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I pull myself back to the present, look around: the small paved area just outside the door is gray and bare, the grass patchy, the fences leaning inward. I have no memories of playing in this tiny garden except perhaps once, with a shiny green skipping rope Papa gave me for a birthday.
I make myself something to eat and carry it through to the dining room. It’s been a long day, I can feel my body shutting down. Maybe here, in my childhood home, I’ll finally be able to sleep.
Upstairs, I find bedding in the chest of drawers in Papa’s room, where I’d stored them before leaving. They smell musty. I don’t know if the washing machine still works and I’m too tired to find out so I lie down on the mattress in my childhood bed and pull my blanket over me. The curtains are drawn and the door closed, but I can still see the shelf on the opposite wall, the line of books wedged between my jewelry box and an old biscuit tin, where I kept other treasures. I close my eyes; it’s been a week since I was freed and I’ve barely slept more than an hour or two at a time.
Tomorrow, I decide, I’ll walk to the local shops, buy garbage bags, go through the house, sort out the clothes I left behind, take what I can to charity shops, and put the rest into recycling. After my meeting with Mr. Barriston on Monday, I’ll go into the center of Reading andbuy new everything: bedding and towels and crockery and cutlery. I’ll strip the wallpaper from my bedroom and paint the walls the palest of blues, to remind me of my room at Carolyn’s.
Tears burn my throat. I can’t think of Carolyn without wanting to cry so I turn my thoughts to Lukas, about my plans to find him. And then I think of my abductor, wondering where he is, and what he is doing.
CHAPTER TEN
I’m curious to meet Mr. Barriston, to have this connection to my past. He knew my father; Paul said they’d been friends. I wish I’d known that Papa had had a friend; it would have made me happy to know that he hadn’t spent all day, every day in his armchair in the sitting room, that sometimes he’d met with Mr. Barriston. And then I feel guilty; I can’t remember ever asking Papa about his day. Maybe if I had, he would have told me.
Anthony Barriston ushers me into his office, offers me a seat and coffee, which he makes himself from a machine behind his desk. This gives me time to study him. He seems to be about the same age as Paul Carr, late forties or early fifties, with a full head of thick black hair and matching eyebrows. He has a kind, open face that makes me instantly warm to him.
“I’m so glad to meet you at last, Amelie,” he says, once he’s served the coffee. “I’m very sorry for your recent loss and of course, about your father. I’d seen him about a month before he passed away. I had no idea the end would come so swiftly. I was away on vacation at the time and I feel terrible that I wasn’t there to tell you about your father’s will. Wesearched for you extensively, and I had you listed as missing. But not one person came forward to say that they’d seen you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “If I’d known about you, and the house, I’d never have left.”
“And you managed on your own in London?”
My throat tightens. “I was lucky, I met some lovely people, they were like family to me.”
He smiles. “I’m glad you didn’t have to face any real hardship. Especially when your father provided so well for you.”
“He never told me he’d bought the house, so it was such a shock to know it was mine. I think I’ll probably end up selling it. I want to go to college to study law, and with the money from the house, I could hopefully do it next year.”
“Then, in that case, I’m delighted to tell you that if you don’t want to sell the house, you won’t have to. Your father also left you a substantial amount of money.”
I stare at him. “Money?”
“Yes. I don’t know if you’re aware, but your father sued the hospital in France for negligence, in relation to the deaths of your mother and baby brother.”
“Yes, of course. But nothing ever happened.”
“Well, I’m delighted to tell you that the hospital finally admitted liability, and that you were named as the beneficiary of any settlement.”
“But—when did that happen?” I ask, my mind spinning. “When did they settle?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “About a month after your father died.”
“So he never knew?” Tears fill my eyes and I dig in my pocket for a tissue. “This is awful. That’s all he wanted, an acknowledgment from the hospital that they had been negligent. Why couldn’t they have accepted responsibility sooner? They must have known he was ill, I’m sure his lawyer in France would have told them.”
“I’m sorry, Amelie, I don’t know the full circumstances.”
I scrunch the tissue in my fingers, fighting anger and frustration.“What I don’t understand is why he never told me he’d bought the house. It would have made so much difference.”
“I think he would have, if he’d known the end was imminent. Would you like me to go through the details of the settlement from the hospital trust with you?”
“Please, if you have the time.”
I spend another hour with Mr. Barriston, and by the end of it, I’m so tired I can hardly think straight. I have money, more than I’ll ever need. I should be happy, Mr. Barriston had expected me to be happy, but I’m not. I’m too angry, angry at the hospital for taking so long, angry that Papa died never knowing he had won. I don’t deserve this money anyway, not after what I agreed to with Ned.
“Take care of yourself, Amelie,” Mr. Barriston says as I leave.
“I will, thank you.” I turn to look at him. “Can I ask you something? Did you ever come to the house? It’s just that it would make a difference if I knew that my father had had a friend.”
“No, not to the house. But we were definitely friends. I saw him on several occasions, here in the office, and we sometimes had lunch. He was a very good man.”
