“I’ll have to, won’t I? Can’t find the child without a trail of crumbs.”
Quinn braked as they neared the line of cars that were standing as still as if they were in a car park. She stole a peek at Jo, who was still staring angrily out the window. Did Jo really want to be a mum? She’d given up her baby nearly fifteen years ago, but she was a woman in her thirties now. Surely there had to have been other relationships, other opportunities to start a family. Quinn couldn’t quite picture Jo with a baby on her hip. Even when she held Alex or chatted with Emma, she seemed awkward, unnatural. Not every woman was cut out to be a mother, and there was no shame in that. Did Jo long for a child or for closure?
Jo stared ahead and swore under her breath, cursing the traffic that was slowing them down. Watching spots of angry color bloom on Jo’s milky skin, Quinn wondered what she’d be like with her daughter if she got to meet her. What was her daughter like, this unwanted child who had only been carried to term to spite Jo’s parents?
“Jo, are you seeing someone?” Quinn asked as traffic finally began to move again, albeit slowly.
“Why do you ask?” Jo’s head snapped in Quinn’s direction, her gaze no longer on the disabled lorry on the side of the road.
Quinn faltered. “I saw two wine glasses in the sink,” she replied, not wishing to bring up the used condom she’d seen in the bathroom.
“Oh, that. Tim had come round,” she said with forced nonchalance. “I’ve known him for ages. He’s married, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“That’s a shame,” Quinn replied, surprised by the wave of disappointment that washed over her. So, Jo was shagging a married man, another unpleasant thing she’d just learned about her sister. She certainly wasn’t the first or the last woman to get involved with someone else’s husband, but Quinn had hoped Jo would be better than that, better than the sad old cliché of the other woman who was never good enough to be ‘the one.’
“I don’t want a husband, Quinn,” Jo announced, as though sensing Quinn’s disapproval. “I’m not sure I even want a boyfriend, or a partner, as people are fond of calling their blokes these days. I like my freedom, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a good shag now and again. Tim is dynamite in bed, and he doesn’t make embarrassing declarations or get jealous when I see other men. It’s perfect.”
“You don’t have to explain,” Quinn replied. Normally, she enjoyed girl talk, even if it was of the locker room variety, but for some reason, she had no wish to know more about Jo’s love life, if it could be referred to as such, because Jo didn’t share this information with relish, as Quinn’s friends had done at uni and on various digs. Jo came off defensive and catty.
“Right. We’re moving again,” Jo exclaimed as the traffic surged forward. “I hope we’ll get there by eleven. I want to get this over with.”
Me too, Jo. Me too, Quinn thought as she focused on the road ahead. She didn’t feel much like talking.
Chapter 53
They arrived in Leicester close to eleven and drove directly to Karen’s residence, which was located on a leafy side street and flanked by other lovely homes that reeked of affluence and privilege. The houses were set well back from the street, their manicured lawns lush behind wrought-iron gates and flowering shrubs. Karen had either become a keen gardener or kept a landscaping pro on the payroll. The red-brick walls were smothered with ivy, and the windows were open to the May breeze, with white gauzy curtains billowing like sails.
Jo rang the bell. Her heart rattled in her chest, her breath like a sharp stone lodged in her throat. She had no wish to see Karen, and even less desire to speak to her. Karen had always been a bitch. She’d never had time to spare for her little sister, and unlike Michael, who’d got on the floor and built block towers and colored pictures, Karen had never come down to Jo’s level. Michael used to call Jo ‘Q,’ short for Quentin, but Karen had always used her full name to imply that there was no familiarity between them, no connection. She’d resented Jo and blamed their father for foisting a squalling infant onto their fragile, long-suffering mother. Ian Crawford had been no saint, and his children knew it, but Michael and Jo had been able to forgive him his failings, while Karen had clung to her resentment.
