The trio shared looks of mutual sympathy, then the actor straightened. ‘Like you say, family comes first, right!’ he said, in a performance as obvious as any he had ever given on screen. ‘Glad you liked the movie, we’re all very proud of it. And don’t forget,’ he added for the microphones, ‘you want to find out what really happened, read Nina’s book! It’s called, uh . . .’
‘In Search of History,’ Marvin quickly said. ‘Great story, we wouldn’t have bought the rights otherwise!’ He looked around. ‘Hey, Claudia’s over there with Leviticus Gold. Let’s get all the stars together for the cameras, huh?’
‘Catch you guys later!’ Grant called over his shoulder as Marvin ushered his business partner and their entourage away.
‘Bye,’ said Nina, with distinct relief. She regarded her husband. ‘Can we go now?’
He smiled. ‘Yeah, I think we’re done.’
They headed for the exit. Nobody tried to intercept them. Nina gave silent thanks that the journalists had more famous prey—
‘Dr Wilde? Nina?’
‘Goddamn it,’ she muttered before turning.
To her surprise, the person who had called her name wasn’t a member of the press but an elegantly dressed old lady. Nina guessed she was well into her eighties, white hair drawn into a carefully styled bun. Despite her age, the woman’s green eyes were still bright and intelligent, regarding the redhead with a contemplative, almost approving air. ‘Hello?’ Nina said after an uncomfortable silence.
The woman blinked. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, an upper-class New England accent clear even in just two words. ‘It’s just that . . . I’ve seen photographs of you, of course, but I hadn’t been prepared for how much you look like Laura in person.’
Nina felt unsettled at her mother’s name being used by a complete stranger. But as she looked back at the elderly woman, the feeling grew – because she was now also experiencing an odd sense of recognition. Something about her was familiar, almost disturbingly so. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No, I’m afraid you don’t. But I did know your mother – and we should talk about her.’
‘What about my mother?’ Nina demanded. ‘Who are you?’
The woman smiled. ‘My name is Olivia Garde. I’m your grandmother.’
4
The lobby’s hubbub seemed to fade as Nina stared at the old lady. ‘That’s . . . that’s not possible,’ she said. ‘My grandmother died a long time ago.’
‘Yes, I imagine that’s what Laura told you,’ said Olivia, with a small, sad shake of the head. ‘But I can prove that I am who I say. If you’ll let me.’ A glance at the crowd. ‘Perhaps somewhere more quiet?’
Nina was caught between the urge to find out more and telling the impostor – she had to be! – where to go. The former won out. ‘We’re just on our way home. You could meet us there.’
‘Er, Nina?’ said Eddie. ‘We’re putting our three-year-old daughter to bed, remember?’
‘I wouldn’t want to keep Macy awake,’ Olivia told them. ‘I can meet you at your convenience.’
‘No, that’s okay. It’s okay,’ Nina repeated to her disapproving husband. ‘We’ll make it quick. If that’s all right?’ she asked Olivia.
‘That will be perfectly fine,’ the older woman replied. ‘I’ll take a cab. What’s your address?’ Nina gave it. ‘I’ll see you there. Don’t worry – and don’t you worry either, Mr Chase. I’ll explain everything.’
Nina and Eddie watched as she departed. She might have been old, but she still had a steady and determined pace. ‘Wait, she knew who I am. And Macy,’ Eddie said with a frown.
‘That doesn’t mean she really is my grandmother,’ said Nina. ‘She could have just googled me. Hell, I wrote about my parents in the book, so it’s not as if it’s a great secret.’
‘If you don’t believe her, then why’d you invite her to our house?’
‘Because . . .’ She wasn’t entirely sure herself. ‘Because there’s something about her that . . . that makes me think she might be telling the truth. I don’t know if she actually is,’ she added, seeing his look of incredulity. ‘But I want to find out for sure.’
‘She’d better not be trying anything on. If this is some con trick . . .’
‘Eddie, she looked about ninety. She’d have to be one hell of a grifter to try the long-lost-relative routine on us at that age.’
