The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “Why don’t you want to come?”

  “Because it’s your mother’s birthday, and she’ll feel like she must cater to me and make me feel comfortable instead of enjoying her son’s long-overdue visit. Give her your full attention, make her feel special. Is it a significant number?”

  “Seventy-five. My brother has planned a little party.”

  “All the more reason. Everyone will be too curious about your new girlfriend to pay attention to the birthday girl.”

  “Next time?” Rhys asked, disappointed. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to invite Katya, but he’d become attached to the idea.

  “Absolutely. Have you got your mum a gift?”

  Rhys smiled, pleased with himself. “I had Owain send me all the home movies he could find. There weren’t many, but enough to work with. There are several of my parents when they were newly married, and then there was one of me and Owain as toddlers, and then as little boys. They were shot on an old video recorder, the type that’s been discontinued for decades. He also sent me some more recent videos, ones he’d made over the years. I asked one of the techs at work to clean up the old films, add color and music, and put them on a disc, followed by the newer footage. Mum will love it. She’ll be able to watch the film anytime she likes.”

  “That’s a bittersweet gift,” Katya said.

  “Yes,” Rhys agreed.

  Katya pushed away her empty plate but made no move to get up. She reached out and slipped her hand into his. “What do you have on at work?”

  “A new case for Echoes. A dismembered baby.”

  Katya’s face fell. “That’s awful. How do you deal with such sadness?”

  “It is awful, but it makes for good television. I actually want to talk to Mum about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I remember her mentioning a case when I was about ten. She said there was some deranged woman in London who stole babies from their prams and pretended they were her own. Once she grew tired of looking after them, she smothered them and buried them in her back garden.”

  “Did she dismember them?”

  “She dismembered a few of them, I think, presumably to make them fit inside the box she was using to bury them in.”

  “That’s a horrible story, Rhys. Why would you want to remind people of something so tragic?”

  “I don’t. I only want to make sure the baby we found isn’t one of her victims.”

  “How many babies did she take?”

  “I can’t recall.”

  “There’s no worse crime than taking the life of a child. My grandmother never got over having to kill babies.”

  “What?” Rhys exclaimed. “Your grandmother murdered babies?”

  Katya looked away for a moment, her gaze fixed on the London skyline, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “My grandmother was a gynecologist, back in Kiev. This was during the Stalin era, when everyone lived in fear of being denounced and taken away in the middle of the night, never to be seen again. Like everyone else, she had to toe the party line. She said the edict came down in 1949. It had never been made public and she’d get arrested if she ever told anyone outside of the hospital she worked at.”

  “What did this edict say?” Rhys asked, surprised to discover that he had been holding his breath.

  “It said that if a child was born severely physically or mentally deficient, it was to be dealt with at birth. The Soviet Union needed strong, healthy citizens, not people who’d undermine morale and require lifelong care. My grandmother said that she was required to keep a bucket of water beneath the birthing cot. If such a child was born, she had to plunge it into the water and drown it before it had a chance to cry. The mother was told that the child was born dead and immediately wheeled back to the ward. The corpse was cremated before anyone could make any inquiries, not that they would. People accepted what they were told. To make waves was to put yourself and your family in danger.”

  “Did she have many such cases?” Rhys asked.

  “She said that, thankfully, she had only two. One child was born with mongolism, which was unacceptable in communist Russia, where every face had to be perfect, and the other was born with its heart on the outside. It would never have survived, given the primitive level of Russian medicine. My grandmother never got over it, though. She thought of those children every day of her life, and begged God’s forgiveness for her sins on her deathbed. Now, religion was still outlawed when she died, but neither the doctor nor the nurses made any mention of her deathbed prayer. They’d known her for years, and everyone loved and respected her. They kept her secret.”

  “I hope she found peace,” Rhys said, his brow furrowed. This conversation had grown awfully macabre and he wanted to talk of something light.

  “Meet me after you finish for the day,” he said as he began to clear the plates. “Let’s go see a film—something uplifting and funny. There’s some American comedy playing. Rhiannan said she laughed so hard she nearly wet herself.”

  “Well, if that’s not a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is. I’ll call you,” Katya said with a grin. “Since we’ll be seeing something base and unsophisticated, can we continue the theme by going to a pub for dinner?”

  Rhys clapped his hand over his heart as if he were having chest pains. “Fish and chips? Chicken pot pie? Kill me now.”

  “Aw, come on, you pretentious snob. Surely you can handle uncouth plebeian cuisine for one evening. Pretty please. I want something salty and greasy, washed down with a pint of bitter.”

  “All right. Whatever you like. I will take one for the team.”

  “You’re an angel,” Katya purred.

  “Hardly,” Rhys muttered as he collected the dirty dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. He couldn’t leave a kitchen untidy, even if it wasn’t his kitchen.

  Chapter 11

  Gabe opened a new document and faced the blank screen. Blank screens could be terrifying, but they could also be exciting and full of promise. Now that the spring term was finished, it was time he got to work. In the past, he’d spent his summers at digs or teaching a course at the institute, but this summer, he planned to do something different. The discovery of Kate de Rosel’s remains beneath the tiled floor of his parents’ kitchen had reignited his interest in the Wars of the Roses and he’d decided it was high time he did what an academic was supposed to do—write a book. There had been countless books written on the subject, but Gabe’s contribution would be different.

