Thomas had to stoop to walk beneath the low lintel, but he straightened as soon as he entered Petra’s modest home and gave her a formal bow. “Thank you for inviting me into your home, Petra. It’s an honor to be here.”
Petra playfully bowed back. The honor was hers. What had she done to deserve such a good man?
Chapter 52
March 2014
London, England
Quinn set aside the cross, not wishing to see any more. Petra was happy, her future secure as long as she didn’t allow Avery to interfere with her plans. She’d made the right decision, as far as Quinn could tell, but something was lurking just out of sight, something that would lead to her death. It was at moments like these that Quinn truly hated her gift. It wasn’t a gift at all, but a curse, designed to suck her into the lives of people she couldn’t help. As an archeologist, she dealt with death every day, but the people she dug up were long gone, their bones dusty and brittle. Few of them had died of natural causes or reached old age, but dying of an illness or being slain on a battlefield wasn’t the same as being murdered, and Quinn had no doubt that Petra and her son had been murdered.
Her heart went out to Petra, but it was Edwin who made her wish she could just call Rhys and tell him that she’d changed her mind and didn’t want to do this anymore. She thought she could retain a sense of professional detachment, but how did you keep your feelings in check when you watched the emotional and physical suffering of a child and knew that he would never grow up to become a man or experience all the things that made life worth living? For some reason, it would have been more bearable had Petra and Edwin died during the coming storm. It would have been tragic, but not personal.
Someone had targeted those two, and not only killed them, but made sure that they would not have peace even in death. To bury them face down just beyond hallowed ground was cruel and unforgiving. What could someone as ordinary as Petra have done to invite such malice? And what of Edwin? Had he been in the wrong place at the wrong time when someone attacked his mother? Had he tried to protect her? He thought himself a man, but his cheeks had still been rounded and smooth, and he had yet to experience the growth spurt that usually came with puberty. His eyes were full of innocence and trust, and the understanding of what life could inflict on one was still years away.
Of course, there were other factors at play, and other people. Quinn could only see what happened to Petra, and experience her point of view, but other forces were gathering ‘off-screen,’ as Rhys liked to say. A part of Quinn wished she could just lose the cross, accidentally-on-purpose, and never find out what happened to mother and son, but she supposed, being a historian, that she needed to know how the story ended. It went against everything she learned to leave a job unfinished, and of course, she was still under contract with the BBC. There was one more episode after this one scheduled for the program, and then she would be done. Rhys might wish to renew her contract, if the ratings were satisfactory, but she wasn’t open to the idea. This job was proving to be one of the hardest tasks she’d ever undertaken, and one of the most emotional. Perhaps, now that Emma had come into their lives, Quinn was even more sensitive to the feelings of a child and a mother’s need to protect them from harm.
Quinn sighed and replaced the cross in a drawer. Gabe was sound asleep next to her, having read Emma three stories and sworn that Mr. Rabbit would be there when she woke up. Tomorrow was Monday, and Emma was feeling a bit anxious, as she did before each new week at nursery school, which was still new to her. Quinn was feeling anxious too, but for somewhat different reasons. She’d been feeling unwell the past few days, and her moods seemed to be swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other, like a pendulum. One minute she was wonderfully happy, and then suddenly she was barely holding back the tears that threatened to flow for no apparent reason. The smell of bacon, which she normally found appetizing, nearly drove her out of her favorite cafe only that morning, and her breasts felt tender and swollen.
She often felt a bit weepy and achy before her period, but she was a week late, and that was worrying. She had been late several times before, but it happened mostly on foreign digs. The time difference, change of climate, and hours of painstaking labor sometimes threw off her cycle, but she was at home now, enjoying all the cold and damp that an English spring had to offer. She’d never really worried about pregnancy. Luke had been fanatical about using protection, knowing full well that if Quinn found herself pregnant, she’d plead with him to keep the baby, and he had no wish to find himself in that position. Babies had never been at the top of Luke’s list of priorities, and neither was she, as she discovered.
