Walking in Darkness

When he hugged her she had almost burst into tears of gratitude because he was just the same, he hadn’t changed towards her. Steve knew about Sophie’s allegations – but it hadn’t changed him, he obviously didn’t care whether or not she was rich or came from a famous old family. He had smiled at her and hugged her with the old cheerful warmth, and that had made her heart lift.

Now, seeing him with Sophie, she was childishly jealous. She wanted to shout at Sophie, Get away from him, he belongs to me! Because he did, in the way that Papa had always belonged to her, and Grandee, and the dogs and ponies, everything at Easton, all the things that she loved. Love made them hers.

Cold reason sank through her mind then, told her that she had to face the truth – none of them belonged to her. Papa was not her father, Grandee was not her grandfather, and Easton would never now belong to her. She might still love them, but love gave you no hold on anything.

‘Your breakfast is getting cold,’ she told Steve sharply, but didn’t meet the surprised look he gave her, flushing because she knew she was behaving badly. She went over to the sideboard and gestured to the food. ‘Sophie, do you like eggs, bacon?’

Sophie joined her and looked at the scrambled eggs as Cathy lifted their silver lid. Steve sat down again and picked up his knife and fork, but was more interested in watching them together.

‘I can see the likeness now,’ he said as they turned to come back to the table, and they stood stock-still, startled, turning to look at each other. Standing so close, one to the other, in profile the resemblance was even more striking, and Steve breathed, ‘My God, yes! The shape of your faces . . . the angle of your cheeks, same nose, same jawline, same mouth.’

Cathy said angrily, ‘I don’t see any similarity at all! I’m dark, she’s blonde!’

He made an impatient gesture. ‘That’s just surface – your colouring is so different it deceives at first, but the bone-structure underneath the skin is identical, Cathy.’

Cathy looked at Sophie’s face, not wanting to see any likeness, but seeing it, all the same. She didn’t want to believe it, but the bewildering sense of recognitio

n kept growing. My sister? she thought. My sister?

Sophie thought that too, in an echo of Cathy’s thoughts but without the question mark. My sister. My sister.

‘You see, Anya? I’m not crazy. Steve sees it, I see it,’ she said with a face like morning sunshine.

‘I’m Cathy,’ the automatic reply came, but Cathy was thinking: Anya? Is that really my name? It was even beginning to sound familiar. She was beginning to like it. More than she had ever liked Cathy.

What’s in a name? she angrily thought. Everything, it seemed. Anya Narodni was a very different person from Cathy Brougham. Changing her name changed everything.

‘Anya, look at me!’ Sophie eagerly said, staring into the mirror. She took hold of Cathy’s chin and turned her face forward. Cathy gazed at her own reflection, then at Sophie’s, and Sophie breathed huskily, ‘You see? We both get our bone-structure from Mamma, but you’re more like her, she always said I was like Papa, although I never saw it in the photos of him. I brought some with me – where did I leave my photos? I had them with me last night.’

‘They’re in the sitting room,’ Cathy said. ‘You can look for them after breakfast.’ She felt too tired and miserable to talk any more. She pulled her chin out of Sophie’s fingers and turned away. ‘Please sit down, Sophie, and eat your food before it gets cold.’

She poured coffee, sat down, too, and ate half a slice of toast and marmalade while the others ate their cooked food.

‘Where’s your husband?’ asked Steve.

‘In bed asleep. He’s very tired.’ Cathy tried not to sound defensive, not to betray her anxiety, but Steve knew her too well. His narrowed eyes probed her averted face.

‘Does he know about Sophie?’

She nodded without looking up. She did not want to talk about Paul; Steve was far too shrewd, his prescience disturbed her.

Sophie was staring at Steve fixedly. ‘I just realized . . . I didn’t tell you about Cathy, about us being sisters . . . how do you know?’ She looked at Cathy. ‘Did you tell him?’

‘No, of course not!’

‘Vladimir,’ Steve said, swallowing a bit of bacon.

‘Vlad?’ she gasped. ‘But Vlad doesn’t know either. I never told him, I didn’t tell anyone!’

‘You underestimate your friends,’ Steve drily said. ‘Apparently you left him a message to say you were coming to London, so he rang Lilli at Theo’s apartment, and Lilli told him what happened in the subway, and about the burglary. Vladimir was worried about you. He’s a born newspaperman, he couldn’t rest until he knew what was behind it all, so he went to see your mother.’

‘He didn’t tell her people had been trying to kill me?’ Sophie had gone very pale, her eyes wide and full of distress. ‘Oh, why did he have to do that? She’ll be so scared. I wish Vlad would for goodness’ sake mind his own business! I’ve a good mind to ring him up and tell him so! Wait till I see him!’

‘You won’t have to wait very long.’

‘What?’

‘He’s here, with me, staying at the Green Man. When your mother told him about Don Gowrie he flew over to London to find you. He reckoned you’d need help. He’ll be along later to see you.’