A Twist of Fate

by Joanna Rees

  ‘I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much,’ the woman said, finally coming up for air, but keeping her body pressed firmly against his.

  Thea’s eyes widened. She’d never seen anyone greet her father like that. Not even her mother. Certainly not her mother. Not that way. In front of Thea. Never in a million years.

  Perhaps sensing Thea’s confusion, Griffin finally pulled away. ‘This is Thea,’ he said to the woman, bashfully scratching his ear. He was blushing.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ the woman said, noticing Thea only now and clapping her bejewelled hands together in delight. She snatched a black paisley kimono from the back of a chair and shimmied her slender curves into it.

  Thea exhaled for the first time since seeing her. At least she wasn’t half-naked any more.

  ‘Come here, you pretty little thing,’ the woman said, now focusing her full attention on Thea. ‘Let me look at you.’

  She took hold of Thea’s shoulders and leaned down. Now that she was dressed, she wasn’t so intimidating. In fact, Thea had to admit, her face seemed kind and she smelt of exotic, expensive perfume. Thea couldn’t help but stare at her flawless skin and her green almond-shaped eyes, thickly lined in kohl.

  ‘Yes, your daddy’s certainly right about one thing. You’re clearly going to turn into a fine young lady.’

  I am?

  Thea only just managed to stop herself from saying the words out loud.

  Being described as ‘a fine young lady’ didn’t sound so offensive, the way this lady said it, so Thea didn’t tell her that she didn’t actually want to be a fine young lady at all, and that she actually wanted to go into business instead. Like her father.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you . . . ?’ she said instead, remembering her manners and holding out her hand.

  ‘I’m Storm,’ the lady said, splaying her large bejewelled hand across her chest and looking from Thea to her father. ‘Griff, you didn’t tell her?’ she said.

  Griff. Only Thea’s mama had ever called her father that.

  ‘Tell me what?’ Thea asked.

  ‘Storm’s your special surprise, darling,’ Griffin Maddox said. ‘She’s your . . . well, she’s my—’

  ‘Fiancée,’ Storm announced, annunciating each syllable. ‘Your father’s quite the romantic, sweetie,’ she said, smiling warmly across at Griffin Maddox.

  And in a rush of clarity Thea realized that it had been Storm who had put the colour back in his cheeks, and Storm who had kept him away ‘on business’ for all these months. Storm who was so clearly behind this new Caribbean home. It wasn’t for Thea and Daddy to hide out in at all. It was for Griffin and Storm.

  What an idiot she’d been to think that Griffin Maddox was going to spend the whole of Christmas alone with just her.

  Or, for that matter, the future.

  ‘You’re . . . you’re getting married?’ Thea was staring up at her father, but it was Storm who replied.

  ‘Aww, don’t look so shocked, honey,’ she said. ‘I don’t bite. Do I, Griff?’

  Her eyes flashed at Thea’s father again, and Thea saw something then – a connection, something private – that she knew had somehow already locked her out.

  ‘Trust me, sweetheart,’ Storm said, ‘I intend to be more of a fairy godmother than an evil stepmother. Girl-stuff is my absolute forte,’ she added. ‘You wait until you see your room. I always wanted a daughter of my own, you see. But up until now I’ve never been given the chance.’ She bit her lip, her eyes sparkling. ‘But do you know what the best thing of all is?’

  ‘What?’ Thea said. It came out as more of a grunt than a word.

  ‘I have got a wonderful son. He’s called Brett.’

  Thea noticed the enormous diamond engagement ring on Storm’s finger as she chucked Thea under the chin. Her green eyes shone. ‘I just can’t wait to start playing happy families,’ she said.

  Later that night Thea sat hunched on the pink frilly cushions of the windowseat in her turret room. Storm hadn’t been kidding when she’d said that girl-stuff was her forte. The room was a vision of pink frills, like one giant candy floss. But Thea already knew she could never be the little girl Storm so clearly yearned for.

