by Tricia Jones
“I can’t do that,” Saul declared. “But I will assure you that I have no intention of letting Mia get hurt.”
“Will that assurance include keeping whatever you hear this afternoon to yourself? That whatever information you receive, you will not divulge what takes place here?”
Shit. Oh, yeah. Devil and the deep blue sea. “Like I said, I won’t let Mia be hurt if there’s any possible way to avoid that happening.”
Accepting defeat, Armstrong nodded. “I sincerely hope you mean that.”
When their coffee arrived, Saul was tempted to ask for a whisky chaser since his stomach had started to rebel. But then a man appeared at the entrance to the bar, his eyes darting around as if he weren’t sure of what he was doing. Saul nodded toward Armstrong, who looked in the direction Saul motioned.
They stood as the man approached. His eyes flicked nervously from Saul to Armstrong and back. “The arrangement was that I meet with you alone,” he said stiffly to Saul. “You have to understand the delicacy of this matter.”
It seemed he had to understand a whole lot of things, Saul thought with some impatience, and right now was time for them to be spelled out good and clear. “This is Armstrong Freeman,” Saul offered. “Mia’s father. What concerns her, concerns him.”
The man chewed his bottom lip. “You’ve put me in a very difficult situation.”
Armstrong glowered at the man. “A situation that will grow even more difficult should you decide to temper your information because of my presence here.”
“I don’t respond to threats.”
“It seems we’re all on the same side here,” Saul reminded them, attempting to restore calm to what appeared a rapidly escalating scenario between the two men. “Your note said you had information relating to the notes Mia has been receiving and that Colcannon has taken steps to stop you revealing this information. So why don’t we all just sit down and discuss this further? Maybe you’d like coffee, or something stronger?”
“Coffee. Thanks.”
They sat and Saul signaled the waiter.
Armstrong’s wary eyes never left the man. “Perhaps we should be given the courtesy of knowing your identity,” he said. “Or are we to continue in this cloak and dagger vein?”
The man took a moment to consider Armstrong, then nodded. “My name is Luke Shipman,” he conceded with some reluctance. “I’m a solicitor based in Manchester and have been tasked with carrying out the last wishes of a dear friend.”
“Who?” Saul inquired.
When the man’s uneasy gaze flicked between the two of them again, Saul considered it opportune that he had gone into wills and probate rather than a barrister tasked to defend the rights of the innocent. “The identity of the person is not of importance,” he said. “Suffice to say that their wishes demand that Ms. Freeman receive a series of notes and gifts as a legacy from said person.”
“For what purpose?”
Shipman looked at Saul. “My client had little to bequeath, but considered it of great importance that Ms. Freeman became beneficiary. There was no intent to harm or upset her in any way.”
“And what’s Colcannon got to do with the bequest of an anonymous donor?”
“Let us say that Mr. Colcannon considers himself the rightful heir.”
Aware that Armstrong’s inquiries were noticeable by their absence, Saul pressed for information. “The heir to such a small bequest?”
Shipman’s smile was tinged with regret. “I’ve seen people argue and fight over much less property than is the subject of this estate.” He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a large packet, which he offered to Saul. “Since Mr. Colcannon now knows of my involvement and has taken steps to intercept any further deliveries of the said items to Ms. Freeman, I am forced to charge you with completing the task.”
“What can Colcannon do to stop you?”
Shipman gave another lamentable smile. “He is a powerful man, and powerful men have their avenues of persuasion.”
Despite his misgivings, Saul offered the packet to Armstrong. “Perhaps you should be the one to handle this.”
“My client’s wishes were quite categorical that Mr. Freeman is not involved with the dissemination of the gifts,” Shipman said. “Indeed, I have alas already broken a promise made by advising you of this packet in his presence. I came to you Mr. O’Donnell because I am aware of your close relationship with Ms. Freeman and thought it appropriate that you oversee the completion of this matter.”
Saul wished he shared the man’s confidence. Right now he wasn’t sure Mia would ever want to lay eyes on him again when she discovered his latest duplicity, let alone have him distribute a legacy from some unknown benefactor. He could only imagine the questions she’d have; he had a couple hundred himself. Once she found out about this meeting, and that he’d yet again kept something from her, she’d tell him to get the hell out of her life.
The possibility sat heavily as he stared down at the large packet. It wasn’t the time to ponder his feelings about losing her, time enough for that later. Right now he had to glean as much information from Shipman as he could.
“Let me have your card,” Saul asked, as the man stood to leave. “We’re certain to have further questions.”
“I’ve told you all I am at liberty to reveal.” Shipman picked up his briefcase. “My business in this matter is concluded.”
He offered his hand to Saul who stood and accepted it. Armstrong remained seated, leaning forward in his chair with his hands together and the tips of his fingers tapping against his mouth. Only when Saul said his name did the man snap out of some faraway thought.
He stood, took the man’s hand in a firm grasp, but said nothing.
