she filled the kettle in the kitchen.
‘Maybe.’ Zoe frowned. ‘It was one of those things I always meant to ask about, but never did.’
‘So, when are you being evicted?’ Adele asked as they sat at the kitchen table, drinking their tea.
‘I have to be out by the end of the month,’ Zoe admitted. ‘And she means it.’
‘Hmm.’ Adele was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Do you think she really is crazy?’
‘Not certifiably,’ Zoe said wryly. ‘Just totally irrational where my mother is concerned.’
‘Well, maybe that’s not entirely her fault,’ Adele said meditatively. ‘My gran remembers her as a child, and she said she was a nice-looking kid, and the apple of her parents’ eye. Then your sister came along, as an afterthought, and immediately she was the favourite. And “the pretty one”, too.’
She shrugged. ‘That can’t have been very nice. And not easy for any kid to handle. So, maybe it’s just common or garden jealousy.’
‘From Queen of the Castle to the Queen in Snow White?’ Zoe pondered. ‘Well, you could be right, but I have the feeling there’s more to it than that.’
‘And it won’t help that you’re the image of your mum at the same age.’ Adele poured more tea into her mug. ‘Though they weren’t always bad friends—according to Gran, anyway,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘There was a time when they did things together—even went away on holiday. Although even then your aunt behaved more as if she was her mother than her sister by all accounts.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Maybe that’s what caused the trouble.’
She paused. ‘So what are you going to do? How are you going to manage, if she’s turning you out?’
Zoe grimaced. ‘I’m going to have to find a flat—unfurnished.’
‘Or even a small house. You’ll miss the garden.’
‘Yes.’ Zoe’s lip quivered suddenly. ‘Among so many other things.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘Maybe Aunt Megan’s doing me a favour. I’d just been thinking that my life could do with a whole new direction. This could be exactly the impetus I need. I might even move right away from here.’
‘Some place where the wicked Queen can’t barge in, using her own key,’ Adele agreed. ‘Although I’d miss you.’
‘Well, I won’t be going immediately.’ Zoe wrinkled her nose. ‘My contract stipulates one full term’s notice. But I can be looking—and planning.’
‘You don’t think some prince on a white horse is going to gallop up and rescue you?’ Adele asked, deadpan.
One already tried, thought Zoe, but he drives a Metro, and always stays inside the speed limit. And, anyway, I’m not sure who’d be rescuing whom…
‘Not in Bishops Cross,’ she returned, also straight-faced. ‘White horses can’t cope with the one-way traffic system.’
She finished her tea, and put the mug in the sink. ‘I’d better arrange to have my mother’s things taken out and stored in the short term,’ she mused aloud. ‘Aunt Megan mentioned a skip,’ she added with a touch of grimness. ‘And I’d put nothing past her.’
‘Not after that picture,’ said Adele. ‘Pity about that. Nice and bright, I always thought.’
‘It’s not terminally damaged—just needs a new frame. I’ll take it in with me tomorrow.’
‘It’ll be awkward on the bus. And there’s a framing shop a couple of doors from where Jeff works. Why don’t I ask him to drop it off for you on his way to work? Then you can pop round in your lunch break and choose another frame. Just tie a bit of paper and string round it, and I’ll take it with me now.’
‘Oh, Adele, that would be kind.’
Adele had always been a good neighbour, Zoe reflected as she hunted for the string. And, after Aunt Megan, her cheerful practicality was balm to the spirit.
‘She’s made a real mess of it,’ Adele commented grimly as Zoe went back into the sitting room. ‘Even the backing’s torn away.’ She tried to smooth it back into place, and paused. ‘Just a minute. There’s something down inside it. Look.’ She delved into the back of the picture, and came up with a bulky and clearly elderly manilla envelope.
She handed it to Zoe who stood, weighing it in her hands, staring down at it with an odd feeling of unease.
‘Well, aren’t you going to open it?’ Adele prompted after a moment. She laughed. ‘If it was me, I couldn’t wait.’
‘Yes,’ Zoe said, slowly. ‘I—I suppose so. But the fact is, it has been waiting—for a pretty long time, by the look of it. And, as my mother must have put it there, I’m wondering why she didn’t tell me about it—if she wanted me to find it, that is.’
Adele shrugged. ‘I expect she forgot about it.’
‘How could she? It’s been hanging there over the mantelpiece ever since she moved here—a constant reminder.’ Zoe shook her head. ‘It’s something she wanted to keep secret, Adele, when I didn’t think we had any secrets between us.’ She tried to smile. ‘And that’s come as a bit of a shock.’
Adele patted her on the shoulder. ‘It’s been quite a day for them. Why don’t I leave you in peace while you decide what to do? You can bring the picture round later on, if you still want it re-framing.’
Left to herself, Zoe sank down on the sofa. There was no message on the envelope, she realised. No ‘For my daughter’ or ‘To be opened in the event of my death’.
This was something that had remained hidden and private in Gina Lambert’s life. And if Aunt Megan hadn’t totally lost it, and thrown the picture on the floor, it would probably have stayed that way.
Maybe that was how it should be left. Maybe she should respect her mother’s tacit wish, and put it in the bin unopened.
Yet if I do that, Zoe thought, I shall always wonder…
With sudden resolution, she tore open the envelope and extracted the contents. There was quite an assortment, ranging from a bulky legal-looking document to some photographs.
She unfolded the document first, her brows snapping together as she realised it was written in a foreign language. Greek, she thought in bewilderment as she studied the unfamiliar alphabet. It’s in Greek, of all things. Why on earth would Mother have such a thing?
She put it down, and began to examine the photographs. Most of them seemed to be local scenes—a village street lined with white houses—a market, its stalls groaning with fruit—an old woman in black, leading a donkey laden with firewood.
One, however, was completely different. A garden guarded by tall cypresses, and a man, casually dressed in shorts and a shirt, standing beneath one of the trees. His face was in shadow, but some instinct told her that he was not English, and that he was looking back at whoever was holding the camera, and smiling.
And she knew, without question, that
