Page 2 of The Unseen
“No, I couldn’t bring myself to. Regardless of what it says, Brett intended to kill me and my baby. Even if he’s remorseful, I could never forgive him for leaving me to die in that tomb in New Orleans. Perhaps I’ll read the letter someday, when I’m ready.”
“I don’t blame you. I probably wouldn’t read it either.”
“Well, looks like I’m almost there.”
“Are you meeting Rhys?” Jill asked, referring to Rhys Morgan, producer of the BBC seriesEchoes from the Past.
“Yes, Rhys is already on-site with a camera crew. He’s practically crowing with delight at this new find.”
“I can’t picture Rhys Morgan crowing about anything,” Jill said. “He’s always so intimidating.”
“Hardly. Rhys does have a softer side, and now that his girlfriend is expecting, he’s fuzzier than ever. Being around him is almost a joy.” Quinn laughed.
She had liked Rhys since the day they met. He was a consummate professional and a master of his trade, and now, a year on, a good friend, despite the fact that she’d once suspected him of being her biological father. These days, Rhys was like a cuddly teddy bear, coddling his pregnant girlfriend and bakingtreats she refused to eat for fear of gaining too much weight. He was genuinely happy, and Quinn was happy for him, especially since he was no longer seeing Sylvia. That situation had been rife with complications, and given Quinn’s professional relationship with Rhys and her toxic personal relationship with Sylvia, it was for the best that those two had parted ways. Sylvia was still seething with anger, believing Quinn had had a hand in Rhys’s change of heart, but Quinn was innocent of any interference.
Rhys had decided to break things off with Sylvia all on his own, finally realizing their relationship was based on nothing more than guilt over past events on his side and loneliness on Sylvia’s end. Rhys had shared with Quinn, swearing her to secrecy first, that he intended to propose to Haley after the baby was born. He had no wish to overwhelm her with the prospect of planning a wedding when she should be focusing on her fast-approaching motherhood.
“Have you had any news of your sister?” Jill asked. It was a sore subject, but Quinn didn’t mind discussing it with Jill. Jill was the closest thing she’d ever had to a sister, and that would never change, even if Quinn finally found her long-lost twin.
“No, nothing. I rang her solicitor several times, and he assured me he sent my letter on to Quentin but has heard nothing back. Seth and I discussed it at length while he was here, and he believes we need to start searching for Quentin on our own. He’s not here to do it in person, but he’s offered to finance whatever steps I wish to take.”
“Actually, Brian has an idea he’d like to discuss with you.”
“Really? I can’t wait to hear it. Oh, Jill, I’ve arrived. Give my love to Brian. We’d like to have you over for dinner soon.”
“Great. Let’s put something on the calendar.”
Quinn paid the driver and climbed out of the taxi. She’d loved being at home with Alex these past few months, but it was nice to be back at work. She tingled with anticipation at the prospect of examining the remains.
TWO
Rhys opened the door before Quinn had a chance to ring the doorbell. “What time do you call this?” he bristled as he stepped aside to allow her to come in out of the rain.
“Sorry, but there was a lot of traffic.”
“Come in. Melissa and Paul are expecting you.”
Rhys led the way into the front room, which looked like something from a museum. Life might have gone on outside the walls of this house, but the parlor looked frozen in time at the turn of the last century. It wasn’t just the old-fashioned furniture and heavy velvet window hangings, but the lack of anything modern, like a television, a telephone, or a stereo system. The décor predated the First World War, but was still in remarkably good condition. Several lamps were lit against the gloom of the rainy morning, and Quinn almost expected them to be fed by gas rather than electricity.
A couple in their forties sat on a butter-yellow settee, a porcelain tea service in front of them. The woman jumped to her feet and came forward to greet Quinn. She was dressed in jeans and a dusky purple knit top, and her short dark hair had streaks of blue and pink. Her husband, whose light brown hair brushed his shoulders, wore paint-splattered trousers and a stretched-out Led Zeppelin T-shirt. The couple looked grossly out of place in this Edwardian parlor, which seemed to be the centerpiece of their home.
“Dr. Allenby, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We’ve seen you on television. Haven’t we, Paul?” Melissa asked, eager to bring her husband into the conversation. “I do love archeology. The episode about ‘the Lovers’ nearly tore my heart out. What a gruesome end. I do wonder what happened to their little boy, but I suppose we’ll never know. Will we?” she prattled on as she motioned for Quinn to take a seat on the settee facing the one where Paul Glover sat in amused silence. “And that duplicitous priest,” she exclaimed,referring to the second episode ofEchoes from the Pastthat had just aired the previous week. “I never knew much about Dunwich, but now I want to go see it for myself. ‘The Atlantis of Britain.’ Such a romantic name for such a tragic place.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Glover. I’m so glad you’re enjoying the program.”Maybe they have a TV in the bedroom, Quinn thought as she took a seat on the uncomfortable settee. Rhys wisely remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out over the rain-soaked street.
“Please, call me Melissa. Can I offer you a cup of tea? Mr. Morgan, will you have a cup?”
“Thank you,” Rhys replied and came to join Quinn on the settee, his brows knitted with impatience. If Quinn knew Rhys, he was eager to get started and had no desire to spend a quarter of an hour on idle chitchat, but he graciously took a seat and smiled pleasantly at Melissa.
Quinn accepted a cup of steaming tea and took a restorative sip. The tea was good, and it was nice to be out of the biting cold and rain. Besides, before examining the site, she wanted to hear the story of how Melissa and Paul had come to find the remains. The details were often as important as the find itself.
Melissa poured a cup for herself last, like a proper Edwardian hostess, then leaned back, ready to tell her tale. “You are probably wondering what Paul and I are doing in this old relic,” she began.
“Well, yes,” Quinn admitted with a smile. “It doesn’t seem to suit your image.”
“We had a flat in London but moved to Dorset five years ago. We love it there. Don’t we, Paul?”
“We do. The light is perfect in the mornings,” he added, confirming Quinn’s suspicion that he might be an artist.
