by Anne Perry
She looked at Maria, and read in the older woman’s eyes an understanding so complete it made the colour burn up Jemima’s cheeks. But then Maria had married the man she loved, in spite of the fact that he was black, and had once been owned, like an animal. It had not stopped her.
‘Brent might not marry Phinnie,’ she said aloud. ‘She deserves someone who loves her wholeheartedly, whoever her mother is and whatever the circumstances. You don’t become a different person just because you discover something about your birth. And money is nice, but it has nothing to do with real happiness. You and I both know that.’ It was a challenge and she wanted an answer.
Maria smiled and touched Jemima’s hand lightly. ‘Of course we do. Although hunger is hard, perhaps harder than you know.’
‘Isn’t hunger of the heart because you denied yourself even harder?’ Jemima asked.
‘I don’t know, because I was always rash enough not to try it,’ Maria answered. ‘And it cost me dear . . . but I never doubted it was worth it.’
Two days later, Harley was arrested. Brent delayed indefinitely his marriage to Phinnie. It was a polite fiction. Everyone knew that it would never take place. Celia stepped forward to comfort her family and support them, especially Rothwell, as she had done discreetly all their lives.
Phinnie and Jemima left the Albright house and took lodgings in the city, until they should find passage home, early in the New Year. Phinnie’s means were more than sufficient to look after all their needs.
Early on Christmas morning Jemima persuaded Phinnie to meet Maria.
It was awkward at first.
‘I don’t wish to,’ Phinnie said miserably. ‘I don’t know what to say!’
‘Start with “hello”,’ Jemima replied. ‘I know everything fell apart and nothing was the way you hoped it would be, but don’t let go of what is good. You have plenty of time to meet someone who loves you, no matter who your family is or what’s happened.’
‘I thought Brent loved me . . .’
‘I know. And maybe he thought so too,’ Jemima agreed. ‘But none of that has anything to do with meeting Maria. Come on.’
Very reluctantly Phinnie agreed. They put on their best winter coats and hats and walked down to Central Park, and the place where Harley and Jemima had seen Maria turn back to gaze at the snow-laden trees. They were edged with snow again today, glittering white for Christmas.
‘There,’ Jemima pointed. Fifty yards ahead of them she saw Patrick. It took her a moment to be certain it was him, because he was not wearing police uniform but a plain dark overcoat, and he was bareheaded. Beside him was Maria, looking at them as if she had known them even in the furthest distance. She took a tentative step forward, then another.
‘I’m frightened,’ Phinnie whispered to Jemima. ‘What if she doesn’t like me?’
‘She loves you!’ Jemima replied. ‘She always did. Come on!’ She stepped out, taking Phinnie by the arm and pulling her forward.
There were other people on the path as well, but none of them took any notice. It was only as they came much closer that Jemima realised that the black man a little behind them was the same man as she had seen in the photograph beside Maria’s bed. He was older, greyer at the temples, but the smile had not changed, nor the curious mixture of shyness, and inner confidence.
Phinnie stopped in front of Maria. They were the same height, and had the same soft features and dark eyes, the same grace of movement.
Maria held out her hands. Slowly Phinnie took them and held on.
When Jemima looked at Patrick she knew that it was going to be all right. She forgot about Phinnie and Maria, even about the man, Joe, whom Maria introduced quietly and with pride.
‘I think you brought Phinnie home after all,’ Patrick said, taking Jemima’s arm and beginning to walk towards the edge of the path and the first trees. He might have said something about high society, or money, but he didn’t, and she was glad of it. It was unnecessary.
‘What about us?’ he asked, stopping and turning to face her. ‘Are we going to be all right too?’
She looked up at him. She was almost certain what he meant. It was there in his eyes, his whole face, but she needed to hear him say it.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘Are we?’
‘I will be, if you marry me. Will you?’
‘I think I probably will.’
He looked startled. ‘What?’
She laughed and reached up to touch his cheek with her gloved fingers. ‘I will marry you, and I think I will probably be all right, for always.’
He leaned forward and kissed her.
The passers-by smiled, and in the distance the Christmas bells began to ring.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About Anne Perry
Also By Anne Perry
About the Book
Praise
Dedication
A New York Christmas
More mysteries from Anne Perry