After Shipman left, Saul turned to Armstrong. “You know,” he accused softly. “The identity of Shipman’s client. You know.”
Armstrong ran his fingers over his jaw. “You need to let me have that package. If you care for Mia at all, let me have that package.”
The shattered look in his eyes tempted Saul to comply, but damned if he would let this go until he’d heard the truth of it all. “You need to trust me,” Saul responded. “I told you I wouldn’t see Mia hurt and I meant it. Just trust me.”
“If you hand me that package it all goes away,” Armstrong pressed. “That way Mia won’t be hurt. She can get on with her life.”
“She deserves to know what’s in here.”
“She deserves to be happy.” Armstrong’s cell phone rang; he ignored it for a moment, then reached into his pocket. He checked the screen and color drained from his face. “Excuse me,” he said, shaken. “I have to take this.”
****
“For the last time, Freeman. Sort this damn mess or I’ll make sure someone pays.”
In the foyer of the hotel, Armstrong bristled at Roger Colcannon’s threatening tone. He was tired and sick with worry, but damned if the man would continue threatening his daughter. “I can’t stop her making phone calls, Colcannon.”
“But you can stop her poking her bloody little nose in where it doesn’t belong. If she calls my office again, you’ll rue the day. You’re already in possession of a copy of the letter I intend sending if push comes to shove. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get considered any further for the adviser post.”
While Armstrong seethed, he wondered what the man would do if he dropped the bombshell that less than twelve feet away, a journalist sat cradling a package which could bring about his eventual downfall. Tempted to drop that very bombshell, he wasn’t about to put Mia in Colcannon’s firing line any longer. “It was your inability to keep an eye on what was happening, Colcannon. If you’d paid less attention to your damned political career and more to your own family, this would never have happened.”
“And if you kept your girl in check, this would have died a natural death. I put a stop to that lawyer, so now do what needs to be done at your end, and tell your daughter and her interfering lover, to stay away from me and my affairs.”
And no matter what he said or did, O’Donnell wasn’t handing over that package to him. But O’Donnell thought Mia deserved to know what was inside, which meant his daughter would soon get more in the way of notes, gifts, and God knew what else.
There was only one option left, and it was the one thing he’d prayed he’d never have to do. But he had no choice. He had to put an end to all of this and tell her the truth. All of it.
Chapter Eighteen
Armstrong waited until Mia came home that evening. He’d arranged for Sylvia to give them the house. While his sister knew of his plans and was supportive of his decision, she had warned him to tread carefully.
Tread carefully. Allowing himself a rueful smile, he paced his study while waiting for Mia to return. He had absolutely no idea how to do that. But he’d prepared the scene. He placed the brandy decanter on the silver tray, added two glasses, then brought the tray to the small table between the leather chairs by the fire. Sylvia had lit the wood burner before she’d left so Armstrong made himself sit and wait for his daughter. He stared at the fire, watching the sparks jump and listening to the wood crackle while he rehearsed the words he would use to change his daughter’s life forever.
He hoped to God she would understand. That she would somehow learn to forgive him.
The sound of the front door closing brought him from his reverie. Walking to the door he faced Mia as she shrugged out of her coat. She looked up, her expression full of caution. For a moment he held his breath the way he always did when she looked at him that way. Even after all these years, he’d never been able to dismiss the memories from tearing at his gut. They came thick and fast now, piercing his heart and shaking him to the core. She looked so very like her mother.
Steeling himself, Armstrong tried unsuccessfully to smile. “Will you come in, darling? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Saying nothing, Mia hung her coat on the hook. “Why now?” she asked, her voice thick with suspicion. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for days but you’ve flat-out refused.” She turned to face him, straightening her suit jacket. “Why now?”
From her narrowed eyes, he knew she was baiting him. She obviously realized her persistent phone calls to Colcannon’s office had instigated this conversation, and no doubt imagined he was about to demand she desist.
“Please. Just come in.” He stepped back. She walked past him into the study. Her eyebrows rose when she spotted the decanter and glasses, but then her expression darkened and her eyes filled with concern. “What’s happened?” she demanded, ignoring him as he held out his hand for her to sit. “What’s wrong? Is it Aunt Sylvia?”
“No. It’s nothing like that.” He patted the back of the chair. “Sit down, darling. There are things I need to tell you.”
She sat, her eyes full of angst, but she said nothing further, waiting until he joined her. For a moment his mind went blank. He had not a clue how to break the news without causing her pain. He offered up a silent prayer that the right words would come and that she would understand the reasons for his silence all these years.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you about my past,” he said, the words tightening his throat and making his chest burn. “In the process, my lies have impacted your life, and for that I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know, my darling.”
She sat motionless, her back stiff and her face pale.
“As a young doctor I never had much time to focus on relationships. My career was everything to me and I knew to get where I wanted to go I would have to sacrifice any thoughts of marriage, of family. I’d seen too many of my colleagues try and fail to have both a successful marriage and career, and knew my priorities lay with the latter.
