‘Leukaemia?’ The shock of that news froze Cathy.
‘They’ve given her three months to live,’ Sophie added.
Huskily, Cathy said, ‘I’m sorry. That must be hard for you.’ The more she looked at the photos, at Sophie, the more she was afraid this might all be true. Instinct kept tugging at her like an importunate hand. Every time she looked into this other woman’s face she felt a pang of emotion she couldn’t quite define, had never felt before.
Sophie sighed. ‘Yes, it was a terrible shock when she told me, I couldn’t take it in at first. It came out of the blue. She always seemed so strong, and now suddenly she is very frail, she has no energy, she is so pale and limp, I hardly knew her last time I saw her.’
Cathy stared at the photo of the young girl in the wedding-dress, moved by the thought that time had ruined both of them, girl and dress, worn down their strength and left them fading, grown thin as a yellow leaf on an autumn tree.
‘I’m sorry. My own mother has been ill for a long time,’ she said.
‘She is your mother,’ Sophie said fiercely, tapping the photo. ‘I’m telling you the truth, Anya.’
Cathy’s temper flared again. ‘Don’t call me that! I’m Cathy Brougham. What are you after? Money? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You want me to pay you to keep quiet. Well, you’ve got me wrong if you think I’ll fall for this cheap blackmail, I won’t pay you a cent, and when my husband finds out about this you’re going to regret it. You’ll end up in jail!’
Sadly Sophie said, ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Anya, believe me. I suppose I shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have told you – but I can’t let my mother die without seeing you again at least once. You don’t need to be afraid, I’m not here to blackmail you or threaten you, I just needed to see you, face to face. I think I only half-believed it until now. I do understand how you feel, you see. I was incredulous at first. It’s very hard to believe. But I guess that deep down I wanted to believe it. I’ve spent my whole life thinking about you. I used to go to the churchyard and sit by your grave and talk to you, I believed you could hear me in heaven and I needed a friend, needed someone to talk to, someone to care about.’
‘Stop talking about graves! In fact, stop talking to me,’ Cathy interrupted. ‘Look, when the doctor has seen you, you’re going, you know, you’re leaving – whether you go to the hospital or just go back wherever you came from!’
‘If that’s what you want, I’ll go. And I’m sorry if I’ve told you something you didn’t want to hear. I thought about it for a long time, believe me, and I didn’t know what I ought to do, but it had meant so much to me, finding out you were alive. I thought it might mean something to you to find out you had a sister, a family you belonged to and had never met. At the very least it might mean something to discover the truth about yourself, I thought. And I had promised our mother that I would find you. I had to do it, for her sake. I couldn’t let her die without at least trying to find you. I didn’t know what you were like, how you might react. But I had to take the risk of finding you and telling you, hoping you would listen.’
Cathy didn’t answer, she was too busy searching Sophie’s face and seeing no threat, no attempt to blackmail or terrify, just pain and deep emotion in her eyes. The silence stretched between them like a thin, shining rope, tying them together, binding them, until it was broken by a tap on the door, which opened a second or two later.
‘The doctor, madam.’
Cathy slowly turned her head, blinking as if coming out of a daze. She got to her feet and forced a polite smile as a tall, attractive man in his thirties came towards them from the door. ‘Good evening, Dr Waring, I’m sorry to call you out on such a raw evening. Thank you for coming so promptly.’
Don Gowrie was in his shower, his weary body relaxing under the jets of warm water, washing off the sweat and making his skin tingle. The pleasure of the exercise was broken when he heard the phone ringing. He leaned out instantly, and reached for the phone on the bathroom wall.
‘Yes?’ He had been waiting for a call from Emily for hours. This must be it.
It wasn’t. It was Jack Beverley and he didn’t waste any time with courtesies. Curtly, he said, ‘I’m sorry. I have some bad news, I’m afraid, sir. Miss Sanderson has had an accident.’
Don leaned on the marble-tiled wall, feeling all his blood leave his heart. The warm relaxation was gone. ‘Is she badly hurt? What happened?’ His nerves chattered. Could she never do anything right? She kept failing; had she failed yet again? Had she fucked up badly? Been caught trying to kill that damned Narodni girl? If she’d been arrested . . . would she hold her tongue? What if she spilled her guts, told
them . . . his mind raced ahead, imagining the worst, seeing himself arrested, charged with attempted murder.
Beverley’s voice was expressionless. ‘She crashed her car, sir.’
Relief made Don Gowrie sag. ‘Stupid bitch . . .’ he said, almost indulgently. ‘I hope she wasn’t hurt?’
He wasn’t expecting what Jack Beverley replied. The words hit him like bullets; he jerked, stiffened, twisted in agony.
‘She was doing about a hundred miles an hour when she hit a tree and the car burst into flames. She’s dead, I’m afraid. I’m sorry to be the one to give you this news. Thought you’d want to hear it right away. My people had been tailing Miss Narodni, as requested. They spotted Miss Sanderson tailing her, too, and phoned in from their mobile as soon as the accident happened.’
Don’s insides caved in; he closed his eyes, swallowing bile. Emily. Damn you, you stupid bitch, what have you done?
‘She must have been killed outright, sir. She wouldn’t have known much about it.’
Don hadn’t even noticed his teeth meeting in his lip; he was unaware of the red blood trickling down his chin. He couldn’t get a word out.
Jack Beverley politely told him, ‘Miss Narodni is now in Arbory House, sir.’
Finished. I’m finished, Don thought. It’s over. It will all be out now. That little bitch has done for me.
‘I suggest it’s time you were a little more frank with me,’ Jack Beverley said without emphasis. ‘Not over the phone, sir. But we should talk before you go to this dinner tonight.’
‘I’m getting dressed now. In ten minutes?’