I can’t let go. For so long I have been waiting for hope, and then hope has come along for ten seconds only to be dashed again. ‘Where would she have gone? Did she ever give you any clues as to where she might end up? She must have.’
‘I don’t know. Honestly, I just don’t know.’
‘Did she talk about places?’
‘She’d travelled. She talked about places she’d been. She’d been to Canada.’
‘Canada? Where? Toronto? I was in Toronto.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. She’d also spent a lot of time in Scotland, I think. Her voice was very Scottish. I think she’d travelled around, though. Through Europe.’
‘Do you think she’s in London?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’
I sit back. Try to think. I am simultaneously relieved that Marion is still alive – or had been until recently – and worried for whatever torments she has known.
I wonder if the society has caught up with her. I wonder if someone has tried to silence her. I wonder if Hendrich knows about this and hasn’t told me. I wonder if someone has taken her. The institute in Berlin. Or someone else.
‘Listen, Mary,’ I say, before I leave, ‘I think it’s important that you don’t talk about the past any more. It may have been dangerous for Marion, and it is dangerous for you. You can think about it. But it’s dangerous to talk about your age.’
She winces at some invisible pain as she shifts, with careful effort, in her seat. A minute goes by. She is mulling my words, and dismissing them.
‘I loved someone once. A woman. I loved her madly. Do you understand? We were together, in secret, for nearly twenty years. And we were told we couldn’t talk about that love . . . because it was dangerous. It was dangerous to love.’
I nod. I understand.
‘There comes a time when the only way to start living is to tell the truth. To be who you really are, even if it is dangerous.’
I hold Mary’s hand. ‘You have helped me more than you know.’
One of the nurses comes over and asks if I want a cup of tea and I say I am fine.
And then I ask Mary, in a low voice, ‘Have you ever heard of the Albatross Society?’
‘No. Can’t say I have.’
‘Well, just be careful. Please, don’t talk about, you know . . .’
I look at the clock on the wall. It is a quarter to three. In three hours’ time I need to be on a plane to Dubai, en route to Sydney.
‘Be careful,’ I tell Mary.
She shakes her head. Closes her eyes. Her sigh sounds closer to a cat’s hiss. ‘I am too old to be scared any more. I am too old to lie.’ She leans forward in her chair, and clasps her walking stick until her knuckles whiten. ‘And so are you.’
I step outside and phone Hendrich.
‘Tom? How are things?’
‘Did you know she was alive?’
‘Who?’
‘Marion.Marion.Have you found her? Did you know?’
‘Tom, calm down. No, Tom. Have you got a lead?’
‘She is alive. She was at a hospital in Southall. And then she disappeared.’
