“Well, if you’re not ready…” Phoebe said, going for reverse psychology. It used to work when Gabe was an adolescent and getting anything out of him was like pulling teeth.
“It’s not that,” Gabe replied, giving her a weak smile. He knew exactly what she was up to, and a spark of understanding passed between them before Gabe’s gaze slid toward the roaring fire, the connection broken.
“It’s just that…” He let the sentence trail off, clearly lost for words.
“What?” Phoebe pressed.
Gabe tore his eyes away from the fire and faced her, having made up his mind to talk. “I’ve dreamed of Quinn for eight years, Mum. I thought that if I ever had her love, I’d be invincible. I knew exactly how I’d feel and what I’d want,” Gabe began, spreading his hands as if trying to grasp the idea he was trying to convey. “I thought I’d be so happy.”
“Aren’t you?” Phoebe asked. Perhaps Gabe had put Quinn on a pedestal for so long that the reality didn’t live up to the fantasy, but Phoebe had known Quinn for years and couldn’t imagine a woman more perfect for her son. What had gone wrong between them in the short time they’d been together?
Gabe nodded. “I am. I’m happy, but I’m also…” his voice trailed off again. “And now with Emma…”
Gabe stared behind his mother’s shoulder for a moment, lost in thought. He had a look of intense concentration just like he used to when he was little and tried to explain something that was beyond him. Phoebe’s heart turned over with love for this man-child who seemed to be struggling with his feelings so much.
“I thought I was strong, Mum. I thought I was in control, and that I had some say in what happened to me. I believed myself to be able to handle anything that life threw at me, but at this moment, I feel as if I’d been cleft right down the middle, my innermost fears and thoughts tumbling out and getting the better of me. I’m scared, and my fear makes me feel helpless,” Gabe confessed. He turned back toward the hearth, reluctant to see his mother’s reaction to such weakness. He’d never admit any of this to his father, who would likely just clap him on the shoulder and tell him to man up.
Phoebe set down her mug and came up behind Gabe’s chair. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed the top of his head like she did when he was a boy and knew that he wouldn’t welcome a full-on cuddle from Mum. Phoebe pressed her cheek against his temple and smiled to herself. He was shaken by his feelings, but she finally understood exactly what he was going through.
“Gabe, I liked your father very much when we first married, but I’d be lying if I said that I was madly in love with him. In my day, girls didn’t look for love the way they do now, nor did they give much thought to sexual compatibility; we didn’t know such a thing even existed, not until it was too late to do anything about it. Your father was my first and last, and we rubbed along well enough together all these years,” she said. Gabe didn’t interrupt to ask what on earth she was talking about. He was used to her round-about way of making a point.
“It wasn’t until you came along after the disappointment of two miscarriages that I experienced what you’re feeling now. I held you in my arms, you looked at me, and I felt the kind of all-encompassing love that took my breath away. The knowledge that you were mine to love and protect made me tremble with fear. I was the only thing that stood between you and anything that might hurt you, the only line of defense. I was strong before you were born, but after only a day, I was a bundle of nerves. I couldn’t stop crying. I suppose they’d call it post-natal depression these days, but it was just overwhelming fear that I would let you down somehow, and you would suffer through my incompetence.”
Gabe turned to face his mother, taking her hand in his. “Mum, I don’t understand,” he said gently. His mother never spoke to him like this, never shared so openly. He hadn’t even known about the miscarriages. It wasn’t a subject his parents would deem appropriate, and the fact that she was telling him now baffled him.
Phoebe came around and sat across from him again, leaning toward him in her eagerness to explain. “Son, you’ve finally won the woman you’ve worshipped for nearly a decade, and then a short while later you were presented not only with a child, but with the sole responsibility for that child. For the first time in your life, you love so deeply that you are undone by your vulnerability. The thought of losing either Emma or Quinn is so frightening that you feel helpless and confused, unsure of what to do to keep them safe, and to keep yourself safe for them.”
