Page 32 of The Lovers
“Rubbish? I think not. Making films and documentaries is all about studying human nature, as I’m sure being a historian is, and deep down you know that no one leaves rubbish in a church. Whoever left you there wanted to make sure that you were found by someone who would do the right thing by you. They left you in what they perceived to be the safest possible place. It was a declaration of love, the final act of a caring mother. You might never know who she was or what prompted her to do what she did, but know that she loved you.”
“My mum said the same thing, but I always thought that she was just trying to comfort me.”
“Shewastrying to comfort you, but that doesn’t mean that what she was suggesting wasn’t true,” Rhys replied. “And did it comfort you?”
“For a time. But I longed to know who my parents were, especially my mother.”
“My situation is very different, but I can understand how you feel. My father died when I was two. I have no memory of him, except sometimes, I dream that I can hear his voice reading me a bedtime story. I suppose the memory is stored somewhere deep in my subconscious. Of course, I know who he was and have seen pictures of him and heard stories, but I would have liked to know him for myself. When I was a boy, I’d often wished that my mum would remarry, so that I’d have a dad. My brother is seven years older than me, so he had memories of our father and feltresentful of any man who might try to take his place, but I just longed for a man in my life.”
“Did your mum remarry?”
“Yes, but only after I’d went off to the university. Dawydd had been in love with my mother for years. He’d been a friend of my father’s when they were at school. I think he liked her even back then. She’s happy,” Rhys added with a warm smile.
“And your brother?”
“Oh, Owain never left Pembrokeshire. He owns a butcher shop and lives a few minutes away from Mum. He checks up on her regularly and drops off the children for a few hours in the process. Mum loves babysitting, so everyone wins.”
“How many children does he have?”
“Owain has four boys and a girl, and Dawydd’s daughter has three girls, so it’s a full house when they are all there. I always go home for Christmas. It’s a far cry from what it used to be when it was just the three of us. Of course, there are always the usual digs about my failure to produce more grandchildren for them,” Rhys said with an irreverent shrug. “There’s time.”
“My parents moved to Marbella when Dad retired. They love it there. I’ve never told them this, but I actually dread Christmas since they left. I always have a place to go, but it’s not quite the same as being with your family, is it?”
“No, it’s not. Why not go spend Christmas with them this year?” Rhys suggested as he took a last sip of his coffee and rose to leave.
“I just might do that,” Quinn replied. She gathered her coat and bag and followed Rhys out of the restaurant.
“Thank you for lunch, Rhys. It was lovely.”
Rhys leaned forward and kissed her softly on the cheek before returning to his office. Quinn looked after him for a moment, then dashed toward the nearest tube station. Lunch lasted for over two hours, but she could still catch Jill before the shop closed for the night. She had some shopping to do.
TWENTY-ONE
MARCH 1665
London, England
Elise lifted the spoon carefully to Lady Matilda’s lips, but the older woman refused to swallow any more broth. She’d taken a turn for the worse over the past few days and had barely eaten anything at all. Her already angular bones jutted out beneath papery skin that had acquired a gray pall over the past twenty-four hours. The old lady’s breathing was labored, and her brow glistened with sweat but was cool to the touch.
“Cold,” Lady Matilda breathed.
“I’ll fetch a hot brick,” Elise promised and picked up the bowl to return to the kitchen. Lady Matilda needed nourishment; perhaps she’d take some milk. Elise had asked Lucy to take out the chamber pot, but it proved to be empty, as Lady Matilda seemed unable to make water. That couldn’t be a good sign.
“How is she?” Edward demanded when he met Elise in the corridor.
“She is very poorly,” Elise replied truthfully.
“Thank you for everything you are doing for her,” Edward said. He looked genuinely distressed. He’d even remained at home for the past few evenings and spent at least an hour each night sitting by his mother’s bedside.
“Do you think she will improve?” he asked, barely able to keep hope from his voice.
“I pray that she will,” Elise replied. “Dr. Fisk bled her again this morning.”
“Dr. Fisk is a bloated old fool,” Edward spat out. “She’s gotten worse since he’s been attending her, but he’s the best physician in London. Even His Majesty seeks his advice on various matters of health.”
“I’ve no doubt Dr. Fisk is doing everything he can to cure Lady Matilda,” Elise answered diplomatically. She didn’t think that bleeding an old woman who’d barely eaten for days would help, but what did she know? Dr. Fisk was a renowned physician who enjoyed the favor of the king, and surely he knew his business. Perhaps the bleeding would purge Lady Matilda of infection, as Dr. Fisk hoped, and restore her appetite. Once she was able to consume beef broth and meat, she’d make more blood.
“I’m sure you’re right, Elise. I’m just too upset to think clearly.”
