The Hiding Place

by Jenny Quintana

  Harry came to see her when she called him to explain. After his initial shock, he had told her how much he loved Connie, described the things he’d missed about her after she’d gone. He gave Marina the typewriter he had kept for so many years, waiting for her return, and the rest of the jewellery too, which Connie had entrusted to him. And Dorothy gave her the ring which she had slipped from Connie’s finger. Family heirlooms. It’s something. And she has the paintings. Her father’s paintings from the attic, including the one that shows a half-finished picture of her mother. She has spent a long time staring at the image, looking for a resemblance between them.

  Dorothy confirmed that the paintings were her son’s. She told Marina he had written occasionally over the years, but his letters had become few and far between. As far as she could know, he was still in France: despite everything, he had never come home. He had rejected his mother permanently and she had lived with that loneliness, staying in the house, hoping that one day he would change his mind, that she would return and find him in the flat.

  At first, Dorothy said, when he’d asked after Connie, she’d told him that Connie had left London and that she, Dorothy, didn’t know where she’d gone. Marina supposes that his feelings hadn’t been strong enough for him to search. He hadn’t loved her as Harry had done. She can’t help but wish for Connie’s sake that she had chosen him instead of Johnny. How differently everything might have turned out if only that had been the case. But Marina knows it’s pointless to think like that; she might as well wish that Connie had left the flat just five minutes earlier, or later; or that there had been no haemorrhage; or . . . The list is infinite, the same as Marina’s grief.

  Dorothy will be prosecuted for the part she played in covering up Connie’s death and not coming forward with the identity of the baby. Her complicity with Kenneth. She had made mistakes and she has admitted to them. She had tried to make amends and she had suffered years of guilt. Perhaps the judge will look on her favourably for that. In a strange way, Marina hopes so. After all, Dorothy is the only blood relative she has met. Naturally Kenneth will suffer his worst nightmare. Back to prison – at least for what happened to Frank.

  In the restaurant, Marina chooses pasta from the menu and a glass of wine. It feels right to toast her mother here. Later, she heads towards the galleries. The calm and the quiet and the soft hum of voices reminds her of a church. She overhears conversations as she wanders through the different rooms, searching for the painting. She doesn’t even know if it’s still exhibited. She could ask, but she prefers to move slowly, pausing occasionally at a picture that captures her imagination, or hanging on the coat-tails of a guided tour.

  The final gallery she walks into is packed. A group of people gather around a woman who is giving a lecture. Marina stays listening for a while. She is about to leave when she sees the painting, tucked in the corner. She moves across and sits on a bench opposite. The Virgin is leaning, head bowed, hands pressed together in prayer. There is a mystery about her. A sadness, too. Marina considers the shade and the shadow and the folds of her robes. Clothes like that would hide a pregnancy. Who would ever know?

  And those colours. That blue. Better than blue. Marina crosses to read the card. The pigment is ultramarine. Its origins, lapis lazuli. She nods as if this information is the most important thing in the world and then she folds her hands and continues looking at the painting.

  37

  Connie

  7 August 1964

  The darkness was falling, like fog descending. Connie felt a pain so great she thought her heart was breaking. She knew she was going to die. There was no one here to save her. She was alone; even her baby had gone. Kenneth had taken her, wrapped in the blue shawl. What was that colour? It had a name, Connie was sure.

  Questions filled her mind.

  Who would take care of Sarah? Who would feed her and clothe her? Who would listen to her first words or witness her first steps? Who would take her to school and fetch her again? Who would teach her to be strong and fearless? Who would advise her to head for the horizon and not be satisfied with standing still? Who would love her as only a mother could?

  She wanted to howl, but no sound came. She wanted to cry, but had no tears left. She wanted to live for the sake of her baby but she knew it was no longer her choice.

  She reached again for the missing word, the colour of the painting, but it wouldn’t come. It was as if every thought and memory were draining from her mind and every colour around her was leaking into nothingness. Soon there would only be grey left, and silence.

  But she could still hear. A voice speaking gently.

  I will watch over her.

  Had she imagined those words?

  I will watch over her. The voice came again.

  And Connie’s pain lessened. Because she believed these words. She believed this voice. She tried to smile as the woman’s fingers curled around her own.

  EPILOGUE

  Marina

  March 1992

  It’s early evening. The window on the top floor is open, but there is no piano music slipping through the gap. Eva is out. Marina can see her in the distance, walking with Ron, going slowly, heading for the common.

  She smiles and takes the last of her suitcases to the car. She puts the bag in the boot, slides into the driver’s seat and rolls down the window.

  She is going home to Ruth and David, but then she plans to visit Paris. The vision she had of searching for her mother has changed, though the details are the same – the boulevard, the apartment. Only now in her imagination it’s her father who will open the door. What will he make of her? Will he want to know? She hopes that he will because she would like to stay a while. But she will return to Ruth and David, because they are the people who have loved her unconditionally. They are the people who have taught her to be strong and fearless, to look ahead and not give up.

  She turns the key and starts the engine. One last look at the house. Is it her imagination or does it seem calmer now that her story is done? Or are there more secrets lurking in the shadows? More hiding places not yet found? So many ghosts whispering their tales of sadness. It’s impossible to listen to them all.

  Marina releases the handbrake and then she pulls away. Away down to the High Road, away to the road home, away to pursue a life that stretches ahead of her like a distant horizon, while somewhere – somewhere – a young woman smiles because she has remembered the name for that beautiful, vibrant blue.

  Acknowledgements

  I am grateful to my agent, Sophie Lambert, for her energy, hard work and creative insight which continues to help me develop and grow as a writer, and to the whole team at C&W for their support. Thank you to my brilliant editor, Sam Humphreys, for her creativity and tactful approach, to Charlotte Wright for her patience and skill, and to all at Mantle and Pan Macmillan.

  Thank you to early readers Alex Birtles, Amelia Walcott and Stephen Walcott, and to readers, authors, bloggers, reviewers, booksellers and librarians who have championed my books and given me confidence to continue.

  Special thanks to family and friends who have encouraged me along the way, to my brothers, Peter, David, Christopher and Michael, and especially to my parents, Joyce and Jack Quintana who stay in my heart forever.

  Thanks and love to my husband, Derick, who is the kindest and most patient person I know.

  Finally, to my dearest, most wonderful and talented children, Stephen, Amelia and Olivia, to whom this book is dedicated. I am exceptionally proud of who you are and what you have achieved. Love always.

  Also by Jenny Quintana

  The Missing Girl

  Our Dark Secret

  First published 2021 by Mantle

  This electronic edition published 2021 by Mantle

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

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  ISBN 978-1-5290-4043-2

  Copyright © Jenny Quintana 2021

  Cover image © John Cooper / Arcangel Images

  Author photograph © Alicia Clarke

  The right of Jenny Quintana to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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