by Tara Hyland
‘Olivia!’ she whispered to herself.
The baby had been Olivia’s. So why on earth had her mother claimed that it was hers?
Chapter Fifty-four
Stanhope Castle, July 1958
Franny and Olivia were having breakfast in Stanhope Castle. It was a Wednesday, and still termtime, but Max’s daughter was at home after being suspended for the rest of the year. The Headmistress had called the house the previous Friday to request an explanation for Olivia’s continued absence from Physical Education. Neither Franny nor Max had known anything about it. Franny had agreed to go out to San Francisco, to the school. The Headmistress had shown her ten notes, all allegedly signed by her, excusing Olivia from PE because of a back complaint. The forgery was surprisingly good.
As Max had observed, it was so unlike Olivia. With Gabriel, he could have understood it, he’d said. But Olivia had a gentle nature and had never been remotely devious before. Franny had no idea what was going on with her stepdaughter. In the year that she’d been married to Max, she’d seen Olivia come out of her shell, but recently she seemed to have retreated back into it.
Franny took a sip of coffee and regarded her sullen step daughter. Across the breakfast table, Olivia sat hunched over, spooning cereal and then letting it fall back into the bowl. After the trouble at the school, Max had asked her to try to find out what was wrong with the girl. Now was as good a time as any to start.
‘It’s lovely out,’ she said brightly.
Olivia didn’t respond.
‘You must be boiling in that sweater,’ she tried again.
This time her stepdaughter went so far as to shrug, but still didn’t formulate any vocal answer. Franny decided to give it one last try.
‘Perhaps we could go out later and buy you some nice new summer clothes.’
Another shrug. ‘If you want,’ the girl said listlessly.
Franny felt a rush of irritation. It was so hurtful. Here she was, making all this effort, and the girl couldn’t even be bothered to speak properly to her. And it wasn’t as if Franny didn’t have problems of her own. Those rumours about her and the gardener in Confidential had put a strain on her relationship with Max. And she still hadn’t felt able to tell him about Cara. She didn’t need any more stress.
‘For God’s sake, Olivia!’ she snapped. ‘What on earth’s the matter with you?’
The harsh tone of Franny’s voice made the girl look up finally. ‘Nothing,’ she said sulkily.
‘Well, it obviously isn’t nothing.’ If being nice wasn’t going to work, then maybe it was time to try some tough love. ‘You’re dragging yourself around the house like a condemned woman. I’m fed up with these moods of yours. We all have problems. If something’s bothering you, then tell me about it and I’ll try to help. If not, then snap out of it.’
‘Just leave me alone!’
‘Fine,’ Franny said. ‘If that’s how you feel, then go to your room.’
Her stepdaughter sprang to her feet. At that exact moment, the sun came out from behind the clouds and shone directly through the window and onto Olivia, momentarily turning the girl’s cotton sweater see-through and showing the silhouette of her body, with its protruding belly, which could only mean one thing. Franny gasped, making Olivia turn to her.
‘What’s wrong with you now?’ the girl demanded.
For a moment Franny couldn’t speak, the wheels of her mind were too busy turning, trying to make sense of what she knew. She thought of Olivia’s strange behaviour recently: the withdrawal, the listlessness, the notes excusing her from PE.
It suddenly all made sense.
Franny looked at her stepdaughter closely. ‘Are you pregnant?’
‘No!’ The girl instinctively put her hands around her stomach. ‘Why would you say something like that?’
But even as she denied it, Franny could see the fear in her stepdaughter’s eyes.
‘Oh, Livy,’ she breathed.
It was that, the simple mention of her name, which finally got through to the girl. In that moment, all the defensiveness deserted her. Her face crumpled. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
Then she did something that Franny had never expected to see. She ran towards her stepmother, threw her arms around her and started to cry.
‘Don’t worry,’ Franny soothed, as once her mother had soothed her. ‘We’ll figure something out. Don’t upset yourself.’
Olivia looked up at her, wide eyes filled with desperation. ‘Please – will you tell my father for me?’
