Bay of Secrets (25 page)

*

Later that same day, there was a minor emergency in the medical ward and Sister Julia had to run for Dr Lopez. He should have been present anyway. Not that it was for Sister Julia to say, but the woman was clearly in some difficulty and considerable pain. And the baby was breeched. The midwife was doing her best, but there was another woman also in labour and the doctor was required.

Sister Julia was so flustered that she rushed into his consulting room without knocking – the first time she had ever done this.

She stopped in her tracks. What was happening?

A woman was standing by the narrow bed where the doctor carried out his examinations. And yet it was not the time for appointments. And there was no nurse in attendance.

Sister Julia recognised her as a regular patient, however. She was one of the women who had been coming to the clinic regularly for some months, one of the women whom Sister Julia had never herself attended during an examination. And now she could see why – though in truth she could scarcely believe her eyes.

‘Sister Julia!’ thundered Dr Lopez. ‘What in God’s name do you think you are doing? You know the rules. You knock before you enter the room. And you wait for my invitation to do so.’

The woman quickly moved behind a screen. But not before Sister Julia had seen what the doctor was doing. He had been attaching some padding to her underclothing – or at least that was what it had looked like. But why? It made no sense.

‘I am sorry, doctor,’ Sister Julia said. She looked down at the brown tiles on the floor. ‘But you are needed in the medical room as a matter of urgency.’

He clicked his tongue. ‘Even so … ’ he muttered. ‘Even so.’

He spoke gently to the woman. ‘Do not worry,’ he said. ‘I will be back shortly.’ And he marched out of the consulting room, propelling Sister Julia along with him.

She did not know what to think. Was the
señora
not pregnant? And if she was not then why was she trying to appear to be?

‘Do you trust me, Sister Julia?’ Dr Lopez asked on the way to the medical room. ‘Do you trust me in all things?’

Sister Julia looked into his eyes. He reminded her of a bird of prey – he always had. ‘Of course, Dr Lopez,’ she said. Was it a lie? Indeed, she was not sure. She had tried not to doubt him. Over the years she had tried more than she could say. She knew he only wanted to do what was best. And that was why she stayed at the clinic. That and the fact that she wanted
to continue her work of supporting the women. She let out a silent prayer.
May God forgive me.

He took her hand and patted it. But his touch was not warm as she expected, but cool and smooth as marble. ‘You are a good girl,’ he said. ‘I knew you would understand.’

*

Sister Julia saw that woman a few times afterwards when she came to the clinic. But she did not attend her and was not asked to be present during her examinations.

‘The
señora
is a personal friend,’ Dr Lopez told her after one such visit. ‘I cannot tell you more. But she is a good woman. Rest assured. She has fostered needy and damaged children for short periods as a favour to the local priest. Many times she has done this for no material reward.’ He retreated behind his desk and grasped the crucifix with both hands. ‘She will get her reward in heaven,’ he muttered. ‘If not before.’

‘Very good, doctor,’ said Sister Julia. She was glad that the
señora
was a good woman. But it was not her business. Her business was to do all she could to help both the women and the children. This – she hoped – was truly God’s work.

When the time came for what was referred to as the
señ-ora
’s confinement, she came to the clinic but she did not enter the medical ward, only a private room. Sister Julia was not asked to attend to her. The only person who saw her was Dr Lopez.

The following morning, Sister Julia arrived at the clinic, only to hear that there had been another death.
Glory
. There
were too many infant deaths. What did it mean? She did not want to imagine. She could only suppose that conditions were getting worse in her beloved country, that there was more malnutrition, more disease, a higher fatality in newborns.

Dr Lopez was worried by it too. He had recently decreed that some women should be sedated before they gave birth, particularly those prone to hysteria or who were highly strung. ‘It will make the procedure much easier,’ he said. But for whom?

When Sister Julia arrived at her bedside, the woman who had given birth was still sobbing. She had just been told that her child had been stillborn.

‘We tried to revive him,’ the doctor muttered to Sister Julia, ‘but it was not to be.’

He turned to the woman, who clung on to his sleeve as if he had the power to bring her baby back from the dead. ‘Please, please … ’ she begged. Her speech was slurred. She hardly seemed to know what was happening.

