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“Look, Nicola darling, I cannot talk to you about this over the telephone. Just come here a.s.a.p. please.”
“Come on, Mother, out with it. Did you give them my photograph? What is going on... is this some kind of a hoax? Because I can tell you now that I am not amused!”
“Please, Nicky… there are… things. Oh dear, I mustseeyou…talkto you. I can’t do this over the telephone. Just throw some bits and bobs into a bag and Jenkins will be there shortly. Nicky? Nicola? Do you hear me? Are you still there, darling?”
“What thehellis going on, Mother?”
“I left several messages at your firm today asking you to contact me.”
Yes, I know, and I ignored them all, just as I always do when I am at work.I knew from past experience what sort of trivia my mother considered important. I dragged a hand through my damp hair. I didn’t know what to think. My blasted mother, what had she done now? Knowing that I would get nowhere questioning her over the telephone, I acquiesced.
“I’ll be with you shortly… oh, and, Mother?”
“Yes, dear?”
“This had better be good!”
I slammed down the phone and wrapped my arms around myself, shut my eyes and shuddered. All day I had felt off-key, sort of unbalanced with an overpowering sense of impending doom. What was this piece about me on the news and how had they gotten hold of a photograph of me? Mother perhaps was trying to impress some friend or other, but it seemed incredible and unlikely that a news researcher had allowed some sort of practical joke. I hurried into my bedroom to pack an overnight bag.
After the short drive to my mother’s house, Jenkins carried my hold all up the steps and into the hall; I knew that insisting that I carry my own bag was a complete waste of breath. Jenkins had been with my mother for the last fifteen years. He was a gentle, shy Welsh man with a will of iron and a heart of butter. He adored my silly mother. He was happily married to my mother’s housekeeper-cook, Dilys. Between them, the pair cosseted and spoiled my selfish and infuriating mother. She, in return for their loyalty, bought them a cottage in Wales so that they could be near their family. They spent holidays and the odd weekend up there, generally when my mother was away herself. The plan was to retire there together, but I privately think it unlikely that they will ever leave my mother, so devoted are they to her. However, I hope they will because they deserve time to themselves after the years spent chasing around after the extremely demanding Susan St. Clare.
Knowing that my mother would be in her drawing room, I headed up the stairs. Out of habit, I tapped lightly on the door before entering. She called out, her voice wavering slightly, “Nicola is that you, darling? Come in, do.”
Standing before the fake log fire was my mother. Her slight, straight body was clothed in black and her perfectly made up face looked pale. From the doorway, I could see that she had been crying. “Mother, are you feeling quite all right... whatever is wrong?” My anger towards her dissipated with concern; shenevercried. Quickly, I crossed the room and hugged her small frame. She allowed me that brief contact, even leaning into me slightly before stepping deftly away.
“Sit down, Nicola, please, what I have to tell you won’t be easy for either of us.” I did as she asked, taking a seat next to the fire, grateful on this occasion for the overly warm room and comforting blaze. My mother stood and smoothed her hands nervously down her Jaeger skirted hips. She stood turned away from me as she began to talk in a low voice. I felt uneasy at her obvious distress as my mother was normally always so very sure of herself. This behavior was not like her at all.
After a few false starts, she began again in that strained voice. “I married very young you see, very rashly in a whirlwind of romance. Not a suitable man, my father said, and that was putting it rather politely.”
“Not cool, Mother. I know all this, please just tell me why my picture was on the news bulletin tonight!”
“Nicola, please be patient. I have to tell you the whole story. Just listen please and stop interrupting me. Where was I? Ah yes, your father. He was a bear of a man—a veritable giant—larger than life in every way. In his laugh, his capacity for joy, his gargantuan appetite, oh how that man could eat and make… hmm, anyway, he had tremendous drive and energy.” She fell silent, lost in thought.
Confused, I waited. As far as I knew, my father had never been described thus before. He was rarely mentioned while I was growing up. I had assumed his death had been a huge blow to my mother, one that meant she could not bring herself to mention his name due to the weight of her grief. As I grew older, I refrained from asking questions about him out of consideration for her feelings. When I was about six-years-old, my maternal grandparents had died in a car accident while on holiday on the continent. Thus, I had no close family to question about my father. I had been told that his parents had died before I was born.
Suddenly, she swung around to face me and looked at me with such a strange and wistful expression. “Forgive me, Nicola,” she pleaded softly. Alarmed, I stood up but she shook her head at me and flapped her hand, indicating that I should stay where I was. I lowered myself back into the chair.
“Mother, you must tell me what the matter is. I can’t help you unless you tell me what is wrong.”
She walked over and lifted her hand to my cheek, resting it there in an uncharacteristic caress. “My darling, I have lied to you... oh for the very best of intentions, but I have lied nonetheless. I do hope you will understand that when I explain to you…”
“Explain what? Just tell me, Mother!”
Taking a deep breath and straightening up, she said, “Your father isnotdead, Nicola. He is very much alive and is on his way over from the United States to meet with you.” I stared at her in shock. My fatheralive... on his way to meet me? How and... why?
I realized that I was standing beside the fireside chair with no recollection of moving there. My mother walked to the drinks table and poured me a drink. When she handed me a glass of scotch, I took it gratefully even though I only usually drank wine. I took comfort from a mouthful of amber liquid, which warmed me through.
“Nicky there is more… but first let me tell you that I love you more than anyone in the world and that I would not deliberately hurt you for anything. Nicola?”
I roused myself and stared at her, was this the mother I thought I knew so well? I shivered. “What is his name—my father?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Carl Keedon.”
“Not the motel millionaire?” Keedon Motels were situated in every state of America; the distinctive C.K. interwoven logo a familiar sight to travelers. The appeal was universal, people knew what to expect from a Keedon motel. Each room was decorated in the same way using the same color scheme. The menu offered the same choices whether you were in California or New Hampshire. The quality was consistently good and affordable. It was a new idea, a motel chain identical in every way, throughout every state. It was a highly profitable venture that had turned Carl Keedon into a millionaire.
My mother continued. “That’s right. Carl and I met at the Torrington’s end-of-war celebration party. As soon as I saw Carl, I knew I had to have him. Today, we would have simply had a torrid affair and gone our separate ways, but our parents were such a strong influence on both of us, and so we were married. We lived on his parents’ ranch in Arizona and, at first, everything was fine. At that time, he was at the very beginning of his business venture. I travelled with him whenever he was away on business trips investigating suitable locations to build his motels. Then a year after our marriage, I discovered that I was pregnant. Carl was an old-fashioned sort, pig headed and stubborn; he stopped me travelling with him. I was to stay on the ranch with his mother. Well, you know me, darling, I need people, not cows, and I became lonely and bored. I would have followed him on his travels regardless, except that the doctor discovered… something… rather unusual about my pregnancy.”
She faltered and reached for her drink, and to my amazement, she downed her glass of scotch in one swallow. She carefully replaced the glass on the small table. “You see, darling, I was expecting twins and I had to rest all the time.” She stopped speaking and looked at me. I stared back at her not allowing any thought into my mind—I didn’t dare to think.
