The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (74 page)

I called the waitress over, asked her to bring some bread immediately and ordered a steak and chips. ‘Want anything?’ I asked Thom.

‘Why not? I’ll have the same as you. And a beer, please,’ he called after the waitress.

‘So when you said your father told you the “whole” story, did that include the truth about your mother when Felix first met her?’

‘Yes, although whether I believe him or not is another matter.’

‘As a complete bystander to all of this up until a few days ago, I think I did believe him. Not that it excuses him for what he did . . . or should I say,
didn’t
do,’
I added hurriedly, not wanting Thom to think I was taking sides and defending Felix. ‘But maybe it does go some way to explaining his behaviour. He felt out-manipulated by
everyone.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at the stage yet where I can trust him, or begin to forgive him, but at least today I saw some remorse. Anyway, enough of how I may or may not feel. How
about you? You’re the one who’s had the shock. I’m so, so sorry, Ally. I feel I should apologise for being the child my mother kept.’

‘Don’t be silly, Thom. We’ll never know the true reasons why she did what she did, and even if it is pretty awful for me to think about it just now, what’s done is done.
For my own peace of mind, I’d like to see if the hospital where Martha gave birth to us has a record, and perhaps some details of my subsequent adoption. And if you don’t mind, for us
both to take a DNA test.’

‘Of course. But really, Ally, I don’t think there’s much doubt, is there?’

‘No,’ I said as the bread arrived and I tore off a piece, then crammed it greedily into my mouth.

‘Well, at least your appetite seems to have recovered, despite the trauma. Ally, this may be an inappropriate moment to start thinking about the positives, when you’re still having
to deal with the shock of the negatives, but I’ve just realised I’m going to be an uncle. That makes me very happy.’

‘It’s never too soon to start looking at the upside, Thom,’ I agreed. ‘Before I came to Norway, I felt so lost, so alone. And now it seems as if I’ve found myself a
whole new family. Albeit that my real dad is a drunken reprobate.’

Thom reached his hand out to me across the table and I took it shyly. ‘Hello, twin sister.’

‘Hello, twin brother.’

We held hands for some considerable time after that, both of us, I knew, brimming with emotion. We were two halves of a whole. It was as simple as that.

‘It’s odd—’ we both said at the same time and giggled.

‘You first, Ally. You are the eldest after all.’

‘Goodness, that’s a strange thought. I’ve always played second fiddle to Maia in my family. And rest assured I shall be taking full advantage of my newfound position of
superiority,’ I teased him.

‘I don’t doubt it for a second,’ Thom said. ‘Now, we were both saying that something was odd . . .’

‘Yes, but I’ve forgotten now which thing it was specifically, as there are so many things that are odd just now,’ I said as our supper arrived.

‘You’re telling me!’ He poured his beer and raised it to my glass of water. ‘Well, here’s to us, reunited after thirty years. You know what?’

‘What?’

‘I’m no longer an only child.’

‘True,’ I said. ‘You know what else?’

‘What?’

‘The Six Sisters now have a brother.’

Thom suggested over supper that I should move with immediate effect in to Froskehuset.

‘There’s nothing more miserable than staying in a hotel and technically, Ally, half of this house should probably be yours anyway,’ he added as he carried my rucksack up the
steps to the front door later that evening.

‘By the way,’ I asked him, ‘what does “
Froskehuset”
’ actually mean?’

‘“The Frog House”. Apparently Horst told Felix that he used to keep a replica of the frog that Grieg carried with him on the music rest of the piano. I’ve no idea what
happened to it, but perhaps it had something to do with the naming of the house.’

‘Well, I think that clinches it.’ I smiled as Thom dumped my rucksack in the hall and I reached into a side pocket to pull out my own little frog. ‘Look, this is the other clue
Pa Salt left me. I saw dozens of similar ones in the Grieg Museum.’

Thom took it and studied it. Then he smiled at me. ‘He was directing you here, Ally. To your real home.’

