Page 65 of The Lovers
“Gabe, I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shoulder.
“I know. No need to talk about that now. Come, tell me what happened.”
Gabe threw his jacket over a chair and pulled Quinn down on the sofa next to him after pouring them both a large whiskey. Quinn took a sip and savored it for a moment before recounting the events of the evening without dissolving into tears again. The whiskey helped, and Gabe’s presence made her feel as if she could handle this situation with some semblance of grace. She didn’t have to deal with this alone. Gabe was there.
“I’ve spent all these years dreaming about meeting my mother, and now that I have, I feel empty and cheated somehow,” Quinn said. “I know it sounds perverse, but I feel almost angry.”
Gabe silently refilled Quinn’s glass and studied her face. He wasn’t the type of man who spoke without thinking, and although Quinn knew that he would try to comfort her, he’d also not bother with meaningless platitudes. He’d tell her what he really thought.
“Your feelings are natural,” he said at last. “You have every right to be angry.”
“How do you figure?”
“Quinn, like many children who’ve never known their parents, you’ve created a fantasy—a mother who was practically sainted. You imagined her as beautiful, loving, kind, and honorable. Tonight, you’ve been confronted by a real woman, a woman who made mistakes, lied, and exercised bad judgment. You also question her story.”
“She was raped,” Quinn protested hotly, shocked by her desire to defend Sylvia. She hadn’t questioned what Sylvia told her, but now that Gabe brought it up, she paused to consider. She was a historian, and historians never took anything at face value. History was just someone’s version of events until supported by facts, and all she had was Sylvia’s version.
“Was she? Can you be sure that she didn’t get drunk, have a bit of fun with three randy lads, and then run off in shame when she found out she was up the duff? She didn’t tell her father and never reported the incident to the police.”
“Many women don’t report rape,” Quinn bristled, shocked by Gabe’s lack of sensitivity. “The investigation can be more traumatic than the actual experience.”
“True, but there are women who cry rape after consensually engaging in intercourse. This woman wants to gain your sympathy and forgiveness. Perhaps things happened just as she said, or perhaps she wants you to see her as a victim rather than someone who exercised bad judgment and paid for it.”
“Gabe, I’ve never known you to be cruel,” Quinn said, moving a few inches away from him and crossing her arms in front of her chest. She knew she had no reason to feel defensive, but Gabe was bringing up theories she didn’t care to explore.
“I’m not being cruel, I’m being objective,” Gabe replied, unfazed by Quinn’s anger. “I’m simply exploring all the aspects of this story. What do you really know of this woman other than whatshe told you?” Gabe demanded. “Are you even sure that she is who she says she is? Perhaps she thinks she has something to gain by approaching you.”
“She knew certain details,” Quinn replied, wondering if anyone might have had access to that information. She supposed that anyone who was involved in her adoption would know about the circumstances in which she was found, not to mention anyone who watched the news or read the newspapers. The discovery of an infant in Lincoln Cathedral was well publicized.
“Details can be unearthed and manipulated if someone makes it their business to do so,” Gabe replied, rational as ever.
“But not DNA,” Quinn replied triumphantly as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing a few strands of dark hair.
“Good girl,” Gabe said with a grin. “Plucked it off her coat, did you?”
“It was easy enough. Most women have a stray hair or two clinging to the fabric of their scarves or coats.”
“And what about Morgan?” Gabe asked carefully. “Will you confront him?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn replied truthfully. “What should I do?”
Gabe folded his arms and tilted his head, something he often did when he was thinking and didn’t wish to be disturbed. Quinn let him have a moment. She had no idea how to approach the situation with Rhys Morgan. She had a contract with the BBC and was legally obligated to see it through to the end. Accusing Rhys of rape, especially when all she had to go on was the word of a woman she’d just met, would make working with him untenable.
Gabe finally turned to face her, decision made. “Say nothing to Morgan. Even if what Sylvia Wyatt told you is absolutely true, it’s not your place to level such an accusation at him. She’d made her decision, and you must abide by it. Besides, the statute of limitations on rape must have expired by now.”
“But how do I continue to work with him, knowing what he’d done and who he might be?” Quinn protested.
“First things first. You must find out if he’s your father. Is there any way you can do that?” Gabe asked, practical as ever.
“He keeps a toiletry bag in his desk at work. I’m sure I can find something I can work with.”
“Will you be able to keep your feelings to yourself until you know the truth?”
“I’ll have to, won’t I? I’ve waited this long to find out who my parents were. I can wait a bit longer. It will be hard to be in the same room with Rhys, knowing what I know, but I’ll keep a lid on my emotions for the sake of the truth.”
“Put on the old poker face?” Gabe joked. “I’ve never known you to be able to hide your feelings. Everything you think is always right there in your eyes.”
“So, what am I thinking now?” Quinn asked softly, a telltale blush staining her cheeks.
