Authors: Joanna Rees
‘I’m going to stop running. I’ve been running away from this all my life. And the only way I can fix it is if I stop and go back. To Germany. Back to Schwedt.’
She expected him to be shocked, but he didn’t object. And the look in his eyes gave her all the confirmation that her decision was the right one.
‘I’m going to go to the police and own up – about the fire and the orphanage and Fox.’
Lars let out a soft whistle. ‘I think that’s a very brave thing to do.’
‘It’s the only thing to do,’ her confidence was expanding. ‘I have to tell them what really happened. I have to make them believe that I’m telling the
truth.’
Lars nodded slowly and Romy smiled, amazed that he’d accepted her decision, that he respected her enough to do that, and that he clearly believed in her sufficiently too, that she could
convince the police of her case. But then a frown appeared across his brow.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ he asked.
Romy shook her head, smiling gently at this man who’d done so much for her, touched that he’d offered. ‘You’ve done enough. You have Gretchen. You’re needed here.
Anyway, I think this is something I need to do alone.’
‘You do realize they’ll probably arrest you?’ he said.
She shrugged and sighed. ‘Maybe, but they’ll catch up with me sooner or later. It’ll look better if I hand myself in.’
‘When are you going to go?’
‘Well, now, I suppose. The sooner, the better. Living like this is torture. I have to do this thing. The longer they have Alfie, the worse it’ll be.’
‘Then I’ll contact my friend Tegen Londrom. She’s the best lawyer there is. She’ll help.’
Romy nodded, her head spinning that the plan was already taking shape.
‘How will you get there?’ Lars asked, clearly on the same wavelength.
‘I’m not sure. I don’t think I can fly. I don’t want to risk getting arrested at the airport. And the same goes for train stations too. They’re too public, the
press would be all over them – and I want to actually get there, to the place where it all began.’
‘Take my car.’
‘You have a car?’ she asked.
‘It’s a camper van, but it’s reliable and you can sleep in it, if you need to. Although it might be a bit cold. We’ll get it working, and get you a cheap mobile in the
morning.’
They stared at each other for a moment and Romy realized that her plan had been sealed. She really was going to do it. She was going back to Germany.
Then Lars’s laptop chimed out a tune. ‘OK, now listen, what I’ve got here are comprehensive details of all of Maddox Inc.’s recent transactions, including those of all
its subsidiaries. I’ll start with Italy and everything connected with Scolari, and if we strike out there, I’ll branch out into the rest of their European operations,’ Lars said.
‘It’s going to take time, but I promise you this now, Romy, I’ll ring you the second I get something. And I won’t stop until I’ve nailed these bastards to the
wall.’
November 2009
Michael’s finger pressed against Thea’s, no doubt meaning to reassure her, as he handed her a bone-china cup and saucer in Mrs Myerson’s front parlour.
But Thea didn’t feel reassured. She felt sick with nerves. She tried to still her trembling hands before she spilt scalding tea all over her lap. She still couldn’t believe Michael
had cajoled her into coming here, although she also had to admit that it had initially felt good to get out of New York. To get away from her house, where she’d been holed up since that awful
day she’d announced her resignation just over a month ago.
She wasn’t as raw as she had been, but her fury had distilled into a dull ache of injustice. Brett had humiliated her in front of her staff and colleagues. He’d taken away her power
in the most public way.
Scolari – it was as simple as that. The word seemed to be seared into Thea’s brain. Because no matter how much she tried to tell herself that Brett had acted despicably, the truth
was that he’d also succeeded where she’d failed. How he’d done it, how he’d managed to persuade the Scolaris to do what they’d always sworn they wouldn’t, Thea
guessed she’d never know. But everything she’d been terrified might happen had now happened.
She’d lost.
And Brett had won.
In the devastation that had followed, Michael had been the only person she’d let in. She’d had so little pride left that she’d no longer cared if he saw her at rock bottom.
When she hadn’t shown up for dinner on the night she’d confessed everything to him, he’d come to find her, fighting through the press camped out on her stoop. As she’d
sobbed, pacing back and forth in her kitchen, impotent with fury that she’d been ousted from her position and from the company, he’d listened.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she’d ended up railing at him, her face raw and puffy from crying. ‘I don’t know what I’m meant to do, or even who I am any
more.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘He’s taken everything,’ she’d sobbed.