Phoebe reached out and cupped Gabe’s cheek, smiling at his bewilderment.
“You’re experiencing what every new parent feels, only you also have a new love on top of that. You want to be the best possible parent to Emma, but you’re also worried about what this will do to your relationship with Quinn. She seems genuinely fond of Emma, but Emma is your child, not hers, and this is a time in her life when she thought she’d have your undivided attention. You’re walking a fine line right now, and you must make sure not to alienate Quinn as you work to find your footing with Emma. Try not to complicate the situation any further by adding more variables to the equation.”
“Variables? Mum, what are you talking about?” Gabe asked, gaping at Phoebe as he tried to figure out where she was going with this mathematical reference. Phoebe sighed with impatience. Why did men, even highly intelligent ones like her Gabe, always need things to be explained to them? Any woman would have instantly taken her meaning.
“Gabriel, when you have a baby, it should be a joyful event for you both, not something to be juggled along with everything else you have going on in your life at the moment. Right now, you need to focus on your daughter. You need to work out the delicate balance between bride and child before you add another child into the mix.”
“What makes you think there’ll be another child?” Gabe asked, coloring slightly. He still felt awkward discussing his sex life with his mother, but Phoebe’s matter-of-fact tone made it easier to believe that they were just two adults discussing a run-of-the-mill matter.
“Being in love generally leads to babies,” Phoebe said with a smile. “Especially when you are too distracted to think about practicalities,” she added meaningfully, making Gabe groan as he rolled his eyes in mock horror.
“Listen to your mother. I know a thing or two about life,” Phoebe said, hands on hips.
“Mum, how did you get to be so wise?” Gabe asked as he tried to keep the grin off his face.
“I don’t know. It’s a gift,” Phoebe joked, making Gabe chuckle. It was nice to see him laugh. “Does this mean I’ve helped?” Phoebe asked.
Gabe nodded, smiling into her eyes. “Yes, Mum, you’ve hit the nail on the head, as you always do. I never realized that loving someone so completely leaves you so vulnerable. I keep thinking of all the things that can go wrong, and I’m paralyzed with fear, terrified that I won’t be able to fix it.”
“Something happened with Quinn while you were in Scotland, didn’t it?” Phoebe asked. Gabe paled visibly, so she waved her hand, dismissing the question. She no longer required an answer; Gabe’s reaction was enough.
“Son, go upstairs and spend some time with your fiancée. We’ll look after Emma. Show Quinn some affection, but remember what I said,” Phoebe said, giving Gabe a stern look.
“Yes, ma’am,” Gabe chuckled. “No more grandchildren for you.”
“Let me enjoy this one first,” Phoebe said as she rose to her feet. “I think I’ll join them outside. They’re having way too much fun without me.”
Chapter 31
Quinn left her case by the door, shrugged off her coat, and walked straight to the sink to fill the kettle. She was desperate for a cup of tea after the long drive. Quinn set the kettle on the hob and looked in the fridge. The milk had gone bad, so she poured it down the sink. She’d drink the tea black. Quinn opened the kitchen cupboard and had a quick rummage. A couple of biscuits would have been nice, but the ones she found had gone stale, so she tossed them into the rubbish bin, a
nnoyed with herself for not thinking ahead. She should have asked Gabe to stop at the petrol station where she could have stocked up on milk, a packet of fresh biscuits, and a newspaper. Gabe always read the news online, but at times, Quinn liked to sit down with a newspaper, the way her father used to do every day after work, a cup of tea at his elbow. He used to read interesting bits out loud to her mum while she prepared supper.
