Cathy put down the phone a few minutes later and turned away quickly before Sophie could see her face; she stood by the window, staring out, her back to the room. Sophie waited, watching her with sympathy. How did you talk to a woman you had never met but discovered was your mother? What did you say? The gap was so enormous; a whole lifetime. Everything Cathy knew had happened since she was taken away; she didn’t remember anything about the years before that day, the baby years. They were strangers who yet had the most intimate of relationships – mother and child. And what could you say to each other?
Cathy had said very little. She had listened and murmured a few comforting words now and then, in the spaces when there was no whispering, sobbing voice at the other end.
‘Yes. Yes, Sophie told me. Yes, I know. I understand how it happened. No, I don’t blame you, of course I don’t. Please, don’t upset yourself. Don’t cry, please. Yes, I forgive you. I do. I’ll try to come soon, I promise I’ll try. Yes, soon. As soon as I can, I promise.’
Sophie had felt tears in her own eyes and had brushed them away. All the years those two had lost, mother and daughter, so long apart that they couldn’t even talk to each other now. Don Gowrie had boasted of having given Cathy a wonderful life, the life of a princess – but did it really make up for what he had taken from her?
She watched Cathy struggling to deal with it all, and wished there was something she could say or do to help.
‘Thank you for talking to her,’ she said at last, and Cathy found an angry noise.
‘Thank you for talking to my own mother?’
‘It was tough, I know it was hard for you.’
‘Not as hard as it was for her.’ Cathy took a deep breath. ‘She kept crying. I wished she would stop; her English isn’t very good and when
she kept crying it was harder to understand and I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed talking to my own mother!’ Her hands were clenched into fists, as if she wanted to hit something or someone.
‘Not surprising, after so many years,’ Sophie said gruffly. ‘She wouldn’t blame you. She understands how hard this must be for you.’
‘Does she? I wonder –’
The telephone began to ring and they both started violently.
‘Shall I answer that?’ offered Sophie.
‘Would you?’ Cathy said huskily without looking round.
Sophie picked up the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Brougham?’
Sophie opened her mouth, but before she could say she wasn’t Cathy the man’s voice at the other end went on, ‘I’ve still got Mr Colbourne’s colleague waiting down here at the gate, ma’am – he’s getting impatient, shall I let him through now?’
‘Wait a minute.’ Sophie turned to Cathy. ‘I think Vladimir is here – can he come up to the house? Is that OK?’
Cathy nodded. ‘Why not?’ she said indifferently, then suddenly wheeled and began to walk to the door. ‘I have a headache, I’m going to take a pill and lie down for a while.’
Sophie told the man at the gate to let Vladimir through, then hung up and ran after Cathy, called after her.
‘Can I get you anything? Do anything?’
‘No, I just want some peace and quiet,’ Cathy said, vanishing up the stairs without looking back.
Sophie stood in the magnificent hall, listening to the solemn ticking of the tall grandfather clock, watching wintry sunlight strike the polished floors, striking fire out of some bronzed branches of beech which stood in a tall urn near the hearth. Such a calm, ordered atmosphere. Her eye travelled upwards to admire the great chandelier hanging overhead. Had Cathy been happy here? Of course she must have been – she had had everything anyone could want, and she must have thought her life would always be like that.
The front door stood partly open; through it she heard the men’s voices and the sound of their feet crunching on the gravel. They were returning to the house. Had they made the deal Don Gowrie wanted? Want to bet? she asked herself, mouth twisting.
He had the measure of every one of them, knew exactly what to offer as a bribe or use as a threat. Politicians always did. Human beings were their stock in trade; they bought and sold them, manipulated and cheated them, used them without scruple. Somehow or other Don Gowrie would have cobbled together some sort of agreement with Steve and Paul.
Above their voices rose the sound of a vehicle. Was that Vlad? Sophie pushed the door wider and watched a Land-Rover parking right outside. Vlad stumbled from it, dishevelled as ever, brushing ash off his ancient tweed jacket and shabby raincoat. The man driving the vehicle drove off again and Vlad looked round, orientating himself, saw her, and held out his arms, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Sophie! Girl, I’ve been worried sick about you!’
She felt her spirits lift. Smiling as she ran, she threw herself into his waiting arms.
‘Vlad! Oh, Vlad, it’s so good to see you!’