opposite. ‘Don’t you think so?’
‘How could it? This man—this Robert Dorland—is probably dead by now.’
‘He might not be.’
‘No.’ Marion conceded the fact with ill grace. ‘But what are you going to do? Turn up on his doorstep and expose the secret he’s been keeping all these years: you!’
‘He is my father.’
‘Is he?’
‘Of course he is.’ Isobel stared at her. ‘Surely you don’t think he’d have gone to all that trouble if—’
‘Oh, I’m sure he thought he was your father,’ declared Marion dismissively. ‘But your mother was hardly a paragon of all the virtues, was she? I mean—’ Her lips twisted, and Isobel could almost see what she was thinking. ‘Getting involved with a married man! How do you know she wasn’t lying about your paternity in the hope of making a better life for herself?’
‘Because Robert Dorland wouldn’t even have known he had a daughter if she hadn’t been killed,’ retorted Isobel tersely. ‘For pity’s sake, Marion, what are you implying here?’
‘Well, you don’t know anything about her, do you? She could have been—well, anything.’
Isobel sprang to her feet. ‘I think you’d better go now.’
‘Oh, Isobel, don’t be so melodramatic.’ But Marion got to her feet anyway, clearly aware that she had overstepped the mark. ‘All right. Maybe I’m not being very—sympathetic about her, but you know I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just my way.’
‘Yes.’ Isobel knew Marion’s ways very well. She snatched the bundle of letters out of her sister’s hands and folded them within her arms. ‘Well, I don’t think you’ll be needing these,’ she said, stepping aside so that Marion could walk towards the door. She took a breath. ‘Oh, and here are the keys,’ she added, lifting them off the table by the door. ‘But you’ll have to get Malcolm or somebody else to clear out the rest of the junk. There’s far too much for me to handle.’
‘Isobel…’
Marion tried again to placate her sister, but Isobel had had as much as she could take for one day. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ she said, guiltily, aware that she was planning to leave town without giving her sister her new address. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
Marion took the keys and left, but after she’d gone Isobel found herself in tears again. Dammit, she thought, what was wrong with her? The sooner she got out of Newcastle the better.
She’d barely dried her eyes before Michelle arrived. Her friend came into the apartment looking at Isobel with anxious eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’
Isobel sighed. ‘Don’t ask.’
‘Jared Kendall,’ said Michelle disgustedly, taking off her jacket. ‘Honestly, Issy, I thought you were going to be sensible about him.’
‘I am being sensible.’
‘Oh, right.’ Michelle flicked her neck with a sardonic finger. ‘So what’s this? A mosquito bite?’
Isobel covered the mark Jared’s teeth had made with defensive fingers. ‘Jared hasn’t upset me,’ she denied. ‘It was Marion, if you must know.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Michelle flopped down onto the sofa, spreading her ample bulk over both cushions. ‘So what’s she done now?’
Isobel hesitated. ‘I found some old letters in the loft today.’
‘Big deal.’ Michelle pulled a face. ‘Isn’t that what you usually find in lofts? Old papers; old letters; junk? What’s that got to do with the green-eyed monster?’
‘The letters were from my father.’
‘So?’
Isobel sighed. ‘My real father!’
Michelle frowned. ‘Your real father?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you didn’t know who your real father was.’
‘I didn’t. Until today.’ Isobel looked doubtful. ‘It turns out he was my father’s brother.’
‘Are you serious?’ Michelle’s blue eyes were wide. ‘Holy Moses! And they never told you?’
‘They didn’t tell anyone,’ said Isobel unhappily. ‘My father—my adoptive father, that is—made that a condition when he agreed to take me.’
Michelle still looked confused. ‘But I didn’t know your father had a brother.’
‘Nor did I.’
‘And your real mother—?’
‘She’s still dead.’ Isobel looked wistful now. ‘It turns out that when she was killed the authorities discovered that she’d named Robert Dorland as—as my father.’
‘Robert Dorland?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So where is he now?’
‘I’m not sure. At the time the letters were written, he was living at somewhere called Tregarth Hall in Polgarron. That’s in Cornwall.’
‘Cornwall?’
‘Mmm.’ Isobel nodded. ‘It turns out I was born in London, not Newcastle.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Michelle was amazed.
‘Of course, the facts of—of my adoption are the same. My mother was still unmarried at the time I was born. Her—association with my father was very brief.’
She was feeling weepy again now, and when she turned away to go into the kitchen Michelle sprang up from the couch and went after her. ‘Hey,’ she said, putting her arm about the other woman’s shoulders. ‘It’s nothing to cry about. At least you know who you are now.’
‘Do I?’
‘Sure you do.’ Michelle sighed, searching for the right words. ‘Are you telling me Marion knew about this all along?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Isobel drew away from her, pulling a tissue out of the box she kept on the counter and blowing her nose before going on. ‘She seemed as shocked as me.’
‘Then, what—?’
‘Oh, it was something and nothing,’ said Isobel tiredly. ‘She suggested that Robert Dorland might not be my father after all. That my mother might just have used his name—’
‘To what advantage?’
‘That’s what I said,’ said Isobel eagerly. ‘I mean, if she hadn’t been killed, he would never have known.’
‘Precisely.’
