Father Unknown (38 page)

‘But then she died in the fire,’ Daisy mused. ‘Strange how things work out for some people, isn’t it? Did she have any money left to pay for this cottage she was going to buy?’

Tim looked at Mavis sharply. ‘Well, did she, Gran?’ he asked.

‘No, I don’t think she did,’ Mavis admitted. ‘My husband spoke to someone in the know who said she hadn’t left a will, but that hardly mattered as her bank account was overdrawn.’

‘Hmm,’ Daisy murmured, and the other two looked at her. ‘Makes you wonder if she started the fire and intended to get out just in time.’

There was an uneasy silence while both Tim and Mavis stared at her.

‘I’ve often thought that,’ Tim finally admitted, fingering his collar nervously as if he was afraid Mavis would snap at him.

‘I did too,’ said Mavis in a small voice. ‘I’ve often wondered if that was the real reason Ellen wouldn’t come back here. Maybe she thought so too.’

Chapter Eighteen

‘You will come back and see me again?’ Mavis asked as Daisy put Fred’s lead on in readiness to leave the following morning.

The note of sadness in the old lady’s voice surprised Daisy, and she suddenly realized Mavis half expected her to disappear just as Ellen had.

‘I can’t promise to come down here for a while. I’ve got to get myself a job,’ Daisy said. ‘But I’ll keep in touch and tell you any news. Of course, if the solicitor in Falmouth comes up with anything positive, I’ll be on the phone immediately.’

Tim had said his goodbyes and gone out an hour earlier, out of diplomacy, Daisy suspected – he must have thought the two women had things to say to each other in private. There was indeed a great deal Daisy wanted to say to Mavis, she very much wanted to express the depth of her gratitude. But as yet she couldn’t find the words.

As she had lain in the pretty little guest-room upstairs the night before, she had thought back to the way the old lady had welcomed her into her home. She didn’t think many people would be so generous and open-hearted.

How could Ellen have cast such a wonderful friend and mother figure out of her life? Daisy had known Mavis less than twenty-four hours, yet already she felt attached to her. In some strange way that made her want to find Ellen even more now, if only to put the old lady’s mind at rest. She must have suffered agonies wondering if Ellen had lost her mind after the tragedy. Now Daisy knew so much about the Pengellys, that really did seem to be the only plausible explanation.

Daisy was pinning all her hopes on Albert’s solicitor being able to help her in the next stage of the search. Mavis had given her his name and the address of his practice in Falmouth, and she planned to go to see him the following day.

‘It’s been almost like having Ellen back here again,’ Mavis said, a tell-tale break in her voice. ‘I’ve felt so comfortable with you, just the way I did with her. You don’t get that feeling with just anyone.’ She paused for a moment looking reflectively at Daisy. ‘You aren’t that alike physically, although the shock of seeing that hair again made me think you were at first. Your eyes are blue, hers were brown, and you are much more direct and outgoing. But then you’ve had a different kind of upbringing, and advantages Ellen didn’t have. And you are a very modern girl – Ellen was the old-fashioned kind, even when she was your age.’

It suddenly occurred to Daisy then that she didn’t have a mental picture of Ellen in her mind. She had one of Josie, as firmly engraved as if she’d known her personally, but Ellen was still very cloudy.

‘I didn’t think to ask before,’ she said, ‘but do you have a photograph of her?’

‘Only one,’ Mavis said, glancing towards the sideboard. ‘I used to keep it over there, but I put it away a few years ago, it only made me sad. I don’t know why I didn’t think to show it to you yesterday.’

Mavis rummaged through the sideboard. ‘Here it is,’ she said, pulling out a colour picture in a silver frame. ‘Tom, my husband, took it in the garden. We had it enlarged because it was such a nice one.’

Daisy studied it carefully. Ellen was sitting on a bench with an arch of white roses behind her. She wore a demure print dress with a scoop neck and a frill round the hem. It looked like one of the Laura Ashley dresses Daisy could remember her mother wearing during the Seventies.

Ellen’s similarity to Josie was remarkable. But for Ellen’s prim style of dress and the unflattering way her hair was scraped back off her face, it could easily have been the model a few years on, for the delicate bone structure and huge, expressive eyes were the same. The difference was only in the smile; in all the press cuttings of Josie, her exuberant smile was a traffic-stopper, revealing an outgoing nature. Ellen’s smile was shy, as if smiling didn’t come easily to her. She looked somehow as if she’d seen the whole world, and it had disappointed her.

