‘Pour yourself a cup of tea first.’
That Walter fellow was right, Isabel thought, spying him across the room. He was reclining on a two-seater with a book, looking like an old-time movie star and she waved over. Constance was dramatic. She’d have done well in the theatre biz.
‘Don’t encourage him.’
‘Why not? I think he’s very dashing.’
Constance flushed beneath her powdered cheeks. ‘Just pour your tea and stop fraternizing with the menfolk young lady.’
Isabel grinned and did as she was told. Stirring the milk in she said, ‘Right, what’s this proposition of yours then?’
‘I want you to have Molly’s journal.’
Isabel gasped and nearly dropped her teacup. She hadn’t expected that.
‘I want you to cherish it as I have, Isabel, and to look after it—keep it safe. When the time comes as it has for me, I want you to find the right person to pass it on to. You’ll know who, just like I do.’
‘Wow, thank you, Constance; I’m honoured.’ Isabel breathed, but Constance held her hand up.
‘My passing on her journal to you comes with a condition. There’s something I want you to do.’
‘What’s that then?’
‘Isabel Stark, you have a gift, and its time you acknowledged it. You need to stop being frightened of trying to become the best you can be. Life, my dear is too short for procrastination. Take that from someone who has reached the other end, and knows. With that said, I want you to look into taking your interest in natural healing further—get a qualification. The days of being self-taught like I was, with a little help from Molly, of course, are long since gone.’
Isabel put her teacup back on the saucer. ‘Have you been talking to Delwyn?’
Constance had the grace to look a little sheepish. ‘I have, and we both agree. You’re one of us, Isabel, that rare breed of woman who has been put on this earth to help heal others.’
Isabel thought about it; she liked that analogy. She was a healer. Yes, she liked it a lot. She couldn’t stop the grin that had spread across her face. ‘Constance, I haven’t told anyone else yet. I was waiting until my place was confirmed, but I’ve put my name down to begin studying for a diploma in naturopathy through the College of Natural Medicine in London.’
Constance looked delighted as she took a bite of her biscuit. ‘Good for you, Isabel, good for you. That calls for a Malteser my dear. Go on. Open the bag and help yourself.’
Isabel did so, and when she’d finished munching on the chocolate ball, she said, ‘And now, Constance Downer it’s my turn. I have a proposition for you.’
Constance raised an eyebrow.
‘I want us to sit down together and write to Teddy.’
She put the serviette down with more force than was necessary and one or two of the residents glanced over curiously. ‘No.’
‘But Constance—’
‘Isabel, think about it, for goodness sake.’ Her tone was clipped. ‘He might have no idea he is adopted; the shock would be terrible. And I would never burden him with the knowledge of what Ginny did.’
Isabel would not be beaten. ‘Yours and Henry’s love story deserves to be told and what if he does know he’s adopted. What if Ginny told him, or what if he’s always known? You don’t know—you have no idea what his situation is. Ginny wanted to come back to Wight. She was obviously trying to right her wrongs, and perhaps that involved telling Teddy the truth. Or at least a version of the truth. He might have no inkling of where to find you or even how to go about it. Or, worse he may think you don’t want to meet him.’
Constance pursed her lips with an expression Isabel had come to recognize as meaning she was mulling over what she’d just said.
‘We could broach it with Father Christopher; you know the priest who took Ginny’s funeral service. He was good friends with her. He might act as an intermediary and contact Teddy for you to see how the land lies. We can ask him not to mention that Ginny broke her word to you and your family.’
Constance remained silent.
Isabel leaned forward in her seat; she was not letting this go. ‘Constance, you just sat there and told me I had to stop being frightened, and how short life is. Well, now it’s my turn to say the same thing to you.’
Constance eyed her speculatively for a minute longer before dipping her head. It was as close as Isabel was going to get to a go ahead and having come prepared she retrieved her lap top from her bag.
Father Christopher’s email wasn’t hard to find and half an hour later having laid out all that had happened since she had met him at the funeral, Isabel clicked send. ‘It will be about ten p.m. in New Zealand Constance so we may not hear back from him until tomorrow.’ She leaned back in her chair, hoping for both their sakes that Father Christopher would not leave them hanging.
͠
Isabel whiled away a pleasant afternoon with her mum who had brought Prince Charles with her; he was ecstatic to see Isabel. Once she’d got him off her leg, it had been on the tip of her tongue to ask her mum about her birth records. The words had dried in her throat though, as her mum waffled on about the latest outfit the Duchess of Cambridge had worn to some function or other. What if it spoiled a lovely afternoon? She decided she’d wait until she had both parents together. Instead, mother, daughter, and dog did the rounds calling in on Rhodri first. As they left him to tend to a customer, Isabel hissed in her mum’s ear, ‘If you call him a dreamboat one more time,