Quinn’s stomach growled with hunger. She hadn’t eaten anything since the full English Phoebe had made for them before they left, and she needed something to pick on. There was some pasta in the cupboard and a hunk of Parmesan cheese in the fridge. That would have to do. Quinn set the water to boil for the pasta and poured herself a cup of tea. She’d missed her little chapel. Not many people would enjoy living in a refurbished church, but Quinn loved its aura of serenity. It enveloped her every time she came home, like a balm to the soul, and she welcomed its peace and drew strength from the very walls, where so many had prayed and shared their hopes and dreams. The house was blissfully quiet, but cold.
Quinn set aside her tea and took out a box of matches, lighting the kindling, which was already in the hearth. The flame flickered and sputtered, but eventually came to life, the logs slowly catching fire and the room filling with the pleasant smell of burning wood. The chapel didn’t have central heating, so the fire was a necessity as well as a luxury. The room began to slowly warm up. Quinn drained the pasta, dumped it into a bowl, and grated some cheese over it. She took her meal to the sofa and got comfortable in front of the fire, debating if she should have a glass of wine to go with her meal, but decided against it. She glanced at the clock. Gabe would be close to home by now. She hoped he’d pick up a takeaway for himself, since his refrigerator was probably even emptier than hers. Gabe got grumpy when he was hungry, she remembered with an affectionate smile.
Gabe had dropped her off at home on his way to London. He would have stayed the night, but he had to be in London first thing in the morning to prepare for a departmental meeting that was scheduled for nine o’clock. Quinn supposed she could have gone with him, but she’d meet him in London tomorrow instead. She needed a day to herself, and Gabe understood. Perhaps he needed a little time to himself as well to make sense of the past few weeks and come to terms with the drastic changes that rocked his well-ordered life to the core.
Leaving Emma with Phoebe and Graham for a few days had been a good idea. Emma took to her grandparents instantly, and the presence of Buster, who was as cute as a puppy could be, helped a great deal. There was much to be done over the next few days, and Gabe would need Quinn’s help, which she was more than happy to offer. Organizing the life of a little girl was like planning a trip to the moon as far as Gabe was concerned, and although he was usually very good with practicalities, in this case, he was completely out of his depth.
Quinn took her empty bowl to the sink and refreshed her tea before going back to the sofa where she curled her legs beneath her and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. Despite the welcoming peace of home, her feelings were in turmoil, and the messages from Rhys and Dr. Scott hadn’t helped. Rhys threatened to sue her for breach of contract if she didn’t present herself at his office on Friday, and Colin said that he had something to share with her and asked if they could meet at her earliest convenience. Quinn had overnighted the plaster from Robert Chatham’s room to Dr. Scott, so it was possible that he had the results already. Quinn wasn’t quite sure that she was ready to deal with the outcome.
Now that she’d had the dubious pleasure of meeting Robert Chatham, she realized that had Rhys proved to be her father, she would not have been devastated. There was no excuse for what Rhys had done in his youth, but he’d regretted his actions and tried to atone for them in his own way. Rhys would spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to her, and she would let him. Robert Chatham, on the other hand, was a totally different entity. He was a born leader, a man who could easily get others to do his bidding. Quinn could see how Rhys would have been bullied into taking part. He’d been insecure and sensitive, something his friends would have used against him. Chatham probably did not regret a single thing he’d ever done, and even if he learned of the consequences of that night, he wouldn’t have cared.
There was a time when Quinn thought that not knowing who her parents were was the worst thing that could happen to a person, but now she knew better. She was coming round to the idea of having Sylvia in her life, but if Chatham was her father, she’d never share that with him. The man was hateful. Quinn could still feel his lips on her neck and his hand between her legs. The memory of those moments made her shudder with disgust. Even if they weren’t related, his touch made her feel violated and threatened. He was a brutal man, a bully who took what he wanted. Of course, she’d intentionally put herself in his path and went to his room knowing full well what he expected, but a woman still had the prerogative to change her mind. Chatham wouldn’t have allowed her that. He would have forced her, and not felt an ounce of remorse after the fact.