Yet Daisy could see herself in that face. Not the way she looked when she was excited and happy, but those glimpses she’d had of herself sometimes when everything seemed against her. Was that how Ellen felt?

‘When was this taken?’ she asked.

‘It was the summer before the fire,’ Mavis replied. ‘Ellen was thirty-one, and it must have been June because the roses are in full bloom. I remember her saying that day you’d just turned fourteen. She hoped you did ballet, or were into horses, because fourteen can be such a difficult age, and girls with a hobby didn’t seem to get themselves into as much trouble as those without.’

‘That’s when I was doing gymnastics all the time,’ Daisy said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what she’d make of that!’

‘I think she’d be pleased,’ Mavis said and came forward to embrace Daisy. ‘Anyone would be proud to have you as a daughter. I hope you can track Ellen down, it’s going to turn her life around completely.’

Daisy hugged Mavis back, and she felt a sting of tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat because the hug and Mavis’s words made her think suddenly of her adoptive mother. Lorna would have liked Mavis; they were very similar in their manner.

‘You’ve been so wonderful,’ she said, her voice sounding oddly strangled as she leaned into the older woman’s shoulder, ‘so kind, so understanding. Even if I never find Ellen, you’ve given me such insight into her and her family.’

Mavis took Daisy’s face in both hands and smiled at her. ‘You’ve made me feel better too by coming here. At least I know you really did go to a good home. You are a credit to your adoptive mother. Now, you keep that picture of Ellen. I’ve got all the ones I need still in my head.’

After saying goodbye to Mavis and promising to keep in touch, Daisy went straight to St Mawes. Tim had given her clear directions, and the cottage was right by The Rising Sun pub on the harbour. It belonged to an associate of her father’s, and they’d agreed Daisy could stay for a week for nothing, on the understanding she would give it a good cleaning and airing before the owners arrived for the Easter holiday.

The cottage had been described to her as ‘basic’, so she wasn’t expecting much, but it was in fact delightful, a turn-of-the-century fisherman’s cottage, two up and two down. The owners had stripped and varnished the floorboards, painted all the walls white and the old wooden furniture bright blue.

It wasn’t even cold and damp as Daisy had expected it would be, though that was probably because it had been mild and sunny for a few days. As she stood up in the bedroom, looking out at the serene view of the fishing harbour, she felt happier than she had in a long while. It was as if in coming away from London she’d finally managed to take a real step forward, and now she could begin to look ahead again.

Later in the afternoon she took Fred for a walk along to the castle which stood at the mouth of the estuary facing Falmouth on the other side. Now it seemed more than just coincidence that she’d been offered the cottage, for Mavis had told her this morning that Ellen had only had one real date with Pierre, the trapeze artist, and this is where he’d brought her.

As she walked past the castle, down to a footpath that went along the river, she wondered whether she was conceived here, in the long grass of a meadow perhaps. The thought made her smile; if Joel had come down here with her she would have been only too keen to do a little romping in long grass herself!

Yet thinking of him made her suddenly sad. She felt their love affair was all but over. Maybe she’d never really known him as she once thought she did. He’d been so dismissive of her coming here, as though he couldn’t see the importance of it for her. ‘Clutching at straws’ was how he put it.

Daisy sighed. It was going to be even more difficult when she got home. In her wildest dreams she hadn’t expected to discover so much fascinating information, and she knew now that she was probably going to become like a dog with a bone about it all, chewing on it, burying it for a while, then digging it up again. Joel wasn’t going to like it one bit. She supposed she ought to phone him really, but she couldn’t bear the thought of him pouring cold water on her enthusiasm.

Fred was rooting around among the bushes, so Daisy sat down on a bench to look at the view. It struck her that this was the first time in her life she’d really been on her own. She’d always been one for needing company in whatever she did, and often she panicked at the thought of being alone for longer than a few hours. That seemed quite pathetic in the light of hearing about both Ellen and Josie leaving home so young and the ordeals they’d both been through.

