Page 8 of The Missing Sister
‘Of course there is, but it’s a big deal, you know, “coming out”.’
‘Grrr, I hate that phrase.’ CeCe shuddered. ‘I’m just me, the same as I always have been. I hate being put in a box with a label. Look! There’s another sign for The Vinery. Turn right just there.’
They set off down another narrow track. In the distance, CeCe could just make out row upon row of what looked like stripped, skeletal vines.
‘Doesn’t seem like this place is very successful. In the south of France at this time of year, the vines are covered in leaves and grapes.’
‘Cee, you’re forgetting the seasons are the other way round in this part of the world, like in Oz. I’d reckon the vines are harvested in the summer, so probably somewhere between February and April, which is why they look bare now. Okay, there’s another signpost. “To Shop”, “To Deliveries” and “To Reception”. We’ll head for reception, shall we?’
‘Whatever you say, boss,’ said CeCe, noticing the rain had now stopped and the sun was beginning to peep through the clouds. ‘This weather’s just like England,’ she murmured. ‘One minute rain, the next minute sun.’
‘Maybe that’s why so many English live here, although your grandfather was saying yesterday that the biggest group of migrants here is the Scots, closely followed by the Irish.’
‘Setting off to the other side of the world to make their fortune. It’s sort of what I did. Look, there’s another sign to reception. Wow, what a lovely old stone house that is. It looks so cosy, set in its valley, with mountains shielding it on every side. It’s a bit like our home in Geneva, without the lake,’ CeCe commented as Chrissie drew the car to a halt.
The two-storey farmhouse was nestled in a hillside just above the vineyard, which extended down in terraces into the valley. Its walls were fashioned from sturdy grey rock, ruggedly cut and intricately laid together. The large windows reflected the burgeoning blue light of the sky, and a covered veranda hugged the house on all sides, with planters of cheerful red begonias hanging from the railings. CeCe could tell that the main house had been added to over the years, as the stone walls were different shades of grey, aged by the weather.
‘The reception’s over there,’ Chrissie said, breaking into her thoughts as she pointed to a door on the left of the farmhouse. ‘Maybe there’ll be someone who can help us find Mary. Have you got that pic of the ring Ally faxed you?’
‘I stuffed it in my rucksack before we left.’ CeCe climbed out and grabbed it from the back seat. She unzipped the front pocket and pulled a couple of sheets of paper out of it.
‘Honestly, Cee, they’re all crumpled,’ said Chrissie in dismay.
‘That doesn’t matter, does it? We can still see what the ring looks like.’
‘Yeah, but it doesn’t appear very professional. I mean, going to knock on the door of a complete stranger to tell her or someone in her family you believe she’s your missing sister... She might think that you’re nuts. I would,’ Chrissie pointed out.
‘Well, all we can do is ask. Wow, I suddenly feel nervous. You’re right, they might think I’m crazy.’
‘At least you’ve got that photo of your sisters and your father. You all look normal in that.’
‘Yeah, but we don’t look like sisters, do we?’ CeCe said as Chrissie closed the car doors and locked them. ‘Right, let’s go before I chicken out.’
The reception – a small pine-clad showroom tacked onto the side of the main house – was deserted. CeCe rang the bell, as requested by the notice on the desk.
‘Look at all these wines,’ Chrissie said as she wandered round the showroom. ‘Some of them have won awards. This is a pretty serious place. Maybe we should ask to try some.’
‘It’s only lunchtime and you go to sleep if you daytime drink. Besides, you’re driving...’
‘Hello, can I help you?’ A tall young woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes appeared from a door to the side of the showroom. CeCe thought how naturally pretty she was.
‘Yes, I was wondering if we could speak to, um, Mary McDougal?’ she said.
‘That’s me!’ said the woman. ‘I’m Mary McDougal. How can I help you?’
‘Oh, er...’
‘Well, I’m Chrissie and this is CeCe,’ said Chrissie, taking over from a tongue-tied CeCe, ‘and the situation is that CeCe’s dad – who’s dead, by the way – has a lawyer who has been hunting for someone who CeCe and her family have called the “missing sister” for years. Recently, the lawyer got some information that said the missing sister might be a woman called Mary McDougal, who lives at this address. Sorry, I know it all sounds a bit weird, but...’
‘The thing is, Mary,’ said CeCe, who by now had gathered her wits, ‘Pa Salt – our father – adopted six of us girls as babies, and he used to speak about the “missing sister” – the one he couldn’t find. We’re all named after the Pleiades star cluster, and the youngest, Merope, has always been missing. She’s technically the seventh sister, just like in all the Seven Sisters legends, right?’
As the woman stared blankly back at her, CeCe continued hastily.
‘Actually, you probably don’t know of them. It’s just that we’ve been brought up with the myths, though most people, unless they’re interested in stars and Greek legends, have never heard of the Seven Sisters.’ CeCe realised she was rambling, so she shut her mouth before she could say more.
‘Oh, I’ve heard of the Seven Sisters all right,’ Mary smiled. ‘My mother – who’s also called Mary – read Classics at uni. She’s always quoting Plato and the like.’
‘Your mother’s called Mary too?’ CeCe stared at her.