Gabe was always careful as well, but there had been that one time in Edinburgh, when they’d both been too overcome by their emotions to think of practical matters and just went at each other like two sex-crazed ferrets. Quinn counted the weeks in her mind. It was just over six weeks ago, or maybe seven, so this would be just about the time a pregnancy would make itself known. Her period in February had been unusually light and short, but she hadn’t given it much thought, being preoccupied with settling Emma into her new life in London and her new school.
Quinn stole a peek at Gabe. He looked tense, even in sleep. These past weeks hadn’t been easy on him, and he was just beginning to settle into the role of fatherhood, which had been thrust upon him so unexpectedly. Gabe, being the stoic that he was, would embrace the idea of another child and make things work, but was he emotionally ready? He’d proposed only two months ago, and at a time when most men secretly battled a case of cold feet, he was learning to become a dad, doing his best to support Quinn in her ill-fated quest to find her father, and running the institute with the help of his PA and the other department heads, who, being archeologists, were not the most practical bunch, or the most budget-minded.
Quinn stared into the darkness. She wasn’t ready for this. Any of it. Everything seemed to be happening backwards, her carefully thought-out life plan going up in flames. She could almost hear the cackling of the Three Fates, laughing at her as they spun, measured, and cut the thread that was her life. It was an occupational hazard for her to deal with people’s failed plans and truncated lives. What made her think she was any different? Life came at you, like a great storm, and you did your best to prepare and weather it, hopefully coming out on the other side stronger and wiser, if a little worse for wear in some cases.
Not everyone weathers the storm, Quinn thought drowsily as she began to drift off, images of Petra and Edwin filling her with dread.
Chapter 53
March 2014
Leicester, Leicestershire
Quinn boarded the London-bound train and settled in a window seat, plopping her handbag in the adjacent seat to prevent some socially-minded stranger from sitting next to her and talking her ear off for an hour-and-a-half. She was in no mood to make small talk. In fact, she was in no mood to do anything more than stare out the window. When she’d arrived in Leicester several hours ago, the day had been sunny and dry, but at the moment, a steady rain fell from the lowering sky, and despite the early hour, it looked like night was fast approaching.
The train began to glide out of the station, the houses alongside the track sliding past as Quinn stared miserably out the window. She reached into her bag and pulled out a roll of mints. She suddenly felt lightheaded and nauseated and hoped the mints would help combat the rising bile. Thankfully, the feeling passed quickly, and she leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, shutting out the rain-drenched scenery. She just wanted to go home, change into comfortable clothes, make a cup of tea, and curl up on the sofa, preferably alone. She’d tell Gabe what happened, but first she needed a little quiet time to process what she’d learned. They had a mighty row about today’s outing, but in the end, he reluctantly gave her his blessing. He wanted to come along, but Quinn resolutely refused the offer, explaining to him once again that she needed to do this alone. One thing she had promised him — willingly —
was that there were going to be no games of deception. She would be honest and see where it took her.
Quinn arrived in Leicester just before noon and walked to the High Street. It had taken nearly a half hour, but Quinn didn’t mind. She used the time to prepare herself for the meeting that was about to take place. She’d been determined to do this, but now that she was there, all she wanted was to turn around and go back home. It wasn’t too late to change her mind, but she knew that she’d find herself right back in Leicester, maybe not tomorrow, but next week or next month. For better or worse, she had to find out the truth.
The Queen’s Arms Pub looked like countless other pubs all over England. The façade was old-fashioned and quaint, the interior dim and somewhat oppressive. The blackened beams dissected the white plaster walls like veins, and the brown carpet on the floor had seen better days and much spilled beer. There was a fireplace directly across from the bar, where a merry fire crackled in the grate. Several patrons occupied the tables closest to the fire, enjoying the warmth and the comfortable atmosphere. An attractive middle-aged woman, her blonde hair silvered with gray, came out of the kitchen with a tray loaded with food, and Quinn suddenly felt hungry. The fish and chips smelled divine, and so did the steak and kidney pie. For the past two weeks, she’d been alternating between nausea and all-consuming hunger, but lunch would have to wait, and if she still had an appetite, she’d treat herself to something nice.