  She looked out again at the water sparkling in the moonlight, the palm trees silhouetted against the shore, the lights in the trees swaying in the breeze and the yacht moored against the jetty.

  Downstairs on the terrace the night air was filled with the pop of champagne corks, along with the chink of glasses and the tinkle of laughter and music too, from the guitarist who played in the bar, singing a gentle reggae love-song into a microphone, his slim black fingers slapping the wood of his guitar with a beat.

  All day guests had been arriving, a succession of glamorous Brits and Americans who seemed to know Griffin and Storm so well that Thea had constantly been reminded that her father had been leading a life she’d known nothing about. She’d watched him being the perfect host – and the perfect couple – with Griffin’s arm never far away from Storm’s waist. And Storm herself dazzling everyone, bestowing hugs and kisses, her head rocking back as her trill of raucous laughter filled the night, until everyone was smiling.

  And as Griffin Maddox had introduced Thea, his happiness had been there for all to see, and it had been obvious to Thea just how much he’d wanted her to be happy too.

  But up here alone in the dark, she couldn’t help feeling lost and confused. When had all this happened? How had she never suspected that her father was involved with someone else? She’d been such an idiot. It had been three whole years since her mother had died. Griffin Maddox was a wealthy, good-looking widower in the prime of his life. Of course he was going to get snapped up by a gorgeous woman. One who wanted to take that sad look away from his eyes. Thea might be his adoring daughter, but Griffin Maddox was a grown-up. Shouldn’t she have known that with a heart as big as his . . . well, she was never going to be enough, just on her own.

  But why had everyone at Little Elms kept her in the dark? Had Michael known anything about all of this? And if he had, why hadn’t he warned her? She racked her brains, trying to recall whispers that she’d missed, or hints that she might have picked up, but nothing came to mind.

  She couldn’t begin to imagine what Mrs Douglas and Mrs Pryor would make of Storm. Was Storm really going to come and live at Little Elms? Would she sit in Thea’s mother’s place at the dinner table? Would she sleep in her mother’s bed? Wear her mother’s antique jewellery? Read her books?

  Sighing, Thea closed the treasured copy of Huckleberry Finn she’d been reading, his own adventure suddenly seeming tame in comparison to this new and strange direction that her life had taken. She pulled back the coverlet on the pink bed and climbed into the soft pink Egyptian-cotton sheets.

  She had almost fallen asleep when she heard a quiet knock on the door and her heart leapt. It must be her father. He hadn’t forgotten. He’d come up to kiss her goodnight, after all. She sat up in bed, smiling with anticipation, as the door opened.

  But it wasn’t Griffin Maddox. It was a boy. Well, not a boy exactly, Thea thought. He must have been about sixteen or so. He was wearing shorts and a striped shirt with the collar turned up, and he had very suntanned legs and bare feet.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d come and introduce myself. I’m Brett.’

  Storm’s son.

  He stumbled slightly on the pink-painted floorboards as he made his way over towards her bed, where he sat down right next to her.

  ‘Lie down, lie down,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ she said, wanting to get up, but he was sitting so close to her that she had no choice but to do as she was told.

  He smiled as she cautiously lay on her side, her hands under her pillow. She was amazed that Storm had a son who was so grown-up. She felt a sudden sharp stab of demotion to little sister. He was so good-looking and athletic – just the kind of son that any father would want. Was that
what he was already to Griffin Maddox? she wondered. A son?

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier when you arrived,’ he said. ‘I was out surfing.’ He leaned towards her, whispering conspiratorially. She could smell the liquor and cigarettes on his breath. ‘Or, more precisely, I was hanging out at the surf shack, but don’t go telling the old lady that, OK?’

  She nodded mutely, shrinking away, worried already about the implications of being his confidante.

  ‘So we’re going to be brother and sister then?’ he continued. ‘That’s exciting.’ He picked a lock of her hair from her forehead and brushed it slowly away from her face. ‘You have nice hair, don’t you?’ he said. He rested his hand on the curve of her hip, beneath the sheet. ‘Good,’ he said, leaving his hand there for a whole second longer. ‘Isn’t that good.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  December 1983

  Trembling, Romy sneaked along the dark, empty corridor to Professor Lemcke’s office, gripping the piece of wire and the letter opener in her fists.