Franny could think of nothing worse. But she knew she couldn’t refuse the request. The girl looked so young and scared – in fact, she was little more than a child herself. Remembering how she had been in a similar position at Olivia’s age, Franny wished that she could share her story with her stepdaughter. She settled instead for agreeing to do what Olivia asked.
‘Of course. Leave your father to me.’
‘Who did this to her?’
Max’s voice was like steel. It was later that night. After settling her stepdaughter down to rest that afternoon, Franny had called her husband’s office and requested that he return home immediately. As soon as he’d got through the door, she had taken him into his study and told him all about Olivia. So far, all he had asked was who was responsible for his daughter’s condition. It was the one question Franny didn’t have an answer to.
‘I really don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me.’
Although she’d repeatedly asked Olivia who she had been sleeping with and for how long, her stepdaughter had refused to reveal any details. But from the size of her, Franny would guess that she must be at least four months along.
Max stood up. ‘Well, she’ll damn well tell me.’
‘Actually, I’m certain she won’t.’ Franny’s voice was calm. ‘I spent a long time with her today, and she was very clear that she didn’t want the father involved.’
She’d expected Max to argue with her, to insist on speaking to his daughter himself, but he must have sensed that she meant what she’d said. In that moment, the reality of what was happening must have finally sunk in, because his face turned completely white, and he faltered. He clutched at the desk to steady himself, and then sat down heavily in the chair. Burying his head in his hands, he let out a sob.
‘Oh, God.’
Franny felt her heart contract. It was awful, seeing the man she loved, usually so confident and sure of himself, broken by this.
‘It’s all my fault,’ he cried. ‘I should have known. I should have protected her.’
Franny could bear it no longer. Sinking down beside him, she pried his hands away and drew him to her, holding him as he sobbed against her.
‘What are we going to do?’ he said. ‘What can we do?’
It was a rhetorical question, meant to convey that in his opinion there was nothing that could be done about this situation. But Franny had an answer ready. She had given this a lot of thought this afternoon, and the solution seemed, to her at least, really quite simple.
‘I have an idea,’ she said quietly.
He looked up at her then, his wet eyes hopeful. ‘What is it?’
‘I think we should let her have the baby.’
‘And then what? Have it adopted?’
‘Well, yes, in a way.’ Seeing Max frown in confusion, she took a deep breath and said, ‘I think we should raise Olivia’s child as our own.’
Chapter Fifty-five
The knowledge that Olivia had given birth, not her mother, sat heavily with Cara. Not least because it meant that Franny couldn’t have been depressed over the loss of her child. But there was something else bothering Cara. According to Dr Robertson’s notes, he had delivered a healthy baby girl on 5 December 1958. This was no stillbirth, as Franny and Max had claimed. So what had happened that had made him sign a false death certificate two days later? And why had they needed to cover it up?
It was dark by the time Cara got back to Stanhope Castle, and the gothic bui
lding looked even creepier than usual. On the drive back, she’d been trying to decide how to proceed. She wished she could call Jake, ask his advice. But recalling how she’d left things with him, Cara knew that she had to do this alone. She remembered Gabriel pointing out Max’s study to her the previous day. Surely if there were going to be any clues to what had happened, they would be among his personal possessions.
That night, Cara waited by the window in her room. Sure enough, on the dot of nine, Max made his way to the guesthouse. Once the door closed behind him, she hurried down to his study. It was unlocked. She didn’t know how long he was going to be, so she needed to work fast. Kneeling down behind his desk, Cara switched on the flashlight she’d brought with her, and began to search through the drawers. She had no idea what she was looking for, but she was sure there must be something here to give her a clue about what was going on.