Quinn approached the bar, which was manned by a man of late middle-age. He wore a dun-colored sweater vest with matching corduroy trousers and a pair of rimless specs, which gave him a professorial air. His sandy hair was thinning, and there were deep grooves running alongside his mouth. He was in the process of drawing pints of Guinness, but looked up as Quinn approached and gave her a friendly grin.
“Good day to you, love. What can I get you?” he asked. Quinn would dearly have loved a glass of wine to steady her nerves, but alcohol didn’t seem to agree with her these days.
“Orange juice, please,” Quinn said. She knew she sounded nervous, and the man had realized it as well.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he set the glass of juice in front of her. Quinn nodded, took a sip to wet her mouth, since it’d suddenly gone completely dry, and plunged in.
“Are you the Steven Kane who used to reside in Dunston?” she asked softly. She didn’t want to sound like she was interrogating the man, but she had to make sure he was the right Steven Kane before stating her business. She was fairly sure that he was.
“Yes. Who’s asking?” he asked, suddenly wary of her.
“My name is Quinn Allenby. I would like a moment of your time, Mr. Kane.”
“What’s this about? It’s nearly lunchtime and we’re busy. Are you selling life insurance or some such nonsense?” he asked, squinting at her and pursing his lips.
“I’m not selling anything, Mr. Kane. I would like to speak to you regarding a personal matter,” Quinn explained. He shook his head in irritation and swept the payment for the juice off the counter with a practiced motion.
“What possible personal business can you have with me?” he asked. His steely gaze bored into her, daring her to tell him what she wanted, so that he could dismiss her and send her on her way. The façade of the friendly pub-owner had been replaced with the countenance of a man who’d have no problem with evicting her from the premises if she persisted in harassing him.
“My mother is Sylvia Wyatt, but you would have known her as Sylvia Moore,” Quinn replied, hoping that Sylvia’s name would pique his curiosity enough to at least hear her out.
Steven Kane paused in the act of filling a glass and stared at her, his expression almost comical. Hearing Sylvia’s name seemed to have that effect on people, but his attitude thawed somewhat as he studied Quinn with a newfound interest. He finished his task, pushed the glass across the bar toward a customer and scanned the dining room, clearly looking for someone.
“Rhoda, would you mind the bar for a spell?” he called out to the blonde woman. “I just need to have a word with this young lady.”
Rhoda gave Steven Kane the gimlet eye before placing several dirty glasses on a round tray and coming back toward the bar. She looked at Quinn with undisguised interest, her head tilted to the side as if she were trying to decide if Quinn was friend or foe. She seemed to judge her harmless and finally smiled and gave a wave of the hand.
“Go on, then,” she said, her attention already on the next customer to approach the bar with an order.
Steven Kane gestured for Quinn to follow him and led her to an office tucked away between the bar and the entrance to the toilets. The room was square and small, with a window that looked out into the alleyway behind the pub. A scarred wooden desk dominated the office, leaving just enough space for two chairs. There were bits of paper everywhere: invoices, receipts, post-it notes, and cuttings from newspapers. Steven Kane invited Quinn to sit in the guest chair and took a seat behind his messy desk.
“So, what is it you’re after?” he asked, his voice as flinty as his gaze.
“Mr. Kane, I was adopted as an infant and only met my birth mother a few months ago. In some respects, our reunion was a dream-come-true, but in others, it turned out to be something of a nightmare. It seems that I might have as many as four possible fathers, and I am here to ask you for a paternity test. You have every right to refuse, of course, but I would very much appreciate a swab. It would put my mind to rest.”