  Thanks to Quinn, he had the kind of insight no scholar could hope to possess, and he meant to use the information to set his book apart. Now, all he had to do was find an angle that hadn’t already been analyzed ad nauseum. Quinn thought he should focus on the women of noble houses and how the ongoing conflict had affected them, especially when their men suddenly switched sides and married them off into the houses of people they’d only recently considered their enemies. And then, when their fathers and brothers changed allegiances once again, the women were torn between loyalty to their families and duty to their husbands and children. It was an interesting idea, and the more Gabe considered it, the more he warmed to it.

  With Alex napping and Quinn and Emma out with Jill, this was the perfect time to begin. Gabe took his notes out of the desk drawer, reviewed the points he intended to address in the introduction, and began to type. He had just finished the first draft of the introduction when the doorbell rang, making him lose his train of thought. Gabe reluctantly left the study and went to see who was at the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone and hoped it wasn’t some overzealous local business owner, offering a discount for a service Gabe had no use for. Rufus barked happily and preceded Gabe to the door, eager to see who’d come to visit them.

  Jo Turing stood on the doorstep, her face deeply tanned, and her dark hair pulled into a ponytail.

  “You’re back,” Gabe stated unnecessarily.

  “Your powers of observation are extraordinary,” Jo replied. The comment would have
sounded like an insult had she not been smiling coyly at him, her eyes dancing with mirth. “May I come in?”

  “Eh, yes, of course.” Gabe stepped aside to let Jo into the foyer.

  She leaned down to pet Rufus, then looked around. “Where is everyone?” She took a step forward, gazing up at Gabe with an expression he didn’t care to name.

  He took an instinctive step back. “Alex is asleep, and Quinn and Emma had a dress fitting.”

  “Dress fitting?”

  “For Jill and Brian’s wedding. It’s in less than a fortnight,” Gabe explained. “Emma’s to be a flower girl, and Quinn is the maid of honor, of course.”

  “Ah, yes. I forgot all about that. I do hope I’m not invited,” she drawled as she followed Gabe into the lounge. “I can’t imagine anything more boring.”

  “Where have you been?” Gabe asked, ignoring her rude observation. He lowered himself into an armchair, and Jo sat on the sofa across from him.

  “Syria. God, what a bloody mess. Of course, it’s the civilian population that always suffers. I got some excellent shots, though. Charles has been able to sell a couple to major American publications. Time magazine paid top dollar. What a coup,” she said, smiling.

  Clearly the suffering of the civilian population was of high value, especially if the photos were of terrified children, their faces covered with blood and dust from the explosions. “Congratulations,” Gabe said. “How nice for you.”

  “It is, rather,” Jo agreed. “Someone’s got to tell their story.”

  “Lucky for them, they have you to champion their cause.” Gabe hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but he couldn’t help himself. She was so cocky, a lot more so than she’d been a few months ago when she’d first returned from Germany, having undergone neurosurgery after her near-death experience in Kabul. “I hope you weren’t hurt this time.”

  “Not a scratch,” Jo replied with a bright smile. “And how have you been? You look well,” she added, her gaze turning predatory.

  “I’m well, thank you. Quinn and the children are well too,” he added. He was annoyed and wished Jo would leave. “Quinn won’t be back for several hours.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to be,” Jo replied as she settled more comfortably on the sofa.

  “Jo, I’m sorry, but I can’t devote time to you at the present. I was working when you arrived,” Gabe said, his tone implying that she should have rung instead of just coming round as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to drop by.

  “Sorry. You’re right, of course. I’ll leave you to it,” Jo said, clearly annoyed by his rebuke. “Please tell Quinn I stopped by.”

  “I most certainly will.” Gabe stood, ready to walk her out.

  Jo waited until he’d reached the sofa and stood suddenly. Her face was inches from his, and she pressed a hand against his chest, as if to steady herself.

  “Sorry,” she purred.

  Gabe didn’t respond. He simply stood aside and let her go first, following her to the door. Rufus trailed behind him, his soft brown eyes on Jo’s backside.

  “It was good to see you,” Jo said, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “My sister is a lucky girl.”

  Gabe closed the door behind her and swore under his breath. What in the bloody hell was that? He returned to the study, the introduction to his book forgotten. Jo had made no secret of her attraction to him before she left, but this had been yet another guerilla attack. What had she hoped to accomplish? Did she really think he’d respond to her advances, or was she just having a bit of fun at his expense? Gabe sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Not for the first time, he realized that being an only child wasn’t as unfortunate as he’d once thought.

  Having given up on writing for the moment, Gabe reached for his mobile and rang Quinn. “Hi. How’s the fitting going?” he asked, starting from afar.

  “Great. Emma looks like a princess,” Quinn gushed. “She’s going to steal the spotlight.”

  “She must be pleased.”

  “Oh, yes. She doesn’t want to take the dress off. Jill looks beautiful as well. She’ll be a lovely bride.”