‘Some people never change, however old they get.’ He took her hand. ‘Come on, let’s find out what she’s after.’
The journey home did not take long, but there was little conversation on the way. Despite Eddie’s attempts to engage with her, Nina found herself gazing out of the window, replaying the meeting with Olivia in her mind.
The old woman couldn’t possibly have been telling the truth. That would mean her own mother had lied to her through their entire life together. Nina couldn’t accept that. And why on earth would Laura Wilde have told her daughter that her grandmother was dead if that were not the case . . .
‘We’re here,’ Eddie said.
‘Huh? Oh. Right.’ Composing herself, she got out as Eddie paid the fare.
A yellow cab was waiting outside their building. ‘Hello again,’ Olivia said as she emerged. ‘I’m glad you agreed to see me.’
‘With a claim like yours, I could hardly say no,’ replied Nina.
‘Thank you.’ The old lady surveyed the surrounding buildings. ‘Quite a nice area. Your grandfather and I once lived not far from here. We had a wonderful view of the park.’
Nina recalled her mother once pointing out a Fifth Avenue apartment building as a childhood home, but said nothing, not wanting to give the woman any hints about her past that she could weave into a fictional narrative. ‘Come inside,’ she said instead as Eddie joined her.
They entered the building. ‘So what were you doing at the premiere?’ Nina asked Olivia. ‘A Grant Thorn action movie doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.’
Olivia laughed. ‘Oh dear me, no. It was awful nonsense, all shouting and wobbly cameras.’
Nina smiled at Eddie as they boarded the elevator. ‘Told you.’
‘No, I’m quite well known in New York’s social circles. There are few events to which I can’t get an invitation if I choose. In this case, I came specifically to see you. I watched the first five minutes for politeness’ sake, then had a meal at a little place around the corner before coming back. And,’ she went on, with a faint sigh, ‘when I realised who the characters at the beginning were meant to be, it ended any desire I had to see more.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Nina, wanting to see if her guest shared her emotions about the opening scene – and why.
Olivia’s emerald eyes turned upon her, sadness clear in them. ‘The names were different, but they were meant to be your mother and father. My daughter, and her husband. I didn’t want to watch what happened to them.’
‘Nor did I,’ Nina said, lips tightening.
The elevator arrived at the eighth floor. Eddie led the way into the apartment. ‘Holly?’ he called in a low voice. ‘We’re back.’
The thump of a pair of excited little feet jumping from a bed told both parents that any hopes their daughter might be asleep had come to nothing. ‘Daddy!’ cried Macy, running down the hall to greet them. ‘Mommy, hi!’
Eddie embraced her. ‘Ay up, someone’s still awake when she shouldn’t be. You been giving her coffee, Holly?’
‘No, just a few lines of coke,’ said the Englishman’s niece as she followed Macy out of her bedroom. Holly Bennett was currently on the third year of her American Studies degree, spending it in the States as part of an exchange programme. Her eyes grew wide as she saw that her uncle and aunt were not alone. ‘Ooh, sorry! Didn’t realise you had company.’
‘It wasn’t planned,’ Eddie
told her pointedly.
‘Holly, this is Olivia Garde, a . . . friend,’ said Nina. ‘We met her at the premiere.’
‘How was the film?’ Holly asked excitedly. ‘Was Grant Thorn there?’
‘Ludicrous, and yes. Olivia, our niece Holly, and our daughter. Macy.’
Olivia smiled at Macy, who hugged Nina before taking cover behind her, regarding the visitor uncertainly. ‘She’s very pretty. How old is she?’
‘She’s just had her third birthday.’
‘She’s three? They grow up so quickly, don’t they?’ Her expression turned wistful. ‘I can see the family resemblance. She looks a lot like you – and like Laura. She certainly has the same hair.’
‘Daddy said my hair means I’m a handful,’ announced Macy proudly, showing off a strand of her deep red locks.
Nina gave her husband a stern look. ‘Did he now?’