The bell pealed inside the house, and after several minutes, clipped footsteps finally approached the door. Jo almost expected an elderly butler to answer the door and politely ask them to get off Karen’s property or he’d set the dogs on them, but the door was opened by Karen herself. She’d aged, but then again, it’d been fourteen years since they last saw each other, and Karen had recently turned fifty. She still looked immaculate, even in her silk dressing gown and slippers. Karen’s hair was a bit tousled but bore the lines of an expensive haircut, and her face, although devoid of make-up, was still smooth and supple. Her lips had grown thinner with age, and her eyes were a little puffy, as if she’d enjoyed too many brandies before bedtime, but Karen wasn’t a drinker, or at least she hadn’t been when Jo was still a part of her life.
“Hello, Karen,” Jo said, hoping Karen wouldn’t slam the door in her face.
“Quentin,” Karen replied, her tone as warm as the iceberg that sank the Titanic. “I see you two have finally found each other.”
“Yes, we have,” Quinn said cheerfully, no doubt trying to lighten the atmosphere, as Quinn was wont to do.
“I hope your blood pressure has stabilized, Mrs. Russell,” Karen said, surprising Jo with her concern. Karen always had been kinder to her patients than she’d been to family, although Quinn had never actually been her patient.
“Yes, thank you,” Quinn replied. “I’m quite well.”
“You may as well come in,” Karen said, and moved aside to let them in. “I don’t much care for airing dirty linen on the doorstep, although I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.”
Jo ignored the barb and followed Karen into a beautifully decorated lounge. The sun streamed through the windows and the room smelled of flowers and lemon-scented polish. The settees were upholstered in pale yellow silk, and the carpet looked as if no one dared step on it. A crystal vase bursting with lilies sat on a walnut table between the two windows, and several family photographs in silver frames were arranged on either side. There was one of their parents, taken at a function they’d attended about twenty years ago, one of Karen and an attractive man in his fifties who might be her partner, and one of Michael and his family.
Jo focused on that photo, hungry for details of Michael’s life. He’d clearly remarried after the breakup of his first marriage. She couldn’t recall the name of his first wife, the one who’d left him for another man and caused him to spiral out of control. His new wife looked pleasant and friendly. Her plump wholesomeness balanced out Michael’s lean frame. His sandy hair was thinner and threaded with silver, and his gray eyes heavy-lidded. Middle age had softened his jowls, but he was still a good-looking man, and the creases around his mouth were a testament to the fact that he still smiled often. They had three children: two girls and a boy. The girls appeared to be in their early teens, and the boy looked around seven. All the children had dark hair and eyes, like Michael’s wife.
“What is it you want, Quentin?” Karen asked, tired of waiting for Jo to state the purpose of her visit. She didn’t offer them any refreshment, which meant she hoped they’d leave before the kettle had time to boil.
“You look well, Karen,” Jo began. She had no desire to antagonize her sister and hoped flattery would pave the way to Karen’s frozen little heart. “Not a day over thirty-five.”
“Cut the bullshit. You didn’t come here to have a cozy chat. Please, take a seat, Mrs. Russell,” Karen said, as if drawing a clear line between her attitude toward Jo and Quinn.
Jo would have sat down just to annoy her, but she was too jittery to sit, so she remained standing, her gaze still drawn to Michael’s perfect family. “Karen, there’s something I’d like to ask, and I hope you will tell me what I want to know.”
“Depends what it is,�
�� Karen replied, and sat down, crossing her shapely legs at the ankles.
“Did Dad ever tell you anything about my daughter? Who adopted her? I’d like to find her.”
Karen blanched, but only for a moment. Her shock was quickly replaced by derision. “It’s been almost fifteen years, Quentin. Why ask me this now?”
Jo almost didn’t reply. She owed Karen no explanations. She only needed information, and then she’d be gone from her life, as if they’d never seen each other at all, but Karen was her only hope. “Karen, please. I’m sure Dad must have mentioned something after he returned from Ireland. Who handled the adoption? Do you know?”
“Have you seen Michael?” Karen asked, her eyes narrowing and her head tilting to the side, bird-like.