Thom and I organised a genetic test and Felix insisted on providing samples of saliva and a hair follicle. Within a week, it was duly confirmed that I was indeed Thom’s
twin and Felix my newfound father.

‘Obviously because we’re different sexes, we’re not identical,’ I said, as we studied the data in the results letter. ‘We both have our own separate DNA
profile.’

‘Obviously. I’m far prettier than you are, big sis.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Anytime. So, shall we call our errant father and tell him the happy news?’

‘Why not?’ I agreed.

Felix duly appeared that evening with a bottle of champagne, and whisky for himself. And the three of us toasted to sharing the same gene pool. I could see Thom was still very reticent with his
father, but trying hard because of me. I also noticed how Felix was attempting to make amends. And at least, I thought, as I sipped a thimbleful of champagne with my father and my brother, it was a
start.

Felix got up to take his leave, swaying as he walked to the door.

‘Are you sure you’re safe to drive that thing up the hill?’ I asked him as he donned his helmet.

‘I’ve been doing it for nigh on forty years, Ally, and I haven’t fallen off yet,’ Felix grunted. ‘But thanks for asking. Long time since anyone cared enough to do
so. Goodnight, and thanks. Don’t be a stranger, will you?’ he called as he stumbled off into the night.

Closing the door behind him, I sighed, knowing I mustn’t show the pity I felt for Felix in front of Thom.

But as usual, my twin had read my mind.

‘It’s okay,’ he said as I came back into the room and went towards the stove to warm my cold hands.

‘What’s “okay”?’

‘That you feel sorry for Felix. As a matter of fact, despite myself, so do I. I’m not ready to forgive him for what he did to my mum, but actually seeing his mother lying dead in the
street, and then having his father take his own life a few hours later . . .’ Thom shuddered. ‘Even if he can’t remember the details, it couldn’t be much worse, could it?
And who knows what scars it left on him.’

‘Yes, who knows?’ I agreed.

‘Anyway, enough of Felix, Ally.’ Thom breathed out, then stared at me. ‘I have something else that I’d like to share with you.’

‘Really? You look so serious, I’m wondering if you’re about to tell me I have another brother or sister.’

‘That’s for Felix to say, and who knows?’ he joked. ‘But this is something more . . .’ – Thom struggled to find the right word –
‘fundamental.’

‘I can’t imagine how much more fundamental it can get than finding out that I’m actually a Halvorsen by birth.’

‘Ally, unwittingly, you’ve just hit the nail on the head. Now, I want to show you something.’ He stood up and walked across the room to the small bureau which stood in the
corner, took a key from a vase on top of it and unlocked it. He opened a drawer and retrieved a file, then came back to sit on the sofa next to me. I said nothing, just waited for him to collect
his thoughts, whatever they were.

‘Okay, do you remember how irritated you were after you’d read Jens Halvorsen’s biography about him and Anna? How you couldn’t believe that Anna had just taken Jens back
without a murmur after deserting her in Leipzig for all those years?’

‘Of course I do. And I still don’t understand it. Jens says himself in the book that he thought she’d given up on love and on him. And she’s described as such a feisty
character, I find it impossible to believe she’d just accept him back the way she did.’

‘Exactly.’ Thom stared at me again.

‘Spit it out then,’ I encouraged him.

‘What if she had to?’

‘Had to what?’

‘Accept him back?’

‘You mean for the sake of form? Because in those days a woman couldn’t be divorced without a scandal?’

‘Yes, but not exactly. You’re certainly on the right lines as far as the morality of the era went.’

‘Thom,’ I said, ‘it’s past eleven o’clock at night and I’m not really up for a game of Twenty Questions. Just tell me what it is you’re getting
at.’

‘Okay, Ally, but before I do, I seriously have to swear you to total secrecy. And that includes Felix, our father. I haven’t told another living soul about this.’

‘Thom, you’re beginning to sound as if you’ve found the golden fleece buried under Froskehuset. Please, just get on with it.’