‘Might have done,’ Eddie replied with a grin. ‘Come on, young ’un. It’s way past your bedtime.’
‘But I want to stay up with you!’ Macy objected.
‘And I want a Ferrari, but we can’t always have what we want.’ He kissed her. ‘Mummy needs—’
‘Mommy,’ Nina said over him.
‘—to talk to her friend.’
‘What about?’ asked the little girl.
‘Grown-up stuff, you wouldn’t be interested. Now, how about me and Holly put you back to bed? We can tell you a story.’
Macy squeaked with excitement. ‘The one about the eggs with legs!’
‘I told you to send it to my publisher,’ said Nina.
‘I’ll type it up tomorrow,’ he replied. ‘Say night-night to Mummy, Macy.’
‘Night-night, Mommy!’
Nina smirked as Eddie groaned. ‘Fighting a losing battle, aren’t I?’ he said as he and Holly headed for Macy’s bedroom.
Nina waved to her daughter, then turned back to Olivia. ‘So. I think we have some stuff to talk about.’
‘We do,’ the elderly woman replied. She was carrying a bulging leather satchel. ‘As much as I dislike playing the little-old-lady card, may we sit down? This is quite heavy.’
‘Sure. This way.’
Nina led her guest into the lounge, gesturing to an armchair. After peering at the numerous framed photographs decorating one wall, Olivia sat and placed the satchel on a coffee table, Nina sitting opposite. ‘I wouldn’t expect you simply to take my claim at face value,’ she began as she opened it, ‘so I brought proof.’ She carefully drew out a plastic sleeve containing several photographs. ‘I see you have a picture of your parents there.’
Nina glanced towards the wall. The image was of her teenage self with Henry and Laura Wilde, taken at an archaeological site in Turkey. ‘Yeah.’
‘I have some family photos of my own. Please, take a look.’ She slid the sleeve across the table.
Nina took it. The first photograph was visible through the protective cover – and it gave her a momentary shock.
She recognised the smiling figure at the centre. It was her mother, a few years younger than Nina in the photo on the wall. With her were two people she knew only from pictures: her grandparents, Thomas and Olivia Pearce.
She looked up sharply at the old lady. Even though several decades had passed, there was still a definite resemblance between the woman in the still and the one sitting before her.
‘Yes, that’s me,’ said Olivia. She tapped the red-haired woman in the picture with a well-manicured nail. ‘That was taken in, let me think . . . 1966. We were living near New Haven at the time. Tom, your grandfather, was an executive for General Electric in Fairfield.’
‘And what were you doing?’
‘Whatever I wanted. My family, the Gardes, were wealthy and influential. I went back to my maiden name after Tom died – not immediately, I hasten to add. That would have been very disrespectful. But there were . . . social advantages, one could say. More so for your mother than myself. I wanted the absolute best for her, to open the right doors, which is why she adopted it too.’
Nina nodded, keeping her face neutral. Again the story matched what she knew of her mother’s background, but there was nothing so far that couldn’t have been unearthed with diligent genealogical research.
She carefully slid the clutch of photos from the sleeve. More images of her mother and grandparents, the giant tail fins of a car in the background of one dating it to the late 1950s or early ’60s. Time advanced jumpily as she flicked through them, her mother growing from a little girl into a young woman—
The last photo – and again she felt an emotional jolt. This featured only her mother and grandmother against a backdrop of trees and flowers. Laura had recently turned eighteen.
There was a reason Nina could date it so precisely. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, going into the main bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and took a cardboard box from the top shelf. Lifting the lid, she quickly found what she was looking for and returned to the living room with her prize.
It was another photograph, which she put down on the table next to the final one from Olivia’s collection: its twin. ‘Mom told me that was the last photo she had of her mother before she died,’ she said, a tremor in her voice. ‘Spring 1972. The Shakespeare Garden in Central Park. Now you’d better have a damn good explanation for why you have that photo, and how, if you really are my grandmother, you’re alive and well despite what my mom told me. Because if you don’t . . .’ the tremor became barely contained anger, ‘then age be damned, I’m going to kick your ass out on to the street.’
