "The television—my, no, her face…"
"Yup," he said, shuddering. His face was taut with grief and I saw tears well in his blue eyes. My mother's were hazel, so I had my father's eyes; it was a small comfort to me for some strange reason.
I glanced away, embarrassed by such raw and private emotion. He recovered himself, straightened, drew out a large blue handkerchief, and blew his nose with a blast.
"What happened and why was she… killed?" I asked, hesitantly.
"As to that, I really don't know why. She was found on Pinto Rock some six miles from The Plomosa ranch where we live. Claire had been strangled and her horse was discovered nearby."
"Oh my God, no!" I was so shocked that I didn't know what else to say. My own twin murdered. The pain of that knowledge was like a physical blow. It hurt me even to draw breath.
"Are the police looking for the killer? Do they have any idea of who did this?"
"Nope, they've no idea at all." He took a shuddering breath. A silence descended as we both fell into our separate reveries.
"What was Claire like… my twin?" I asked softly. My chest was knotted with pain due to a single thought that now I would never know her. My father—how strange that sounded—stretched out his large hand and tucked a strand of my long hair behind my ear. He stroked his knuckles down my cheek with paternal gentleness.
"She wore her hair tucked behind her ears, it was a little longer than your hair and maybe a slightly lighter shade of brown due to all the sunshine. She was your absolute double, Nicola, your identical twin." He sat quietly watching me as I digested this eerie information. I jumped when he spoke again, so deeply lost in thought had I been.
"Claire was gentle, sweet natured and kind. She loved horses, well, all animals really, but especially horses. She didn't develop academically the way you have. Oh, don't misunderstand me, she was bright, a real wizard with figures, but she was extremely miserable when she was away from home. She just loved the ranch. She chose to attend a college nearby so she could still stay at home on the ranch." He stopped speaking with a grimace. I noticed a tear slip down his cheek and absently, he withdrew the blue handkerchief and mopped his eyes.
A surprising stab of jealousy shot through me at his obvious love for his daughter, my unknown twin Claire. I had spent my school years at boarding school, often spending the holidays at the Jenkins' place in Wales, while my mother spent time gadding about Europe in a social whirl. I was ashamed that I should feel so jealous of my own sister—my dead sister, I reminded myself and shivered.
My father was now deep in thought, so I coughed politely to draw his attention back to the present.
"You said that she was found on the ranch?" I prompted gently.
"Yeah, as I said, she was found at Pinto Rock. The police think she was throttled. She had gone for an early morning ride and when she didn't return, Matt rode out to look for her. He found her, the poor guy."
"Matt?" I queried.
"Huh? Oh right, yeah, Matthew Lane, he was sweet on Claire and they kind of had an understanding."
"Yes I see, but
who is he?" I asked.
"Oh, hon', I'm real sorry, I forget you don't know anyone at home do you?" He looked concerned and I felt uncomfortable, it seemed an odd emphasis.
"No, after all it's not my home, thanks to you and my mother," I said, sharply.
He stood up abruptly. "Look, Nicky, I'm tired after the flight and I need to speak with Susan, your mother. Don't be too hard on her, honey, she has lost one daughter and she won't want to lose another."
I made a derisive noise in the back of my throat.
"You are still in shock. Come to that, so am I… but it is painful to look at you wearing Claire's face, knowing that she is… why don't we call it a night and I'll see you in the morning. I'm staying at the Ritz. Please come join me for breakfast. Would eight thirty be okay?"
Well, what could I say?
My father had just returned from the dead and I was hungry for information, for any crumb of detail about him or my sister.
"Yeah, cool… tomorrow then. Um, goodnight… Father."
He bent and kissed me and was gone. I lay back on the pillows and tried to make some sense of it all.
*****
The waiter mopped up the tea from the table at the Ritz where I had dropped my tea cup just seconds before. He clicked his fingers for another tablecloth to be bought over. I sat oblivious to this. I was flabbergasted; how many more shocks were there in store for me I wondered?
My father thanked the waiter, who gave a slight bow while catching my eye. He did not smile but managed to convey, with stiff politeness, his utter disapproval of me. This was done in such a clever way. He had perfected the art of conveying disgust, all wrapped up with superior politeness. My father, seemingly unaware of the mishap, continued to talk.
"The police would know your real identity, of course, but on the ranch, only Matt and I will know your true identity. Whoever did this to Claire must have been living on the ranch at the time. Well, the police are sure of it; what tracks they found at the site of Claire's murder led only to and from the ranch." He reached out and took my hand between his own. "Honey, if you are afraid or would rather not do this thing, then say so. I don't want there to be any pressure on you. I certainly have no wish to lose another daughter."
No pressure... huh... my unknown twin is murdered, and the father I met for the first time just yesterday asks me this crazy and totally ridiculous favour—the most astonishing favour. To impersonate my dead twin sister in an attempt to catch her killer and no pressure he says!
I picked up my teaspoon and twiddled with it, turning and twisting it. My father reached out and covered my agitated hand with his own. "Nicola… Nicky... honey?" he queried, softly, "are you okay, kiddo?" I shook my head not daring to speak as tears threatened to choke me, it was all too much. Oblivious to the stares of other people around us, he placed his arm around my shoulders comfortingly. I turned my face into his shoulder and breathed in his scent. It was amazing that this man, a complete stranger to me, yet so, so familiar, smelt... right. His scent told me he was my father, my very own flesh and blood. Sighing, I shivered slightly. Up until yesterday, I had had a flesh and blood twin, my own sister… now dead. How could I not do what he asked of me?