Sister Julia could not bear to listen. She stroked the woman’s hair and tried to comfort her. But she seemed to be performing this duty far too often these days. It scared her.

‘God has chosen him.’ The doctor’s voice shook with emotion. ‘He has chosen him and He has taken him to heaven.’

‘But what shall I do?’ the woman cried. ‘What shall I do?’

‘Do not be anxious, my dear,’ the doctor said. ‘We will
take care of everything for you. You will not have to worry about a thing.’

Not worry? Sister Julia supposed that he was trying his best. But surely he could be a little more tactful? The poor woman had just lost her child.

‘We will even organise the funeral service,’ he said. ‘And pay for it too. You must focus on growing strong again.’

Sister Julia sighed. She was aware that the doctor wanted things seen to quickly and without undue fuss and attention. She knew that he thought it best for all concerned. He even advised that mothers did not attend the funeral of their own child. And unsurprisingly, most mothers did not dare to argue with him. He was after all a doctor, and as the reverend mother had once reminded Sister Julia, a pillar of society.

‘Thank you, doctor,’ the woman said. And she collapsed against the pillows. She had been sedated, Sister Julia could see that. And naturally she was grateful. How could these women afford to bear the cost of a funeral when they had so little?

After the woman had gone to sleep, Sister Julia went to the private room which had been reserved for the
señora
, the friend of Dr Lopez. The door was open and the room was empty. She had gone. Already she had gone.

What could she do? Was there nothing she could do? Was there no one she could tell? Sister Julia thought about this long and hard and when she returned to the serenity of Santa Ana that evening she prayed to God for guidance.

She had tried to speak to the reverend mother and she had
tried to speak to the doctor. Where else could she turn? Who would listen? It seemed that there was only one thing she could do. Sister Julia wrote it down in her book. She wrote down every name. Sister Julia was indeed beginning to understand.

Ruby took the shortcut down a footpath leading to a row of stone houses with long, narrow gardens. Pridehaven was a rope-makers’ town and gardens were created for a purpose in those days. She was trying to magic up some enthusiasm for tonight. It was only dinner with friends, but she was feeling a bit fragile – probably still in shock from what Frances had told her.

When she reached the old church, she paused and pulled the photographs out of her bag – she’d started carrying them around with her wherever she went; seemed to need to keep looking at them.
Mother and child
 … Laura was holding her close. But was she holding her with love? Had Laura loved her? And if she had – then why had she given her away?

‘Are you sorry you asked about all this?’ Frances had said as she came to the end of her story – or Vivien’s story, Ruby supposed. Her eyes over the rim of the coffee cup were concerned. ‘Do you wish you could turn the clock back and not know any of it?’

Was she sorry? The early evening sun was combing the church wall with strands of dark gold. Ruby touched the stone. It was like a biscuit; it felt like it could be dipped in a
rainstorm and crumbled, and yet it had been here for centuries. Which was somehow comforting.

No, she decided – though there was a conflict of emotions. She could understand why her parents had come to the decision they had. They were protecting her. That’s what they’d always done – protected her. Even so, she could hardly believe that her law-abiding parents had actually given false information in order to register her birth. That they had actually claimed to be her natural parents. She sighed. And she still found it hard to accept that they had deceived her over something that was just so important.

Ruby walked on. And yes, she was angry at not being told the truth before. Angry that she had nowhere to direct her emotions, no parent to have it out with. She had been betrayed by the people she most believed in.

‘I needed to know,’ she’d told Frances.

‘And what now?’

‘Well … ’ As Frances had obviously realised, this wasn’t the end of the story for Ruby. ‘I’ll try and find Laura,’ she said. Not just out of curiosity or even to hear her side of things. There was a feeling that went deeper. Ruby might be scared of it – but she couldn’t run away from it either. It had been building as Frances had told her the story. She wanted to meet her birth mother. She wanted to find out the identity of her natural father too. She wasn’t who she’d always thought she was. So who was she? She had to know.

‘I thought you’d say that.’ Frances looked worried. ‘But it won’t be easy.’

‘I know.’ Ruby had no idea where to even start. All she had were a few photographs and the little information she’d gleaned from Frances. Unless Laura had unexpectedly become a fully paid up member of conventional society – which seemed unlikely – it would be a tricky and maybe impossible trail.