Olivia did not speak for several seconds, then the corners of her mouth slowly creased upwards. ‘It’s been a long time since I heard that tone of voice,’ she said. ‘You really are your mother’s daughter.’
Nina was unmoved. ‘I’m still waiting for an explanation.’
‘And you certainly deserve one. I assume you think I’m pretending to be your grandmother to bilk you out of the money your fame has brought you – something like that?’
‘The thought had occurred.’
‘I don’t blame you for being sceptical. But I assure you, I am your grandmother – and Laura’s mother. The reason she told you I was dead was that we had . . . a falling-out. A very serious falling-out.’
‘About what?’
‘About your father.’
‘What? Why?’
Olivia gave her a sorrowful look. ‘Everyone makes mistakes in their life – mistakes where they are one hundred per cent convinced they are in the right until the sky falls on them. The greatest mistake I ever made was thinking I knew what was right for Laura better than she did. When she met your father, and fell in love with him practically overnight, and wanted to marry him and search for Atlantis with him . . . I thought she was throwing everything away, that she was turning her back on her family’s legacy for a penniless archaeology student with a crackpot theory.’ A deep breath. ‘I was wrong. I’ve never been more wrong, and the greatest regret of my life is that I never got the chance to ask her forgiveness.’
It took Nina a moment to process what she had just heard. ‘So you’re telling me that Mom told me you were dead – that she lied to me – because you had an argument?’
‘It was quite a serious argument,’ the elderly woman clarified. ‘I forbade her to marry him – in fact, I told her she couldn’t keep seeing him. Now, knowing your mother, how do you think she took that?’
‘Probably the same way I would have.’
‘Exactly. And I’m sure you also remember what she was like once she had decided to do something. She was—’
‘Stubborn.’
Another tiny smile. ‘Determined was the word I was going to use, but yes. It all happened very quickly; I don’t think she had even talked about me with your father before they decided to get engaged.
When she told me, the discussion became very heated, to say the least, and she . . .’ Any trace of humour vanished, replaced by regret. ‘She turned her back on me. She told your father that both her parents had died in the car crash, not just Tom, and once it had been said, she stuck with it.’
‘So you are saying she lied to me my whole life.’
‘I was dead – to her, at least,’ said Olivia. ‘The last time I spoke to her was shortly after she graduated, before her wedding. Our positions hadn’t changed, I was still trying to talk her out of it, so . . . that was it. She wanted nothing more to do with me. She could have contacted me at any time, but chose not to. And I’m ashamed to say that I made no further effort to reach out to her either, even after you were born. Determinedness – stubbornness – is very much a family trait, especially in the women. Your husband may be right about it coming with the hair.’
‘So why’ve you come to me now?’ asked Nina, still not sure what to believe.
‘For one, I’m eighty-nine years old. You’re my closest living relative, and I realised that if I ever wanted a chance to get to know you, it would have to be now. But there is something else; something I thought you should have.’ She reached back into the satchel, withdrawing several packed manila folders. She opened the topmost. ‘These were your mother’s. Her notes.’
Nina almost lunged to take out the first page when she saw what was written on it. ‘This is her handwriting!’
‘You recognise it?’
‘I’ve still got all her research. My dad’s, too. They were the basis of my entire theory on how to find Atlantis. They were nine tenths of the way there – they’d just got some of the details wrong. If they’d had more time . . .’
‘Laura was always fascinated by the legend of Atlantis. It was why she studied archaeology in the first place. Well, I probably influenced her too. I was something of an amateur archaeologist in my youth,’ Olivia added, on Nina’s questioning look. ‘I was never dedicated enough to match her achievements, though. Or yours.’
Nina turned back to her mother’s notes. She had indeed recognised the handwriting, but at the same time she could tell that Laura had been younger when she wrote these notes than while seeking Atlantis with her husband. The calligraphy was more upright, less assured, but also with remnants of childish flourishes like circles above the lower-case letter ‘i’ instead of dots.