of his jacket where he kept the gun. ‘What have you done to her?’ he said angrily, wanting to go to her aid but obeying Lambert-Chide’s raised hand. ‘What has my sister done so wrong that you have to treat her like a dog? You think she stole your precious jewels?’
Lambert-Chide bade Tremain take the woman over to a chair, and Gareth watched as she was allowed to slump heavily down to the seat. Her head rolled briefly, then her chin rested limply on her chest.’
‘Erica you call her? That’s as good a name as any,’ he said. ‘And don’t let this upset you; she is far from being treated like a dog — quite the opposite. She is merely being kept sedated, for her own good. Such a feisty creature. It looks worse than it actually is.’ He rose from his seat, the book in one hand, the cane in the other. He put the end of his cane under Erica’s chin and raised it. There was a brief flash of recognition in her eyes, which quickly turned to anger, but it faded as fast as it rose. ‘Your sister and I are long and dear friends, is that not so, Erica? We are renewing an old and cherished acquaintance. Thankfully we didn’t have to rely solely on Muller to find her; I had more than one team on the case and we caught her less than a week ago.’
Gareth could not hold back any longer; he went to her, noticing how Lambert-Chide waved Tremain away as he stepped forward protectively. Gareth dropped to his knee before her. Saliva had glazed her chin and he wiped it carefully away. ‘You bastards!’ he said. ‘This is inhuman.’ He brushed her hair back from her forehead with a tender hand. A spark in her pretty eyes told him she knew who he was; but it was sorrow she flashed him. He could feel her fighting the drug, trying to regain control of her mind and limbs, and her fingers grasped his tightly. ‘I’ll get you out of here,’ he promised, and meant every word. He rose to his feet, anger swelling up inside him. He stared into the barrel of Tremain’s gun, his passion threatening to plunge him into doing something foolish. He forced himself to calm down. Now was not the right time. But he’d find it.
‘Many, many years ago, my father met a young woman,’ said Lambert-Chide. ‘He was still grieving the loss of his wife, my mother, at the time, and thus one might say susceptible to the attentions of any young opportunist, and clearly this particular woman was highly skilled at the game. She landed him hook, line and sinker. So much so they’d hardly known each other before he announced they were to get married.’ He came over to Gareth, the book clutched to his chest. ‘A little digging on my part soon revealed her for the fraud she was. I confronted her, unbeknown to my father, and naturally, faced with such overwhelming evidence she melted away lest her fraud be disclosed to the police.’ He handed the book to Gareth. He saw that it was a photograph album. ‘My father was a keen amateur photographer. Take a look at the pages marked with the strip of paper.’
He resisted for a second or two, then did as he was bid, opening the album at the marked pages. There was a large photograph on each page, roughly eight inches by ten, black and white images but acquiring the sepia tint of age. One of the photos showed a large white-painted stucco garden shelter supported by four stone columns, an arched, glazed window casting light onto the seated figure of a woman. She was sat on a cushion, wearing a light summer dress, head bent to a book.
But it was the picture that appeared on the opposite page that drew Gareth’s attention. It was a head and shoulders shot of the same seated woman, the image snapped as she looked up from her book, as if disturbed in her reading, quite natural and un-posed. What Gareth found disturbing was the woman’s face. He looked from the photo to Erica and then back again.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said at length.
‘Yes you do,’ countered Lambert-Chide. ‘The woman in the photo is of Evelyn Carter, my father’s young fiance in 1939. The woman sitting before you is the one and the same.’
‘That’s impossible!’ he said. ‘So there’s a resemblance, maybe even a family likeness, who knows…’
Lambert-Chide shook his head firmly. ‘You say we do not have the trigger that turns off old age? Well you see the answer before your eyes. Here is proof we do not have to grow old and die.’ His laugh was brittle and mocking. ‘And well you might be amazed, Gareth. The woman sat here, the one you call Erica, the one you call your sister — well, I’m sorry to tell you she isn’t; your sister died at birth. This woman is your mother.’
38
She stood at the long window, watching him as he busied himself with preparations for the wedding. The large marquee was being raised on the lawn, and she had to smile, because he couldn’t help himself; he had to be supervising the affair, from the first peg in the ground to the arrangement of the rose-heavy garlands. He said he was making such a fuss because he wanted it to be perfect. Like her, he’d said, brushing a finger against her cheek. He wanted the day to match her skin: flawless.
‘
It caused her to start, to look back suddenly. She’d not heard him steal up behind her. He saw her expression change instantly from one of unalloyed happiness to one of quiet distrust. He took pleasure in eliciting this from her.
‘I’m sorry?’ she said, composing herself and turning her attention to the activity outside in the grounds. But her posture had shifted; her back a little more rigid than before, her hands clasped protectively in front of her.
‘You know, from the poem by Tennyson, The Lady of Shallot; she that can only look upon her beloved Lancelot through a mirror, but alas she cannot resist turning to look upon him in the flesh and her world collapses around her. One of my father’s favourite poems. He is such an old romantic, my father,’ observed David Lambert- Chide, close at her shoulder. ‘He doted on my mother just the same as he does you, you know. He is such a fool — no woman is worth that. Least of all you, Evelyn.’
Her head spun round, eyes momentarily blazing, but she knew he was baiting her. ‘Why can’t you be happy for him, David? Just once you might find it in yourself to do that, after all he has done for you, all he has given.’
‘He holds back more than he releases. But one day I will have my due. He cannot last long.’ He rapped a fist against his chest. ‘Dodgy ticker, we’re told.’
‘That is such a cruel thing to say, David! You can be such a heartless young man. You forget who you are and who you talk to.’
David laughed. She felt him coming round to her side. ‘Really?’ he said, so close to her ear she felt the heat of his breath. He came to stand in front of her, between the window and her. ‘That’s just the point, Evelyn; I don’t know who it is I talk to.’
‘You are so spiteful, David,’ she said and made as if to walk away. He grabbed her tightly by the arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ she snapped. ‘Let go of me!’
‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me, Evelyn! Or is it Evelyn? You see, I’m confused, because I’ve had people check up on Evelyn Carter and the strange thing is it appears you are not the person you say you are.’
‘That’s absurd!’ she said, a flicker of alarm in her voice. ‘Let me go at once, do you hear me?’
‘You’re a fraudster, Evelyn — ah, there I go again, calling you Evelyn, when we both know the real Evelyn Carter is long-dead and gone. What’s your game, to marry and fleece a desperately love-sick and lonely old millionaire grieving for his beloved wife? To escape being the simple shop girl that you were when he found you? You think I would freely hand over part of my inheritance to a cheap freeloader?’
‘That’s a horrid thing to say!’ she countered. ‘I love your father like I have never loved anyone else. I care for him with all my heart, with my very being.’
David Lambert-Chide’s face became a twisted mask of loathing. ‘If you love him, as you say, then you’ll walk away from here and never see him again.’
‘I can’t do that,’ she said.
‘No? Would you rather it was me that broke the news to him that his sweet little angel is a thieving whore? Or shall I simply call in the police? You have a choice. Think yourself lucky I don’t hand you straight over. As it is I’m giving you a head start before I get the law down here.’
She blinked hard, her breath coming in sharp little gasps, her chest heaving. She bit at her lower lip as she went over what he’d said. ‘We can be very happy, your father and I. I have waited so long, so long, to find a person
