Page 39 of The Missing Sister
‘Jaysus!’ Bridget had studied me closely. ‘You’re sounding to me like you’re still holding a candle for him! You’re not, are you?’
‘No, of course I’m not. You know how much I adored Jock. He saved me, Bridget, and I miss him terribly.’
‘Maybe ’tis because he’s gone that you’ve decided to rekindle the flame for your first love. But let me tell you, if you want to meet a man, get yourself on one of those cruises. My friend Priscilla went on one to Norway and said there were heaps of horny widowers looking for a wife,’ she’d cackled.
‘Looking for someone to nurse them through their dotage, more like.’ I’d rolled my eyes. ‘I don’t think a cruise is for me, Bridget. And truly, it’s got nothing to do with me looking for another man. It’s about trying to find out what happened to my first love.Andthe man that I believe was responsible for destroying it.’
‘Well, I’d say don’t go digging up the past. Especiallyyourpast.’
Bridget always told it how it was and I respected her for that. We’d known each other since childhood, and despite her bossiness, which precluded anyone else’s opinion being right except hers, I was very fond of her.
It was in her tiny flat that I’d stayed on the sofa during those awful three weeks in London. She’d been a good friend to me then when I’d needed her. Especially given that I’d lied and said I was going back to Ireland when I’d left her and London behind. It was just safer she didn’t know anything in casehe’dcome knocking on her door.
It was Bridget who had discovered my whereabouts two years ago, when a bottle of our 2005 pinot noir had won a gold medal at the prestigious Air New Zealand wine awards. TheOtago Daily Timeshad taken a photograph of me, Jock and Jack, and printed a piece on The Vinery.
Bridget, retired and on holiday in New Zealand, had recognised me from the photograph and turned up one day, giving me a near heart attack when I’d opened the door and seen her. I’d had to tell her fast that neither Jock nor my children knew anything of my past, and, thinking she’d come to tell me of a family death, was hugely relieved when she told me it was simple serendipity that she’d seen the photograph.
I’d been thrilled when, a few weeks after moving to Norfolk Island, having fallen in love with it during our trip there, she’d met Tony – and after a short time, had decided to marry him. Given that Bridget had been a spinster all her life, I’d been very surprised.
‘It’s only because Tony just does whatever Bridget tells him to, Mum,’ Jack had commented before he’d left for France – he was not a Bridget fan. ‘I reckon she secretly beats him, then locks him in a kennel outside at night,’ he’d added for good measure.
It was true that Tony was very mild-mannered and actively appeared to enjoy being ordered around. They certainly seemed very happy together anyway, though it had really put the wind up Bridget when we’d both heard the messages from Mary-Kate about the ‘missing sister’, and the two women who wanted to meet me.
‘What did I tell you only last night about digging up the past?!’ she’d exclaimed.
‘But I’ve never even mentioned anything about all that to Mary-Kate. It must be coincidence, surely? After all, Mary-Kate is adopted, so one of these girls might just be part of her birth family.’
‘They might be, yes, but I remember the “missing sister” is what he used to call you. After all these years, and Tony and me just getting hitched, I don’t want anything to do with all that.’
So the two of us had decided to take the afternoon flight to Sydney, just in case. ‘If these women do arrive on the island and knock on the door, Tony might spill some beans,’ I’d fretted. ‘Do you think we should tell him to be out?’
‘No, Merry. Tony knows nothing, and if we told him not to say anything, then he’d just ask me a load of questions neither of us would have answers to. All he needs to know is we want a girls’ night in Sydney. Best just to leave it and let them arrive unexpectedly.’
I could still feel the shiver of terror after hearing Mary-Kate’s mention of the search for the missing sister.
I will hunt you down, wherever you try to hide...
Then there was the emerald ring.He’dhated it from the first moment he’d seen it. Because it was a twenty-first birthday gift to me from someone he loathed.
Looks like an engagement ring, so,he’d muttered.Him, at his age, with all his money and his English accent... He’s a pervert, that’s what he is...
Maybe when I arrived at Claridge’s, I should just take the ring out of my bag and throw it in the River Thames. Yet I knew I couldn’t, because aside from the fact it now belonged to Mary-Kate, it had been given to me by one of the most precious people in my life – by the man who had loved me unconditionally and never betrayed me... Ambrose.
Thankfully, the buildings around me were starting to become lower, and some of the ones I remembered seeing from the top of a double-decker bus were appearing. The sight of them comforted me, and made the memory of the two women who had appeared in the lobby yesterday, and then the voice that had shouted my name as I stepped into the lift in Toronto, less frightening. Even though Mary-Kate, and the letter from a woman called Electra, had reassured me these sisters just wanted to see my ring, I couldn’t work out how they had got to me so fast. Anyway, the good news was that the trail had ended in Canada. Not a soul other than Bridget, whom I could trust with my life, knew where I was today. For now, I was in London and there’d be no one tracking me down at Claridge’s...
I felt a sudden and much-needed flip of excitement as the taxi pulled up outside the hotel. Porters rushed to take my luggage as I paid the driver. I’d been told about this famous and beautiful hotel by Ambrose all those years ago in Dublin, when I’d been thinking of taking an exploratory trip with Bridget to London during our summer break from uni.
‘It’s a magnificent city, Mary. Full of beautiful architecture and many historic buildings,’ he’d said. ‘If you do go, you must take tea at Claridge’s, just to see the wonderful art deco interior. If my parents had to be in London for business or a social event, they would always stay there.’
So travel to London we had, but rather than Bridget and I taking tea at Claridge’s, we had stayed at a grotty bed and breakfast off the Gloucester Road. Nevertheless, we had both fallen in love with the city itself, prompting Bridget to move there soon after university, and me fleeing to it when I’d needed to escape from Dublin...
And here I was now, being ushered through the lobby of Claridge’s as a paying guest.
‘Did you have a good journey, madam?’ the receptionist asked as I stood in front of the check-in desk, my eyes taking in the sheer elegance and luxury of my surroundings.
‘I did indeed, thank you.’
‘I see you flew in from Toronto. Canada’s a country I’ve always wanted to visit. Do you have your passport, madam?’