“No, but I’ll speak to him next if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”
“You leave him alone,” Karen flared. “You’ve done enough to ruin his life.”
“Don’t you think it’s the other way around?” Jo cried, losing control of her temper. Karen had always had that effect on her. She could infuriate her in a matter of moments.
“No, I don’t,” Karen retorted. “I know what you did, and no matter what you tell yourself about that night, you’ll be lying. Was the baby even his, Quentin, or did you get up the duff with someone else and blame that on Michael too? I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Karen, I’m not here to accuse Michael of anything. I simply want to know what happened to the child I gave birth to. I’d like to find her.”
“Why?” Karen asked, still watching Jo with that narrowed gaze.
“Because maybe it’s not too late for me to be her mother. Maybe I can still forge a bond with her, if she’ll have me.”
Karen shook her head in disbelief but didn’t spew any more bile. “I don’t know what happened to her. Dad was very secretive about the whole thing. You went off to Ireland, had the baby, and returned as if nothing had happened. The baby was never mentioned again.”
“And no one asked?” Jo pressed on.
“What was there to ask? It was given up for adoption. End of story. Everyone wanted to move on, no one more than you.”
“And Michael? Did he never ask about her?”
“Michael wasn’t in a good place. He took a sabbatical from the hospital and went traveling for a few months. He needed to move past what happened, with you, with his slag of a wife, and with our parents. He was devastated, and he needed time to heal.” For a moment, Karen almost sounded kind and caring, but then, she’d always loved Mike. He’d been her little brother, her partner in crime, her study buddy once they both chose medicine, and the only person who didn’t see her for the calculating shrew she really was.
“Well, thanks for your candor, Karen. Always appreciated. I won’t trouble you again,” Jo said.
“Quentin, I really do wish you well. I’ve seen your photos in the papers. You’re very talented. You always were. I wish things could have been different.”
“Yeah, me too,” Jo replied, and meant it. Karen could have been a role model, a friend, but at this point, she was nothing more than a stranger.
“Don’t talk to Michael,” Karen implored. “He doesn’t know anything, I promise you.”
“Still afraid I’ll accuse him? What’s the statute of limitations on rape?” Jo asked acidly. She had no desire to press charges, but it gave her pleasure to rattle Karen.
“Please, Quentin, let him be,” Karen said. She looked almost humble, but it was just an act. Karen didn’t know anything about humility, or compassion. Funny that she’d chosen a profession in which she needed a measure of both.
“I’m not going to trouble Michael,” Jo replied, and watched Karen’s shoulders sag with relief. “Give him my best if you speak to him. He’s got a beautiful family.”
“Yes, he does. His wife is lovely.”
“Glad you like her. I wonder if she likes you as much,” Jo added, her innate bitchiness fighting its way to the surface.
“We get on,” Karen replied. She looked more relaxed now that the danger had passed and was probably eager to get Jo and Quinn out of her house.
“Goodbye, Karen,” Jo said, and beckoned for Quinn to join her as she walked out of the room.
Karen flung open the front door and watched them walk through. “Goodbye,” she called after them just before she slammed the door shut with a bang that reverberated through the house.
“Well, that went well,” Jo said as they walked down the path toward the gate.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed,” Quinn replied.
“I hadn’t expected her to tell me anything, so no, not too disappointed. Had to try though, didn’t I? Come on, let’s see if Mr. Richards is still at his office. It’s just gone noon.”
Quinn eased the car away from the curb and headed toward the center of town, while Jo leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes against the irritatingly cheerful sun that played peek-a-boo with the leafy trees lining the street. Seeing Karen had rattled her more than she’d thought it would. It was easy to cast someone in the role of the villain when you hadn’t seen them in years but coming face to face with the past had its price. Karen seemed more vulnerable, as Jo probably did herself. Time had taken its toll on their family, and on them. Jo was no longer the angry, unloved child who wanted only to lash out and blame everyone for her problems. Or was she? Being suddenly exposed to Quinn’s orderly, comfortable life begged the difficult question. Did the fault lie with her? Was she the one who caused people to turn away from her? Was she the one unable to love?