‘And if you do find her … ’

‘She may not want to even acknowledge me.’ Ruby stirred her coffee once more. ‘I know that too.’ If she didn’t have high expectations, she shouldn’t be too disappointed. But she had to at least try and find out what had happened to her.

Frances had finished her coffee and signalled for the bill. ‘Let me know, Ruby,’ she said. ‘How you get on.’

‘I will.’

‘And good luck.’

‘Thanks.’ Ruby reached for her purse, but Frances wasn’t having any.

‘My treat,’ she said. ‘Next time maybe we’ll meet under happier circumstances.’

Ruby smiled, though she wasn’t even sure if she would be seeing Frances again. Frances didn’t live here now, and Ruby … well, she hadn’t quite made up her mind. She had thought she needed to come back here to Dorset. But now, after this bombshell, she wasn’t quite so convinced. Where did she belong? She didn’t know any more.

‘And I’m so sorry,’ Frances added. ‘About all this. About the accident. Your father. Your mother. I’m so very sorry about your mother.’

Ruby nodded. ‘Thanks, Frances,’ she said. But which mother was she sorry about? Which mother?

*

Ruby headed towards the riverbank cottage of her host and hostess. They weren’t old friends; she’d met them not long before she moved to London and the invitation had been a bit unexpected. She’d been undecided about what to wear and had finally chosen an emerald green skirt, a red fitted shirt tunic with tiny buttons, and black shoes. It wasn’t exactly casual. Was she too dressed up? Too colourful? Did she look too much like a flag? But Mel had urged her to get out more, and she was right. Dinner with friends was part of leading a normal life – whatever that was. They wouldn’t care what she was wearing, as long as she didn’t burst into tears over the pudding.

Ruby was conscious of the touch of the breeze on her face as she crossed the old bridge. She held on to the damp and mossy wooden handrail to look down into the river. The water was high and fast-flowing but clear – she could see past the weeds and stones right down to the rocky bottom. From force of habit, she bent to pick up a twig, tossed it into the water and quickly turned to the other side to check its progress. A lot of people were afraid of alone time. When others were around, you didn’t have to get too close to yourself, that was the thing. Not so for Ruby. She reckoned she was just learning who she might be.

She’d phoned Mel after her meeting with Frances to tell her what had happened. ‘So you were right,’ Mel had said.

‘I suppose I was.’ Though she’d still believed, hadn’t she, right up to the last minute, that there would be some reasonable explanation that hadn’t occurred to her before. That Frances would make it all clear.
Make everything right again.

‘And how do you feel?’

‘Numb. Relieved to know the truth. Angry. Sad. Lost. Incomplete.’ Ruby sighed.

‘That’s an awful lot of feelings,’ Mel said.

Yes, it was. And Ruby wasn’t sure how to begin coping with them.

She walked up the path of the riverside cottage and rang the bell. Outside the door were tubs of summer blooms – red and white geraniums and big blowsy poppies – while a pale pink wild rose was blossoming in wild and thorny abandon around the porch.

Tina opened the door wide. ‘Ruby!’ She beckoned her inside. ‘Great to see you. How’re you doing?’

‘Good, thanks. You?’ Ruby handed her the wine. She’d first met Tina when the band played regularly at the Jazz Café.

‘We invited another friend,’ Tina said. ‘I hope that’s OK.’

Ruby’s stomach dipped. Oh, hell. It would be a man, it had to be.

She was in the sitting room before she knew it – Gez giving her a drink and a quick hug. She avoided looking at first. Then she glanced over and did a rapid double take.

‘Christ,’ she said, without thinking.

‘Hello.’ He was getting to his feet. Auction man. The
potential stalker. ‘It’s er … good to meet you again, Ruby.’

Gez and Tina exchanged a questioning glance. ‘This is Andrés Marin,’ said Tina. ‘Or do you know that already?’

OK. Ruby would never accept another invitation to dinner again. He must have fixed this. She had been only half serious when she’d called him a stalker. But it seemed as if she was right. Only … He looked about as surprised as she. And besides, what choice did she have? It would be much, much too rude to just walk out.