But she wasn’t the least bit lonely or panicky now; it felt good to be independent and to have this time alone to sort out her feelings. Maybe she was finally turning into an adult, as she didn’t feel the slightest desire to rush off to a phone box to share all her news with anyone. She knew she needed space to be able to collate all the information she’d received, and to plan her next move.

The view before her was further inspiration. A yacht was out in the middle of the estuary, going towards Falmouth. It looked so tiny in the wide stretch of water, its sail ballooning out, the owner leaning right back over the side to hold it on its course. She knew from her father’s experience at sailing that it took a great deal more than just wind to get to the desired destination. You had to know how to harness the boat, often patiently tacking back and forth to move forward.

She was likely to have setbacks in her search for Ellen. But she was going to continue doggedly, whatever it took. Maybe Joel would come aboard too, maybe he wouldn’t. But she wasn’t going to give up now.

At nine the following morning, Daisy drove into Falmouth. It had turned colder again, and rain was expected later, but even if the solicitors wouldn’t see her without an appointment, she wanted to explore the town.

‘May I see Mr Briggs?’ she asked the receptionist in the offices of Briggs, Mayhew and Pointer. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t been able to make an appointment as I’m only in Cornwall for a few days. It is a matter of some urgency.’

She doubted the wisdom now of having brought Fred with her, and being dressed like a hiker in a padded jacket and jeans. It didn’t create a very good image. But she smiled brightly at the snotty-looking woman in her pink-tinted glasses, and prepared to stand her ground.

‘May I know the nature of the business you wish to discuss with Mr Briggs?’ the woman asked starchily. ‘He doesn’t usually see anyone without an appointment.’

‘It’s a delicate matter, regarding the estate of Albert Pengelly of Mawnan Smith,’ Daisy replied.

‘I see.’ The woman nodded, and Daisy got the distinct impression that she was noting her red hair and connecting it with the Pengellys. ‘I’ll just pop in and see Mr Briggs,’ she said, getting up off her chair. As she disappeared down a corridor behind a frosted-glass door, Daisy smiled to herself. Clearly the woman wanted to warn him what she looked like, or she would have spoken to him on the intercom.

She came back very quickly. ‘Mr Briggs can see you for a few minutes before his next client,’ she said. ‘It’s the third door on the right.’

Feeling more confident now that she knew the name Pengelly had some clout to it, Daisy shortened Fred’s lead and marched down the corridor.

Mr Briggs opened the door for her as she got there. ‘Daisy Buchan,’ she said, holding out her hand to the small elderly man. ‘I am Ellen Pengelly’s daughter.’

He was visibly taken aback by that announcement, but shook her hand and pulled out a chair for her in front of his desk.

‘I don’t suppose you knew of my existence,’ Daisy said, making Fred sit down beside her chair. ‘That is the delicate part of the matter.’

As quickly and concisely as she could, she explained when and where she was born, and the background to the reasons she’d come to Cornwall. ‘It was only yesterday I learned about the tragic fire,’ she said. ‘And I understand Ellen moved away and has not contacted anyone down here since.’ She produced her adoption certificate and the note her mother had made regarding the letter from Ellen to verify she had expressed a desire to meet her one day. ‘I was hoping you might be able to help me find her.’

‘Well, Miss Buchan,’ said Mr Briggs, pale eyes flickering nervously behind thick glasses, ‘Ellen isn’t one of our clients, we only acted for her father. I haven’t had any contact with her since the estate was wound up, that was over ten years ago now.’

‘Where was she then?’ Daisy asked.

‘At her flat in Bristol,’ he said. ‘But I know she was intending to leave it shortly afterwards.’

‘But you must have had some contact address,’ Daisy said with her brightest and warmest smile. ‘Even if it was only her solicitor’s. After all, her entire family died in that fire, I can’t imagine the police or the coroner would have allowed the only living relative to just disappear.’

Mr Briggs looked at her hard for a few moments. ‘It was a very difficult time for Ellen,’ he said at length. ‘She was traumatized by what happened, so much so she couldn’t even come to our offices to sign the papers. I did all I could to hasten the winding up of the estate, as she was too sick to work and needed it settled.’

‘Sick?’ Daisy repeated. ‘What kind of sick?’

‘I really couldn’t say,’ Mr Briggs said in a manner that suggested she shouldn’t be asking him questions like that.