‘Sorry, it’s just that it’s seriously inflammatory. Right, the thing is, when I was researching Jens and Anna Halvorsen’s relationship with Grieg for my book, I followed
in their footsteps and went to Leipzig. And this is what I found.’

Thom took an envelope from the file, pulled out a sheet of paper inside it and handed it to me. ‘Take a look at it.’

Scanning it, I saw it was the birth certificate of an Edvard Horst Halvorsen. ‘Our great-grandfather. So what?’

‘I’m sure you can’t remember off the top of your head, but in Jens’ biography, he describes how he returns to Leipzig in April 1884.’

‘No, I can’t remember, to be honest.’

‘Well, here’s the photocopied page from the book.’ He handed it to me. ‘I’ve highlighted the relevant passage. But, according to the birth certificate, Horst was
born on 30th August 1884. So technically, Anna gave birth to a live child after a four-month pregnancy. Even a century on, that’s still impossible.’

I examined the date on the birth certificate and saw he was right. ‘Well, perhaps Jens simply forgot the exact month he’d returned to Leipzig? After all, he was writing it in
retrospect, many years after the fact.’

‘That’s what I thought too. Initially, anyway.’

‘Are you trying to say that the baby Anna carried – in other words Horst – couldn’t have been Jens’ child?’

‘Yes. I am.’ Thom’s shoulders sagged suddenly, whether in relief or desperation or fear, I didn’t know. Maybe it was a mixture of all three.

‘Okay, I’m with you up to now. So what else did you discover after that to confirm your theory?’

‘This.’

Thom handed me another sheet of paper from the file. I could see it was a photocopy of an old letter written in Norwegian. Before I could complain I couldn’t read it, he handed me another
sheet of paper. ‘It’s translated into English.’

‘Thank you.’ I read through the contents, which were dated March 1883.

‘It’s a love letter.’

‘It is, yes. And there are many more where that came from.’

‘Thom,’ I said, looking up at him, ‘who is this letter from? Who is the “Little Frog”, as he signs himself?’ And before he could answer, I suddenly knew.
‘Oh my God,’ I muttered. ‘You don’t need to tell me. You said there were more?’

‘Dozens more. He was a very prolific correspondent. He wrote almost twenty thousand letters to various people over his lifetime. And I’ve checked the handwriting against those at the
Bergen museum. It’s definitely him.’

‘So,’ I said, swallowing hard, ‘where did you find these?’

‘They’ve sat here in this room right under everyone’s noses. And have done for the past one hundred and ten years.’

‘Where?’ I scanned the sitting room.

‘I found the hiding place completely by accident. A pen rolled under the grand piano over there, and as I knelt down to pick it up, I hit my head on the underside. I looked up and noticed
there was a narrow wooden lip of maybe one inch deep that had been added to the frame. Look, I’ll show you.’

We both went down on our hands and knees under the piano to see what he meant. And there, placed in the centre under the string section, was a wide but shallow plywood tray tacked roughly to the
base. Reaching up, Thom grabbed the bottom of it and slid it out of the narrow wooden brackets.

‘See?’ he said as we crawled out from under the piano and he placed the tray on the table. ‘Dozens of them.’

I carefully picked up letter after letter, examining them in wonder. The ink on the yellowing vellum was so faded as to be almost illegible – even if I’d been able to read Norwegian
– but I could make out that the dates ranged from 1879 to 1884 and that they were all signed by a ‘
Liten Frosk
’.

‘And even though he was always known as “Horst”, you might have noticed that on his birth certificate our great-grandfather was originally christened
“Edvard”,’ Thom continued.

‘I . . . don’t know what to say,’ I said, staring down at the beautiful script on one of the pages in front of me. ‘These letters from Edvard Grieg to Anna are surely
gold dust. Have you shown them to an historian?’

‘As I said earlier, Ally, I’ve shown them to no one.’

‘But why on earth didn’t you include them in your book? These are absolute proof there was a relationship between Grieg and Anna Halvorsen.’

‘Actually, it proves more than that. Having read each and every one of them, it tells the reader that without doubt, they were lovers. For at least four years.’