Quinn set aside her mug and practically ran toward the bathroom. She’d taken numerous showers since that night, but she still felt dirty. She turned on the taps and added some scented oil to the bathwater. A nice soak would help her relax, and perhaps wash away the memory of Chatham’s hands on her body. She stripped off her clothes and climbed into the tub, resting her head against the porcelain as the hot water lapped over her breasts. She’d hoped to feel peaceful, but suddenly experienced a wave of loneliness. She missed Gabe and Emma. She’d known the little girl for just over a week, but found herself longing for the sound of her voice and the peal of her laughter. Quinn smiled as she closed her eyes. Despite everything, they were becoming a family, and it hadn’t been as difficult as she might have expected. She wondered if her own parents felt the same when she came into their lives.
Quinn extended her hand from the tub and reached for her phone. She had an overwhelming desire to speak to her parents, to hear their voices and share her news. Perhaps she would have told them sooner had they still been in England, but they’d retired to Spain several years ago, and although they spoke every day, the closeness they’d enjoyed her whole life had suffered. Her parents had a new life, which they were enjoying immensely, and Quinn no longer felt the urgent need to share news with them as soon as something happened. Perhaps that was a side-effect of growing up, or maybe now she had more to hide. It’d taken her months to tell her parents about Sylvia. She meant to tell them right away, but somehow every time she heard her mother’s voice on the phone, she simply couldn’t bring herself to shatter her sense of security. To tell her that the birth mother of whom she’d dreamed ever since she was a little girl had shown up on her doorstep and that her father was a rapist would not be something that would sit well with the Allenbys. And then, of course, there was Emma.
Quinn’s parents adored Gabe and had been thrilled to hear that they were planning a future together, but to suddenly announce that Gabe had a four-year-old child he’d known nothing about would not endear Gabe to them. Her parents would raise all kinds of objections, mostly to protect Quinn, but also because deep down they still had a rather old-fashioned set of values. Gabe would be forever tarnished in their eyes, and that was something Quinn wished to avoid. But she’d waited long enough. Her parents had a right to know, come what may. Quinn dialed her mum’s number and waited for her to answer. As the phone rang, she smiled wryly, imagining that the apprehension she felt was something akin to waiting for the guillotine to drop. The call went into voice mail and Quinn exhaled in relief. She was reprieved for one more day.
Chapter 32
February 1347
Dunwich, Suffolk
Petra pulled on her hood and wrapped the folds of her cloak tighter about her body, but the wind still sliced through her, making her shiver. She couldn’t see the sea, but she could hear it. It was like a living, breathing thing lurking in the shadows. On some days, it was mellow and compliant, and on others, it
was vicious and cruel, ready to pounce and devour everything in sight. The waves crashed against the shore with unrestrained brutality, making the ships at anchor bob on the water like flotsam, the light from the lanterns on deck rising and falling like a secret signal.
Petra had always disliked this time of year, when the night was so much longer than the day. When Cyril was still alive, she was busy from dawn till dusk, but at least she got to see the sun while she went about her chores. Now, she arrived at Lady Blythe’s just after sunrise and left well after sunset. The only daylight she saw was through the window on the landing or when Lady Blythe sent her out to buy some fish for her supper. Petra savored those moments of freedom and took as long as she could despite the cold that left her feet and hands numb. Perhaps tomorrow, she’d offer to run an errand for the old lady, or she’d go mad. She hadn’t been out in days, and hadn’t had any time off since Candlemas, the memory of which still made her shudder.
Thomas hadn’t mentioned the incident with Edwin, but a kind of kinship sprang up between them. He saw himself as her protector, her knight, and she was his chosen lady. Thomas was solicitous of her, even in front of his mother, and sought Petra out whenever he was at home. Twice this past week, Thomas had invited her to share a cup of hippocras with him before she left for the day, and Petra was too timid to refuse, despite the fact that she was tired and wished only to go home. Thomas behaved as if things were settled between them, but Petra had never given her consent.
The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) Page 15