The drawers were arranged neatly, so it was easy enough to quickly rifle through them. Mostly there were files of bank statements and legal correspondence relating to Max’s business interests. But finally, hidden at the back of the bottom drawer, she found several batches of what looked like personal correspondence. She opened the first envelope and took out the letter. It was an ordinary sheet of white paper, and the handwritten address at the top was for the Sisters of Charity Orphanage in San Francisco. With her flashlight, Cara quickly scanned the contents. It was from the Mother Superior there, written in early 1959, giving an update on one of the children, a girl called Sophie. Pulling out another envelope, from a different stack, Cara saw that the letter was dated 1962, and it was from the same nun, about the same child.
Cara tried three more letters, all from different batches, and each time found the same thing – they were written about the welfare of a child called Sophie; all that differed were the dates and the handwriting. From what she could see, they came up to the previous month. Cara wanted to stay longer, see if she could find anything else, but she was afraid that Max might come back and catch her. Stuffing the letters back in their envelopes, she replaced the bundle in the drawer where she’d found it. She thought it looked exactly as it had before, but it was hard to tell. She’d just have to hope that Max didn’t notice.
As Cara hurried upstairs, something was nagging in the back of her mind, something that she half-remembered reading. In her room, she reached for the old newspaper clippings that she’d brought with her on Franny, flipping through them until she finally found what she was looking for: a small news item in the San Francisco Journal about a large donation that Maximilian Stanhope had made in December 1958, following the death of his child. Sure enough, the donation was to the Sisters of Charity Orphanage.
Sitting on the bed, Cara ran through what she knew. Max had donated money to the orphanage, and in return had received monthly updates on the progress of one of the children – the same child every month. It was too much of a coincidence. It must be Olivia’s daughter. But if, as she suspected, Max and Franny had originally intended to pass the child off as their own, then what had happened to change their mind? And what connection did it have to her mother’s death?
The next morning, Cara called the Sisters of Charity Orphanage and spoke to the Mother Superior to arrange a meeting. She concocted a story about writing an article on education in state-run institutions, and made it sound as if it could help with fundraising. She avoided asking to see the kids, knowing that would be where the authorities started to get twitchy.
It was a two-hour drive to San Francisco. Cara set off as soon as she could and was there by lunchtime. The orphanage was in an affluent part of town, and as she passed the elegant townhouses on Lombard Street, she thought it looked like a nice place to live. Her car struggled up Telegraph Hill, to where the orphanage was located near the top. She found somewhere to park, pulled the handbrake up as hard as she could, and prepared to enter the Sisters of Charity Orphanage.
Cara had worried about the memories that coming to a place like this might stir up, but to her relief the Sisters of Charity Orphanage looked nothing like St Mary’s in Galway. Perhaps once upon a time it had been a scary grey stone building, a place of penance and abstinence, but someone had gone to the trouble of making it seem welcoming for the kids. The exterior was now a pretty pale lemon, and a cheerful hand-painted sign hung above the door, welcoming visitors to the Sisters of Charity Orphanage.
Mother Superior was on the steps waiting to greet Cara. She was surprisingly young, in her early forties. A round, cheerful woman, with cheeks like rosy apples and a genuinely wide smile, Cara immediately liked her.
‘How wonderful to meet you, my dear!’ She took Cara’s hand, squeezing it warmly. ‘Let’s go through to my office, and we can talk.’
Inside was just as welcoming as the exterior. Multicoloured murals covered the walls. Some showed real promise; others had clearly been made by younger children, with more enthusiasm than talent. As they walked deeper into the building, Cara could hear shouts of delight coming from outside. She looked quizzically at Mother Superior.
‘It’s playtime,’ the nun explained.
Just then, they passed a long, low window, which looked out onto a large central courtyard. Dozens of kids were out there, enjoying their break: there were basketball hoops, girls with skipping ropes, as well as climbing frames, swings and roundabouts. It was nothing like the orphanage back in Ireland. Cara was pleased – at least Olivia’s child was somewhere pleasant.
‘We had a sponsored walk last year. It paid for all the equipment,’ Mother Superior informed her proudly.
Her office contained nothing but a desk, two wooden chairs and a set of filing cabinets. There was a simple crucifix on the wall, and a picture of Our Lady with the Baby Jesus. Cara was wondering how to get started in such a way that led round to talking about the child, but Mother Superior got there first. Sitting back in her chair, she smiled at Cara.