Gathering my thoughts, I leant back in my chair. "The photo on the news, not cool, everyone knows what happened."
"No, honey, they don't. All that was released was a press statement saying that Claire had suffered a serious life threatening injury after a riding accident."
"Why? I mean why not let the police interview everyone and well, do the things they usually do in a case like this?"
"I have spoken to the top guy... we go way back you know? College and so forth. He has no clues, no motive and no forensic evidence. I am convinced this is our best bet for flushing out the killer."
"It's rather unusual, I am certain the police over here in England would never agree to such a plan."
"Well now, as to that, I don't reckon they think you'll say yes to my plan, honey, but hey, I want you to make up your own mind. I'll go along with whatever you decide. If you returned with me to the States, well, we can still take the time to get to know one another."
I nodded absently. I was still musing about how I would impersonate my twin.
"What about my accent? Claire was American born and bred," I said, pointing out what I considered a major flaw in his plan.
He placed his palm against my face and caressed my cheek with his thumb. "Thank you, Nicola. If you had said no, I would still want you to come back with me. Honey, I'm so glad that you will return with me to see your family home and help catch your twin's killer. It would have been just terrible leaving you behind especially after we had met for the very first time!"
What? "I haven't actually agreed to this as yet, Father. You shouldn't jump to conclusions. You know that you could have flown over to meet me any time previous to Claire's death." I then added sadly, "I might have had a chance to get to know my twin if you'd done that."
"Sure, honey, I know but Susan… she..." His voice trailed off as he shrugged. "Feeble huh, a man like me afraid of an itsy-bitsy female!" he said, half smiling.
I didn't return his smile. "The accent," I reminded him, a trifle tartly.
"Well now, I guess you could just whisper maybe... you know, pretend your voice was affected by the attack? Look, honey, there will be detectives and doctors to advise us back home, let's not get hung up on incidentals. Besides, your voice is the same as Claire's, it's only your accent that's different."
Then it occurred to me, this was how my father had separated his twin daughters. So we had simply been incidentals to him, my sister and I, and thus our fates were sealed.
*****
The next couple of days were difficult for me. Emotionally I was a wreck. My life was in turmoil. I took a leave of absence so that at least the pressure of work was not an issue. I was lucky; I owned my apartment outright and my mother would fall over herself to help me financially, especially now that she was so full of guilt.
My father told me as much as he could about Claire. Her likes and dislikes, her taste in clothes, music, books, and even men. She had a sort of fiancée for goodness sake. When I pointed out the difficulties this could pose should I impersonate Claire, my father pointed out that Matt had found Claire dead, he would be in on our secret.
Why is it, I thought crossly, that men never seem to see the emotional bigger picture? Has it not occurred to my father that Matt might have a problem with me? I am the mirror image of the woman he loved. The poor man will have to pretend to the world that I am Claire and that he is not suffering, torn apart by her death. He had taken off after the police had questioned him, but had returned in time to agree to my father's hair-brained scheme. Why was I agreeing to it? I suppose that I was desperate to please him, I wanted my father to love me.
My mother left me numerous messages, posted through my door at regular intervals by the ever loyal Jenkins. I really could not deal with the feelings of anger and betrayal she aroused in me just at the moment. So I was particularly distressed to see her car, complete with Jenkins, parked outside my apartment on my return later that day.
My mother had her own key to my flat but, up until today, she had only used it for entry into the apartment with my permission. Outside the front door, I paused and took a deep breath before entering.
She was sitting at an angle on the couch, knees together, back ramrod straight, facing me as I walked in through the door. She half rose and then sat back down on the couch. With some surprise, I realised that she was nervous. "Forgive me for intruding like this, Nicola dear, but we must talk."
I threw my jacket onto a chair and kicked off my black sling backs. "Okay, so talk."
"Please don't be like this, Nicola," she pleaded.
"Look, Mother, I am really tired. You have lied to me for years and because of those lies, you have denied me the right to know my own twin-sister and I don't think I can ever forgive you for that."
She rais
ed a well-manicured hand to her head and massaged her temple. "Nicky, you forget that I have lost a daughter."
"I have lost the opportunity to ever know my twin..." I interrupted angrily, "....and you gave up any rights when you abandoned her as a baby!"
She nodded sadly, "I totally agree. You cannot say anything to me that I haven't already said to myself. I have spent the last twenty years questioning my decision. However, the fact remains that I was given no choice in the matter, it was a case of one baby or none at all."
"I can't believe that my father would be that cruel." But, even as I said the words, I knew that I doubted them.
"I did not come here to bicker with you. I am leaving now, Nicola, and I just want to say this to you, without interruption if you please. I know more than anyone what a charismatic and charming man your father can be and more than anyone, I know how ruthless he is. Be aware of that, Nicola, and promise me that you will think very carefully before you do anything that he asks of you. Remember that I love you, despite what you think of me. If you need me, you only have to call."
She stood up, gathered her coat and bag and started moving towards the door. She stopped briefly and offered me her cheek to kiss, which I dutifully did and then she was gone, a waft of Chanel No 5 lingering in the air. I stood still for a while chewing a nail. I guess I needed someone to blame, and so I blamed my mother.
I think it was at that moment that I fully made up my mind to go along with my father's crazy plan. I would impersonate my twin in an attempt to catch her killer.
Twin Turmoil Page 2