Michael had been patient, talking her round.
‘You always said you could beat him at his own game,’ he had reminded her.
‘Yeah, well I lost.’
‘Only because he knows more than you. It’s information, Thea, that’s the key.’
‘I have no access to information. They’ve shut me out of Maddox Inc. I’ve been fired. I can’t even access any of my computer files.’
Michael had rubbed his brow, taking a different tack. ‘That letter Brett sent you and what he then told you – about the fact that your parents hadn’t even adopted you –
maybe now’s the time to get to the bottom of it . . .’
Thea had stared at him. Did he think a distraction like that mattered. Now? When
this
had happened?
‘I wouldn’t even know where to start,’ she’d cried.
But Michael had been patient. ‘I’m only bringing it up because I called Mom earlier. Whenever I mention you, she always says that Dr Myerson will come.’
Thea had remembered, then, that she’d heard Michael’s mother saying that exact same thing herself.
‘She says it over and over,’ Michael had continued. ‘I think that’s where we should start. Maybe he knew something about where you really came from.’
‘Even if he did,’ Thea said, ‘he died years ago. It’s hopeless.’
But Michael hadn’t given up. And that was how Thea came to be sitting here in Dr Myerson’s widow’s front room today, with its polished French windows overlooking a perfectly
manicured garden and white picket fence.
‘Herbie adored your father, Thea,’ Mrs Myerson said, glancing at the black-and-white photograph of Dr Myerson on the mantelpiece as she poured herself a cup of tea from a blue and
white Dalton pot.
Thea remembered the gentle doctor who’d daubed calamine lotion on her and Michael when they’d both got chickenpox as kids. And how he’d always stopped in for tea and cake with
Michael’s mother in the kitchen at Little Elms.
‘I’d like to ask you some questions about my parents,’ Thea said. Again she glanced at Michael. His soft eyes beamed encouragement and resolution. And he was right: it was too
late to back out now.
‘Ah, yes. Poor Alyssa. She was so fragile,’ Mrs Myerson said, pouring the last cup of tea for herself. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. She shooed her little dog from her
armchair and sat down.
‘I know that she . . . well’ – Thea spat the words out – ‘probably wouldn’t have been able to have children of her own. Not after the baby she had in
England.’
Adelaide Myerson looked up at Thea, surprised. ‘You do?’ she slowly said, her pale cheeks colouring with a fresh influx of blood.
‘And I know that my father couldn’t have children, either. And we’ve also checked . . . ’ Thea’s voice faltered. She felt suddenly ashamed, as if she’d
somehow betrayed Griffin Maddox’s memory by speaking his secret out loud.
‘What Thea’s trying to say,’ Michael said, ‘is that we’ve checked the official adoption records. And as well as knowing that Thea’s parents couldn’t
have had children together—’
‘We know that I wasn’t adopted, either,’ Thea said, regaining her voice, determined once more to see this through.
What she’d said was true. She’d checked with the National Adoption Agency. With Michael at her side, prepared to support her, no matter what she’d found. Except that
she’d found nothing. There’d been no record of Thea on any of their files. Or any of the international databases that the agency had gone on to cross-reference on her behalf.
Brett had been right. Thea had never been officially adopted by the Maddoxes at all. Which had made for an even grimmer revelation. Because if Thea hadn’t been adopted, then how had she
come into their lives?
God only knows where they got you from, Thea
. Brett’s words echoed in her mind.
Mrs Myerson shook her head and blew a stream of air out through her thin, painted lips. Her hands had clenched into fists. As she looked back at Thea, Thea felt her whole body tense. The old
woman’s eyes were heavy with fear and regret.
‘They
couldn’t
adopt,’ she said. ‘Not legally. Not with Alyssa’s mental-health record. She’d tried to commit suicide, you see.’
Suicide?
Alyssa Maddox had tried to kill herself. That wonderful, positive woman who’d been Thea’s mother. Who
still
felt like her mother, she realized, in spite of all
that she’d learnt.