Chapter 54
Jo stood still for a moment and gazed up at the elegant façade of Mr. Richards’ office. She’d spoken to him many times in the past but had never visited his practice. For some reason, the act of consulting Mr. Richards at his office made her errand seem weightier, and more hopeless. Mr. Richards had been the Crawford family attorney since his father retired in the late 1980s. He had been a family friend as well as a solicitor, but despite his friendly demeanor and unassuming appearance, he was a legal shark, and a man who would never betray a client’s confidence. He wouldn’t tell her anything that might compromise him, even if he were privy to the information Jo was seeking.
“Are you all right?” Quinn asked, and Jo nodded and rang the bell.
“I just want to get this over with.”
Mr. Richards opened the door himself and smiled broadly, nodding in approval. “Jo, you look well. And Mrs. Russell, something of a surprise to see you here again.”
“Good afternoon,” Quinn replied politely, but her expression was murderous. Mr. Richards had done nothing to help when she came to him looking for Jo, and both women resented his lack of compassion.
“Please, come in. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” Mr. Richards asked once Quinn and Jo were settled in front of his massive desk. “Sheila—that’s my wife—got me one of those Keurig machines last Christmas. I seem to be going through the K-Cups at an alarming rate. Excellent cup of coffee,” he said as he looked eagerly from Jo to Quinn.
“Yes, coffee would be lovely,” Jo said, wishing they could just get down to business.
“Mrs. Russell?”
“Yes, please.”
Mr. Richards left the office and reappeared a few minutes later, bearing a tray with three coffee cups, milk, and sugar. “There we are, then. Certainly beats having to wait for the kettle to boil.” He stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and added a splash of milk. “So, what brings you here? Since you’ve come in person, I can only assume it’s important.”
“It is, actually,” Jo replied, inwardly annoyed by the man’s cool exterior. He would make an excellent poker player if he ever allowed himself to indulge in something as base as gambling. “Mr. Richards, as I’m sure you know, I gave birth to a child in August of 1999. The baby was given up for adoption, which was handled by my father. I believe that as his solicitor, you might have some knowledge of the details. Do you?” Jo asked, pinning M
r. Richards with an unblinking stare.
Mr. Richards took a slow sip of his coffee and met Jo’s gaze across the desk, his expression as inscrutable as ever. “Sadly, I do not.”
“Were you aware I had a child?” Jo persisted.
“Yes, I was.”
“Mr. Richards, you are my last port of call. I don’t know who else to ask. My parents are gone. The maternity home where I had the baby closed down, and my sister claims to have no knowledge of anything pertaining to the adoption. Surely you must know something.”
“Jo, your parents were my clients for years, and as you know, I am not at liberty to violate the attorney/client privilege. Anything I learned from them, I cannot divulge. However, I think I might be able to help,” he said, smiling that tight little smile of his that she found so irritating. “Your father left a letter, to be given to you if you ever asked me about the child. I’m not privy to the contents, but I kept it safe in his file. I’ll just be a moment,” he said. “It’s in the file room.”
Quinn turned to look at Jo. “If he left you a letter, he must have wanted you to be able to find her,” she said.
“Or not. You didn’t know my father. He was a man who liked to play games. He might have written something along the lines of, ‘You didn’t ask me while you still could, and now it’s too late. Good luck finding your kid.’ Or maybe the letter has nothing to do with the child at all,” Jo said.
Quinn was about to reply when Mr. Richards reentered the room, a crisp white envelope in his hand. “Here you are, then. I hope this helps.”
“Thank you, Mr. Richards.”
Jo slid the envelope into her handbag, blatantly ignoring the pointed stares of Quinn and the lawyer. She would not read this letter in front of them. In fact, she wouldn’t even read it today. She needed time to work up the courage to read her father’s final words to her, and quite possibly a stiff drink or two.
The Betrayed (Echoes from the Past Book 7) Page 27