  She watched her shadow stretch along the floor. She’d grown tall in the last three years. Tall and hungry and thin. Her chest was flat, but her hips were now curved. She’d had her first period two weeks ago and her best friend Claudia had given her wads of cotton and shown her what to do.

  Tonight was New Year’s Eve and she could hear the guards laughing drunkenly in the canteen. Passing a window, she saw that it was still snowing outside and her breath froze in the stillness. She had to hurry. She had to focus on the plan. She and Claudia were going to escape in the early-morning laundry truck. The guards would be far too hungover to check. Then once they were down in the town, they’d slip away.

  Klaus, the laundry manager, who for these past three years had taught Romy to read, had retired from work, sick with bronchitis. His parting gift to her had been a dictionary and in it he’d left the name and address of a clothing factory in Berlin. There’d been no explanation, but Romy hadn’t needed one. She’d heard his stories of his happy days as a machinist there, and now she planned for herself and Claudia to escape and find work there themselves.

  She held the small torch in her mouth as she knelt by the Professor’s door, waggling the wire into the lock and hearing it give. She quickly opened the door and stepped inside, before closing it behind her and pressing herself against it. She stood there hardly daring to breathe, listening to see if anyone had followed her.

  It took less than a minute to get the desk drawer open. Romy’s eyes grew wide when she saw what was inside.

  Money.

  Nearly a thousand marks, she quickly counted. She fanned out the notes in awe, then folded them and stuffed them deep in the pocket of her dungarees.

  There was a cardboard folder inside the drawer too, but as she flipped it open, hoping for more cash, her breath caught. She put her torch on the desk and flicked through the photographs in the weak light. Each image made her heart stutter. They showed the terrified faces of girls being made to do disgusting things to grown men.

  For an instant, Romy’s fist tightened around the letter opener and she wished Lemcke would walk in right now. She’d slit the bastard’s throat. But as she started to rip the photos in half, she hesitated. She’d just recognized one of the girls. Marieke. She’d left the orphanage more than a year ago. To work in the steel factory, they’d all been told.

  Another lie then. Another terrible promise of what awaited Romy if she stayed. Another reason why she and Claudia, the two oldest girls left in the orphanage now, had to get of here. Tonight.

  She stuffed the photos back in the folder and slipped it inside her jacket. She’d post it to the police the first opportunity she got, and would include an anonymous note to say where she’d found it. She’d make sure Lemcke paid for this sickening crime. But right now she had to get into the records room. She wasn’t leaving without her papers.

  It took another two minutes to break into the room next door. It was full of large filing cabinets. Alphabetized by surname. The one thing she could thank Lemcke for was his thoroughness.

  She went to the cabinet marked ‘N’ for Neumann, her given surname, and started rifling through its contents, her hands shaking with cold and adrenaline. The torch beam flickered maddeningly across the worn photographs and documentation.

  Finally she got to her name. Gerte Neumann, written in faded black ink on a cardboard file with her date of birth.

  Inside was a thick manila envelope. Eagerly, she lifted it out. It felt light and yet strangely bulky. But it would contain all the answers. She was certain.

  Her heart was in her throat as she tore it open. But instead of the sheaves of papers and photos she was expecting, all that was inside was an old green blanket.

  Was that it? No explanation? No birth certificate? Documents? Details? Nothing? Just an old green blanket?

  Romy rushed back to the filing cabinet, scrambling through the other ‘N’ files, tipping their contents out one by one, determined to find something . . . anything. Because there must have been a mistake. Everyone had paperwork, didn’t they? Everyone. Even orphans. Details of her parents’ names. Details of where she’d been found.

  But there was nothing.

  She stared at the mess she’d made, winded with disappointment.

  In the silence, the exercise-yard clock outside chimed midnight. She heard a faint cheer from the guards.