“I was in my early thirties with my career plans on track when I met a woman. We were instantly attracted, saw each other whenever we could arrange it, and soon realized we’d fallen in love. A few months into our relationship she told me she was pregnant. Neither of us had planned for that to happen but…we both wanted you so badly, you have to know that. Before I tell you anything else, tell me you understand and believe that.”
Mia opened her mouth but closed it again and only nodded.
“We wanted to be together, to raise you, love you. But things weren’t that simple. You see, your mother…sh-she was already married.”
When his daughter’s face lost color, Armstrong wanted to reach for her, to reassure her, protect her. He wanted to make everything bad go away for his little girl. For the child who had nestled on his lap, snuggled into his chest as he’d chased away the demons and dragons of her childhood.
Now, the grown woman pushed back in her chair, as if to distance herself from what he was saying. He wanted to stop there, wanted to take back the words that had put the pained expression on his daughter’s face. But since those words had been drawn from his soul, he couldn’t stop until he’d told her everything she needed to know.
She spoke then, her voice thin and quiet. “She…she was married?”
He nodded slowly, his heart a heavy weight in his chest. “To Roger Colcannon.”
Mia felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Her mother had been married to someone else? Not to her father, but to Colcannon?
“You were having an affair?” Although obvious, she needed to hear it confirmed. Needed the words to make it real. “You and my mother were having an affair?”
“We loved each other, Mia.”
“But…Did she divorce him? And then you got married?”
Slowly, as if his head were a heavy ball, her father shook his head. “Colcannon wouldn’t give your mother a divorce. He was a barrister at the time with his sights set on a political career. He couldn’t afford the scandal.”
“But if he didn’t agree to the divorce, how did you…” Mia squeezed her eyes shut as if the darkness would help her think clearer. Her stomach felt like ice, her limbs weightless. “So when she had me…” As the reality seeped through her jumbled thoughts, Mia opened her eyes. “Did he know? Did Colcannon know she was pregnant?”
“Yes. We told him hoping the knowledge would make him reconsider his decision not to grant her a divorce.”
“But he didn’t.” When her father shook his head, she slowly nodded. “Then she died giving birth to me…Is that what this vendetta is all about? He blames you for my mother’s death? Does he blame me?”
“No.” The vehement way he answered made her jerk back. “You aren’t to blame for anything.”
Her father splashed brandy into the two glasses. His hand shook as he held the decanter. She stared at the glass he offered, wanting to down the alcohol to calm her turbulent stomach, but her throat was thick with so many unanswered questions. He placed her glass on the table beside her, then tipped back his own drink. “This whole thing is much more complicated than simple blame, darling.”
“How much more complicated?”
Her father swallowed, his eyes swimming with anguish. “Please try and understand how hard it was for your mother. She was in a difficult position. Colcannon was already a powerful and influential man whose treachery knew no bounds.”
The ice in her stomach spread to her spine. “What are you saying?”
He swallowed again. “Your mother. She…she didn’t die giving birth.”
Breath backed up in her lungs, squeezing her chest painfully. “Wh-what?”
“We agreed that it would be best if you came to live with me,” her father went on, leaning forward in his chair and grasping her trembling hands. “Colcannon gave her an ultimatum. He had the ability to make her life incredibly dif
ficult, you have to understand that, Mia.”
Oh God. She felt numb. Her whole body felt numb. Only her heart seemed capable of feeling, tiny arrows of reality piercing through its center.
“She…she didn’t die then?” She swallowed past a painfully tight throat. “She gave birth to me and then she left?”
As her throat convulsed, Mia swallowed again. “Did she ever try to make contact again? Try to see me?”
When he didn’t answer, Mia leaned forward, trying to ease the violent cramps that tore at her stomach. “She gave me up.” Perhaps if she said it enough, the reality might actually seep into her head and make some sense.
“She loved you, Mia. You need to understand that. Her decision haunted her for the rest of her life.”
With sudden clarity, through the foggy mess of her head, of her heart, Mia pieced some of her tangled thoughts together. Colcannon had been married to the same woman for over thirty years, the woman who recently died.
“Colcannon’s wife, she was my mother?” Mia’s strangled tone echoed around the room.
“Yes.”
Anger and myriad other emotions stormed through Mia. She tried unsuccessfully to bring to mind an image of the woman she had only ever seen on the television news reports or in the press. Her mother. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to recall the woman’s features, but as hard as she grabbed for them the further away they seemed.
“Did she ever contact you?”
Again, her father shook his head. “We thought it best to sever all ties.”
“Then how do you know her decision to give me up haunted her? She never tried to see me again, never tried to see you.”
Armstrong drew in a long, seemingly painful breath. “It was she who arranged for you to receive the notes, the gifts. Her last request was for you to know how much she loved you.”
Her eyes swam, her throat tightened.
Beloved...Mine...
Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds…
