Page 101 of The Unseen
“I have two wonderful surprises for you. You can thank me later,” he added with a smug grin.
“The only wonderful surprise would be a month off between filming so I can pack up the flat and set up my new house. Oh, Rhys, it’s gorgeous. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
“I’m very happy for you, but unfortunately a month off is not part of my gift just now.” Rhys took a manila envelope out of the top drawer of his desk and slid it toward her.
“What’s that?”
“Natalia Swift sent it to me. Take a look.”
Quinn opened the envelope and took out a stack of black-and-white photographs. Her breath caught in her throat. They were all there: Valentina and Alexei, posing for their engagement photograph; Elena, Ivan, and the children, the photo dated 1915; and even Dmitri. He stood alone in a room with gilded mirrors andpotted palms, staring into the camera. He had been a handsome man, his dark eyes deceptively kind. Quinn stared at the photograph. There were no clues to his true nature in his aristocratic face.
She set aside the first few photographs and looked at the rest. There was a picture of Valentina, looking older and more mature, sitting on a hard-backed chair, a blond little boy in her lap. A swarthy-looking man stood behind her, a proprietary hand on her shoulder.
Nice to meet you, Stanley Swift, Quinn thought, smiling inwardly.I’m glad you made Valentina happy. She studied the face of the child. No wonder Valentina couldn’t be sure who the father was, the boy resembled her more than any of the men who might have fathered him, but Quinn thought she saw something of Alexei. Perhaps that was just wishful thinking on her part.
The last picture made Quinn catch her breath. It was a photograph from the 1930s, judging by the clothes and hairstyles. A handsome couple sat side by side, while their four children stood behind them, smiling. Two boys and two girls, all blond, all attractive.
“Who’s that?” Rhys asked, noticing Quinn’s surprise.
“Alexei. And Tanya. So he married her after all,” Quinn said. “Strange how life worked out for them all.”
“Well, at least Valentina survived. All our other subjects met with a tragic end.”
“I’m not sure that her life was any less tragic, at least until she married Swift. They look happy together. Don’t they?” Quinn asked, showing Rhys the photo.
“They do.”
“Now, what’s the second surprise?”
Rhys reached for his mobile, tapped on something, and slid the phone toward her across the desk. Quinn stared at the picture. She was looking at the mouth of a cave through which an ancient wooden coffin was visible. It stood on a natural ledge, elevated enough to be spared the damp that would have permeated the sandy floor of the cave. Quinn swiped right to see the next photo. It was of the inside of the coffin, but only the skull of the deceased had been photographed. She’d seen many skeletal remains, but this photo sent a tremor of horror through her body. This person had not met with a peaceful end. The skull was turned sideways, the head thrown back, and the mouth open in a final scream. A hole the size of a golf ball gaped at the top of the skull.
Quinn stared a Rhys. “Where was this discovered?”
“A call came into the hotline two days ago. Some local kids found the coffin while playing on the beach. I took the photos. I need you in St. Just, Cornwall, on Monday. The local constabulary has been kind enough to cordon off the site and post a guard.” Rhys took back the phone and looked at Quinn, his head cocked to the side. “Quinn, do you know what that hole is? It’s clearly not a gunshot wound.”
“Yes, I know what it is, but I’ll need Colin to verify my suspicions before I share them with you. Do you have any photos of the rest of the skeleton?”
Rhys shook his head. “I couldn’t bear to take them. What I saw in that coffin was too shocking, even for me.”
Quinn pushed away her mug and stood up. “I’ll see you on Monday then. I’d say I was looking forward to it, but given what I’ve seen so far, I think I’m going to hate this case.”
“As will I.”
EPILOGUE
JUNE 1925
London, England
Valentina set aside the storybook and gently brushed a blond curl away from the child’s forehead. He looked peaceful in sleep, his cheeks rosy with good health. He’d exhausted himself running in the park and fallen asleep before she even finished the story. The midafternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow onto the sleeping boy. At five, he was intelligent, precocious, and surprisingly artistic. He could already pick out a melody on the piano in the parlor and had asked for music lessons.
Valentina’s heart melted as she gazed at her son. For the first few years of his life, she’d obsessed about Michael’s paternity, but by the time he turned three, she’d been no closer to figuring out who’d fathered him. He’d arrived in February of 1920, a healthy baby boy of average weight and height. He might have been a full-term baby, or he might have come a few weeks early.
Valentina had stared at the baby for hours, desperate to find some hint of Alexei in his round face and blue eyes, but she could never be sure. Ian Murdoch had been fair as well, with light blond hair and blue eyes, and she’d heard that French letters weren’t one hundred percent effective against pregnancy. She’d never know the truth, so she’d given up trying to find it. Misha, which meant “little bear” in Russian, was hers and hers alone. He was her reason for being, her pride and joy, and she would love him enough for two parents and give him the security every child needed. She’d refused to hire a nanny and had taken care of him herself until he turned three, but then decided that Misha would be just fine with his aunt and grandmother while she took a couple of classes to better her knowledge of English. Reading novels wasn’t enough.
She’d loved writing for the ladies’ paper and had secret aspirations of becoming a freelance journalist once Misha was oldenough to start school. She hadn’t written anything since the summer of 1919 but had kept up with the paper for the first year after Dmitri’s death. Tanya had always brought her a copy from church once Valentina got too heavily pregnant to attend, but by the time she began attending services again after Michael’s birth, Stanislav had been gone. Perhaps he’d no longer had time to publish two newspapers once he married Esther, or had decided that the return wasn’t worth the time he invested every week into translating and writing the articles, setting type, and printing numerous copies.
Valentina would have liked to see him again but didn’t think it appropriate to seek him out at his workplace. Things had changed for them both, and even though she missed her friend, it was time to let go and focus on her new life. She had a child to raise and several businesses to run. Her days were full, but her nights were long and lonely. Several eligible bachelors had tried to spark her interest, but although they were all nice men, she simply couldn’t bring herself to agree to a date. She wasn’t ready to open her heart to anyone, or give her trust to someone who might not be worthy of it. She tried not to think about Alexei. She mostly succeeded during the day, but when she lay in bed at night, her love-starved body ached for his touch and she wondered if she’d done the right thing in driving him away.