  Romy hugged the blanket to herself and made herself a promise. A New Year vow. If she had no past, then she was going make sure she had a future. No matter what. And it was going to start right now.

  But back at the dormitory, Claudia wasn’t waiting for her as they’d agreed. She wasn’t in bed. Or in the bathrooms.

  ‘Where is she?’ Romy demanded, not caring who she woke up. ‘Where’s Claudia?’

  Tara was shaking as she sat up in bed. Tears were running down her face, and her cheek was blotchy and red from where it had clearly been slapped. ‘The boys took her, Romy. Fox and Pieter. Up to the top floor.’

  Romy wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the fact that the guards were distracted tonight.

  ‘Shit,’ she muttered, already sensing trouble as she raced out of the dormitory. She’d never been up to the top floor before. It was where the eldest orphanage boys lived, the ones who were practically men. The first thing that struck Romy as she sneaked in through the dormitory door was the warmth. A heater blasted out. A radio played and an electric kettle steamed on a unit by the sink. The four empty beds each had clean blankets and sheets, with reading lamps on little tables next to each one.

  Romy felt the injustice of it all, like a wasp sting. All this luxury. Right above her head. All this time.

  She heard a low rumble of voices behind a door at the far end of the room. Laughter. Then what she’d dreaded – a cry – a voice that she recognized straight away as Claudia’s.

  She hurried to the door and strained on tiptoe to look through its small square of glass.

  Claudia was lying spread-eagled on a cast-iron bed, her nightdress pulled up around her waist. Her mouth was bound with a gag, her wrists tied to the bedposts. She was twisting and bucking her legs in a futile attempt to get away.

  Romy saw Fox – six foot tall now and set to join the army in less than a year – unbuckle and kick off his trousers. Pieter, Monk and Heinrich clapped and cheered him on.

  Romy’s legs were shaking so hard she couldn’t move. She squeezed her eyes shut and desperately tried to come up with a plan. But there were four of them in there. All bigger and stronger than her. What chance would she have?

  She thought of the guards downstairs, but then she thought again of the photos inside her jacket. The guards would not help her. They’d probably just join in.

  She could hear Claudia’s muffled screams now. Suppressing a sob, she sneaked a peak through the window once more. Claudia’s eyes were widening with terror. Fox was hunched over her open legs and was thrusting violently against her.

  Enoug
h!

  Romy bust the door open and ran through it, yelling with all her might.

  Fox had just pulled away. His back was to Claudia. He was flushed and sweating and was just swigging from a vodka bottle when Romy charged at him, ramming the letter opener with all her might into his abdomen.

  He punched her hard in the face, knocking her to the floor. She curled up, waiting for the first blow to land. She knew she was never going to get out of this room alive.

  But the attack never came. Instead, Fox moaned softly. She looked up to see that he was staring down at his bare stomach in disbelief. The handle of the letter opener was sticking out of it. Its blade was buried inside him.

  The vodka bottle slid from his grasp and shattered. He staggered back, knocking an oil lamp off the bedside table. Its green glass smashed as it hit the floor. Flames began licking hungrily across the dry wooden boards.

  Heinrich, Pieter and Monk fled past Romy, running for help. Fox lurched towards her, but then sank to his knees. His naked legs and shrunken genitals were now soaked and dripping with his own blood.

  ‘You fucking evil bitch,’ he said. ‘I’m going to—’

  He reached out for her, to seize her, but even that exertion proved too much. He slumped back against the wall, groaning, twisting the silver handle of the letter opener, trying and failing to pull it free. A thin rivulet of blood trickled from his mouth.

  ‘Burn in hell,’ Romy told him, getting quickly to her feet.

  Smoke was filling the room. The corner of the bedspread over the mattress caught fire.

  Coughing, Romy grabbed Claudia, untying her bindings with shaking hands. Claudia was bleeding, a circle of red widening across her nightdress. Her glazed eyes stared right through Romy, as if she wasn’t even there.