  “You’ll be the prettiest one there, as far as I’m concerned,” Gabe said, smiling. “What color is your frock?”

  “You’ll see it soon enough,” Quinn replied. He could hear her smiling. “Jill’s invited us to lunch. Are you and Alex okay on your own for another few hours?”

  “Sure. Have a good time. Alex and I have our own plans.”

  “All right. See you later,” Quinn said.

  “Eh, Quinn, Jo stopped by.”

  “What? She’s back? Where had she been?”

  “Syria.”

  “Did she offer any explanation for her abrupt departure?” Quinn asked, her voice strained.

  “No, and I didn’t ask. To be honest, she was being a bit abrasive,” he said, and instantly regretted the comment.

  “Really? In what way?”

  “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Gabe said.

  “All right. Kiss Alex for me.”

  “Will do,” Gabe replied, and ended the call. He hoped having Jo back wouldn’t rattle Quinn. Jo seemed to have that effect on his wife, and as much as he hated to admit it, she had that same effect on him.

  Chapter 12

  May 1955

  London, England

  David was waiting by the cinema when Helen arrived. She was secretly glad he’d got there first and she wouldn’t have to stand by herself, waiting and worrying that he might have changed his mind and wouldn’t show. Helen felt a bit awkward, unsure how to greet him, but David leaned in and gave her a light peck on the cheek. The kiss wasn’t intimate or romantic, but it made her feel as if she and David were a couple, a unit, and not just two people going to see a film together.

  It felt nice to have someone waiting for her, someone who was clearly glad to see her. She was getting ahead of herself, she knew that, and her neediness surprised her. She was used to being on her own—independent, capable Helen, “a brick,” as some of her fellow nurses described her, who could be relied on in a crisis and who was always available, since she didn’t have a family of her own to see to. She couldn’t help wondering how David saw her, and what he hoped to gain from their association.

  “Shall we get the tickets?” Helen asked, in an effort to mask her sudden insecurity.

  “Got them,” David said, holding up two tickets. “Ready to go inside?”

  “Yes.”

  Helen allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction when David held the door for her, then escorted her to their seats. He waited until she was seated, then took his place next to her. The one time Neil had taken her to the cinema, he’d walked ahead of her, plopped himself into a seat, and planted his arm on the armrest, his elbow pressing into her side for the duration of the film. David clearly had better manners, despite having been raised in an orphanage. Helen experienced a brief moment of annoyance at herself. Why was she thinking about Neil today of all days?

  “What did you do this morning?” David asked while they waited for the film to begin.

  “I went to church with my mother, then we had Sunday lunch. You?”

  “Just some housekeeping.”

  “Do you have anyone to do the washing for you, or cook your meals?” Helen asked, wondering what type of an arrangement David had with his landlady.

  “I’m used to looking after myself. Been doing it for years,” David replied cheerfully. “I like to cook, although sometimes it’s too much of a bother to cook for just myself.”

  “So, what do you eat?”

  “There’s a small café just around the corner from where I live. The food is good, and the prices are reasonable. I eat there when I want a hot meal. Other times, I just make a sandwich and a cup of tea. It’s easier that way.”

  “I’d probably do the same if I was on my own. My mother likes a proper tea.”

  “It’s nice to have someone to eat with,” David said. “That’
s one thing I miss about being in the Navy, the camaraderie”

  Helen was about to reply when the lights went down, and the heavy velvet curtains parted to reveal the screen. She settled more comfortably, looking forward to the film. She thoroughly enjoyed it, all the more so because about halfway through, David covered her hand with his own and left it there, his fingers intertwining with hers in a way that made her feel warm and tingly all over. It was the perfect thing to do, in her opinion—not overly forward, but intimate enough to reaffirm that he liked her and was glad to be there with her.

  “Did you like it?” David asked once the film finished and they stepped outside.

  “Oh, yes,” Helen exclaimed. “It was wonderful.”

  “You know what else would be wonderful?” David asked, smiling down at her. “Something to eat. I’m famished. Shall we get some supper?”

  Helen hesitated. She wanted to have supper with David, but she didn’t feel comfortable with him spending all this money on her. It made her feel beholden. Besides, she didn’t think he could afford it. His suit looked freshly pressed and the collar of his shirt had been starched, but it was the same suit he’d worn when he came to the hospital, and the same tie. He was clearly on a budget, and she didn’t want to put him out.

  “Will you allow me to treat you?” she asked shyly.

  David’s face clouded over, and his gaze turned hard. “I asked you out. That means I pay.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to presume,” Helen stammered.

  “You think I can’t afford to take a girl out to a film and some supper?” he asked, clearly insulted by the insinuation.

  “No, really, I don’t,” Helen replied. Hot tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away before David could notice her discomfort. She hadn’t meant to offend him, but given his reaction, she could see she’d made a terrible mistake. Now, he’d walk away, and she’d never see him again. She tended to cock things up, but this was a record even for her. Maybe that was why she was still unmarried. She never took the fragile male ego into account and blundered in without thinking, eager to show the man how independent and forward-thinking she was.