“And what about my mind?” Kane asked, leaning back in his chair and observing her. There was a hint of amusement in the depth of his eyes. When Quinn didn’t reply, he permitted himself a ghost of a smile, making her feel a little less awkward.
“Ms. Allenby, I will give you your swab, or whatever it is you need from me. You seem like a nice lady, and I feel for you; I really do. However, having said that, I will also tell you that the paternity test will not be a match.”
“Do you deny having a relationship with Sylvia?” Quinn asked. She knew from doing online research that Rhoda was Stephen’s wife of nearly thirty-five years. She inherited the pub when her father died nearly twenty years ago, and her husband went from doing odd jobs to becoming the owner of a successful business. Suddenly discovering a thirty-year-old daughter would do no favors to his marriage or his business prospects since his wife could divorce him and keep the pub that had been in her family since 1912.
“No, I don’t deny it. Nearly ruined my marriage, it did,” Steven Kane said, his eyes glazed with memories. “Your mother was a beauty. You have the look of her, actually, only she was more… What is the word I’m searching for? Aware.”
“Aware of what?” Quinn asked, unsure of his meaning.
“Aware of herself; her sex appeal. She knew what she was about, even at sixteen.”
“Are you saying that you didn’t seduce her? You were quite a bit older than she was, were you not?” Quinn asked. She had no wish to sound judgmental, but it seemed likely that Steven Kane had made the first move and not Sylvia.
“I’m saying that it was mutual. No one seduced anyone. We both went into it with eyes wide open, only I was married, so of course, I was the cad in that scenario. It wasn’t my finest moment; I’ll tell you that.”
“So, why are you so sure that the test will not be a match?” Quinn asked carefully. Truth be told, she hoped he was right. She couldn’t imagine Stephen Kane being her biological father. Of the three contenders she’d met so far, Rhys Morgan was the only one with whom she’d felt a connection, until she found out the truth, that is. She’d felt comfortable with him, and they shared common interests and a passion for telling people’s stories. Robert Chatham repelled her with his aggression and over-inflated ego, but something about Stephen Kane smacked of disappointment and failure.
“Mind if I smoke?” Kane asked as he extracted a pack of cigarettes from his desk and felt in his pocket for a lighter.
“I do, actually,” Quinn replied.
“I’ll open the windo
w.”
Stephen Kane took a drag of his cigarette, then held his hand out toward the window, allowing the smoke to curl outward and dissipate into the frosty air. Thankfully, the smoke didn’t blow back into the office. Kane stared out the window at the brick wall opposite the pub, his gaze misty with reminiscence.
“I have no wish to talk about this, but I suppose you have a right to know, and I might as well tell you the whole truth,” he began. “I had a younger brother, Jack. Jack was everything that I wasn’t, or so I was frequently told by our mother. He always knew exactly what he wanted and went for it. There was never any hesitation or regret. He met Rhoda when he was just eighteen and proposed to her within weeks. “She is the one,” he said, “and there’ll never be anyone else.” They married and had two girls in quick succession. They weren’t well off, but they were all right. Jack worked on a construction site as a welder, and Rhoda stayed at home with the children. They were happy,” Stephen added, blowing out another puff of smoke.
“What happened?” Quinn asked softly.
“Jack couldn’t afford a car, so he rode a scooter to work. One day, on the way home, he was hit by a lorry. The driver had been drinking and crashed into a tree after he sideswiped Jack. Jack might have survived had someone gotten to him sooner, but by the time the ambulance arrived, he was gone. Rhoda was left on her own, with two small children and no source of income. She might have been entitled to damages had the driver survived, but he died, so she had no claim, and Jack never bothered to get insurance.”
Stephen took a deep drag on his cigarette and stared at the curling smoke before continuing.
“Rhoda had to give up the flat and move back in with her parents. They helped as much as they could, but they were elderly, and minding two toddlers all day while Rhoda worked was too much for them. Rhoda was struggling, so I stepped into the breach. I always fancied her, and I knew that Jack would want me to look after his family.”
The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) Page 28