‘She went into a dark depression early on in her marriage. The drugs they had to correct such problems, they were much less effective in those days. And so when she and Griffin discovered
they couldn’t conceive together, they were left with no hope,’ Mrs Myerson explained. ‘The adoption authorities wouldn’t even let them register.’
‘So what happened?’ Thea’s voice sounded empty, distant, as if it was playing on a radio in another room.
‘Herbie knew the situation was desperate. He offered to help. And he knew how to. He had a second cousin, Walchez, in East Germany. One who could find abandoned babies. Babies who needed a
good home. No questions asked.’
No questions asked.
The phrase sounded so casual, so normal – the kind of phrase you’d use about an item of commerce. A nothing. Something that was traded. Thea stared at Mrs
Myerson, aghast. Was that what she’d been?
‘Herbie made the arrangements. His cousin’s wife, Rena, turned up here one day with you in a little yellow blanket. You were so tiny. You’d lost weight on the boat on the
journey over here. You know . . . I think I’ve still got that blanket somewhere. Herbie insisted in taking you to Alyssa in a clean one, but it felt wrong to throw it away.’
Thea could barely take in what she was saying. ‘But what about my real parents? Do you know who they were?’
My real parents.
In East Germany.
The country I was born in.
A country that no longer exists.
Mrs Myerson smiled desperately at Thea. ‘You have to understand – where you came from . . . you were not wanted. But here . . . never had a baby been wanted so much. Your parents
were overjoyed, Thea. You must know that. They wanted you so desperately. They gave you love, Thea. They gave you everything.’
Except the truth.
There were tears in the old lady’s eyes now, but all Thea felt was anger.
‘Please,’ Mrs Myerson implored, ‘don’t judge me. My husband thought he was doing the right thing – he only wanted to help . . .’
But Thea couldn’t look at her. Not any more. She couldn’t look at this woman who knew what her own husband had done. This woman whose husband had moved babies from the East to the
West, from the poor to the rich. This woman whose husband had stolen away Thea’s life.
Thea watched Michael walking down the street towards her. She was waiting for him in the old-fashioned diner on the corner. She’d not been able to stay in Mrs
Myerson’s perfect home a second longer. She couldn’t have trusted herself. She’d wanted to smash her china teacup across the pristine primrose wall. She’d wanted to tear
that photo of Dr Myerson in two. She’d wanted to destroy everything he’d ever cared for, the way he’d once destroyed her.
Michael slid onto the red leather banquette beside her in the booth. She saw that he had a plastic bag in his hand.
‘Still livid?’ he asked.
She didn’t answer. If she opened her mouth she’d just scream.
‘I don’t think what they did was right, Thea. But I don’t know if that makes them bad.’
‘He was a child-trafficker.’
‘The way she sees it, her husband was doing the right thing by saving an unwanted baby. By giving you a new life.’
‘But what if I wasn’t unwanted? Thea said. That was at the heart of it. Whose word did she have for that? Some cousin of Herbie Myerson? Some East German guy called Walchez? For all
she knew, he might have kidnapped her. Her real mother and father might have spent the last thirty-eight years wondering where she was and praying that she’d come back.
Michael stared at her. ‘What are you saying?’
‘No past, no paperwork? There has to be a reason I was smuggled out in such an underhand way.’
‘You heard what she said. It was a “no questions asked” kind of deal.’
There it is again
, she thought. That handy, catch-all phrase. That broom with which to sweep dirt nicely out of sight.
‘Yeah, well, now I’m asking the questions,’ Thea said. ‘And I’m going to damn well find out. We can’t give up, Michael, you’ve got to promise me
that,’ she said, grabbing onto his hands.
He nodded and stared out of the window, back down the street towards the Myerson house.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Listen, I’ve been planning on going back to Germany to see some of my colleagues at Landstuhl. I could look up this Walchez guy – see if there are
any records on him. I have a few contacts in the military police who might have access to some old East German records. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll try.’
‘I’m never going to give up,’ Thea told him, meaning it with all her heart. ‘Not until I’ve uncovered the truth.’
Michael handed it to her then. The bag he was holding.
‘What is it?’ Thea said.