‘So why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?’
‘I’m here about a child,’ Cara told her. ‘She would have been left here in early December 1958. And her name’s Sophie.’
It was strange, the Reverend Mother thought, that this street-smart Englishwoman should come here now, enquiring about Sophie. Even though she hadn’t realised it at the time, that night, fourteen years ago, had changed the course of her own life. Back then, she had been a hesitant novice, little Sister Marie, unsure if she should even be taking the veil. But the then Reverend Mother, whose heart had finally given out earlier this year at the age of ninety, had seen the arrival of that strange, mysterious baby as an opportunity to help the novice see her calling in life. That bond between Sister Marie and Sophie had shaped the nun’s future.
Sister Marie had changed over that first year that Sophie had been with them, from a flighty girl to a caring young woman, who took her responsibilities seriously. Before the Reverend Mother had died in January, she had made it clear that she felt Sister Marie should be her replacement. The other nuns and Church governors had voted unanimously in agreement.
But this striking dark-haired woman wasn’t to know of the momentous impact Sophie had had on the nun’s life.
‘And what do you want with Sophie?’ the Mother Superior asked.
‘I just need to see her, that’s all,’ Cara said. ‘I want to make sure that she’s all right. Do you know where she is now?’
The Reverend Mother studied the young woman in front of her. Perhaps another person would be suspicious of this stranger’s intentions. But she believed herself to be a good judge of character, and she sensed that whoever this Cara Healey was, she didn’t mean any harm to the child, and so she decided to answer honestly.
‘Why, yes, of course I know where Sophie is.’ The nun nodded towards the window. ‘She’s outside playing.’
Cara didn’t know what to say. She’d half-expected the Reverend Mother to tell her that the girl had been adopted by a nice, loving family, and that it was best to forget her altogether. But to find out that she
was here, only a few steps away, changed everything.
‘Do you think it’d be all right if I met her?’ Cara asked.
Mother Superior hesitated for a moment. ‘Yes, I suppose that would be fine,’ she answered cautiously. ‘But before I bring her in, perhaps you should prepare yourself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you see, Sophie’s not like other children. She’s special. You’ll understand when you meet her.’
As the nun went to fetch the child, Cara wondered what on earth she meant by that.
It was ten minutes before Mother Superior appeared in the doorway.
‘I’m just having a little trouble getting Sophie to come in. She’s terribly shy.’
She turned back to talk to the child, who was obviously hovering outside, out of Cara’s line of sight. It seemed odd to Cara. The girl was nearly fourteen now. It was unusual for someone that age to be so bashful.
‘Now, come on, sweetheart,’ Sister Marie coaxed the child. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
There was a moment’s pause. Then, as the door was tentatively pulled back, Cara stood up. She felt strangely nervous, meeting this child for the first time.
A girl appeared in the doorway. A fair-haired, fair-skinned, blue-eyed girl: a perfect replica of Olivia.
Except . . .
Except as the Reverend Mother ushered the child forward, Cara saw that something wasn’t quite right about Sophie. She shuffled forward, unable to walk properly, her head lolling from side to side, her eyes refusing to focus. And Cara realised then why her mother and Max had decided not to keep Sophie – because she wasn’t the perfect child that they’d longed for.
Chapter Fifty-six
Stanhope Castle, July 1958
That night, in Max’s study, the decision was made. Olivia would have the child in secret, and they would raise it as their own. The solution had seemed obvious to Franny. Max wanted a baby, but it seemed that they would never be able to have one. Olivia was pregnant with a child she could never keep, unless she wanted to be shunned socially. This would be best for everyone. And Franny herself? Well, she saw this as her second chance; her opportunity to do the right thing. She couldn’t forgive herself for abandoning Cara – she didn’t want Olivia to live with that same burden for the rest of her life. And once the baby was born, Franny would tell Max about her own child. If she helped him with this problem, he’d surely be more amenable to accepting Cara.
