Masters And Lovers 1-4

Part Eight: Her Mother’s Love

James

Charlotte pleads with her mother. “Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me there? At

Blessingmoors. With him?”

Mitch thunders upright from her seat. Face reddening, her mouth twists. “I did not leave you. I would

never have left you…”

“I thought you must have abandoned me…”

“No.” She swings on Charlotte, eyes glossy. “I left because…” Her voice hushes… ”Because you were

dead.” Mitch presses fingers to her forehead. “You were dead. He told me that. How can you be alive?

How?”

“Who told you?” I ask. “Klempner said that? He told you your baby had died?”

“No, not Larry.” Hands pressed to her cheeks, Mitch swings her face to one side then the other. “It was

Frank. He said you were dead, that he'd seen Larry murder you.”

The bang of a door closing echoes through the room, then boots on linoleum coming closer.

Mitch whirls to the door. “He’ll tell us.”

“He?”

The door opens and a figure steps into the lounge. Not overly tall although perhaps once beefily built;

muscle has run to fat, and the paunch is matched by the jowls. The face is red-threaded with veins, and

the eyes are bloodshot.

As he steps inside, “Look who’s here,” Mitch announces. “Can you believe it?” Her smile is wide and

white and bright. “It’s Jenny. Jenny’s alive.”

The man looks, gapes then scowls. I’ve seen the face before, albeit much younger then, on the photo

Michael found in the files.

Frank Conners.

What the fuck?

Charlotte stares. Michael’s jaw drops and his eyes, widening, meet mine.

Conners stares too, his eyes fixed on Charlotte.

And he doesn’t look pleased…

Is shock the only appropriate reaction?

The long-lost daughter…

Finally, he speaks. “Jenny?” His face is slack but abruptly moves to a smile.

And I know a fake smile when I see one.

He holds out arms, palms open. “Jenny! Thank God. How on earth?” she steps forward into his

embrace. Awkwardly he hugs her, patting her on the back, but quickly, she breaks away again, her

eyes calculating.

Conners takes in air, the smile fading, eyes sliding. “How… Where have you come from?” The smile

slips back into place, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He exhales with a smell of beer and whiskey.

The eyes shift again. So does his stance. Everything about him is...

... wrong

Is he really pleased to see her? Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Michael stands, watching in silence, a forefinger raised to his lips.

He’s not happy…

And he’s a much better judge of people than I am…

Conners notices the opened bottle of bubbly. “Hey, champagne. Let’s celebrate!”

Silent still, eyes assessing, Michael pours a glass, passes it to him, pours the remains of the bottle for

the rest of us. He raises the glass. “To Jenny!”

We raise our glasses too. “To Jenny.”

“And to finding you alive too,” finishes Michael. Conners flicks a rheumy gaze to him. “We’ve all been

thinking you were long-dead. And now, here you are.”

Mitch breaks in. “You were meant to believe he was dead. It was the only way we could be sure that

Larry wouldn’t keep searching for him.”

“He’s never stopped searching for you though,” says Charlotte.

Mitch pales. “Still?”

“Still.”

I take a seat, plant myself down. “So, why don’t you tell us what happened. How Frank here comes to

be alive when we thought he was dead. And how you came to think Jenny here was dead too.”

*****

Twenty-Six Years Ago

Angelo turns, ‘professional’ smile firmly in place. “What can I get you, sir?” The smile fades as he sees

the cop standing there...

Again...

“You know what I'm looking for; her. Your friend, Mitch. She was supposed to be in court. She’s not

turned up. You seen her?”

“Nope.” Angelo opens a jar of peanuts, fills a few dishes, then reaches for a jar of olives.

The cop doesn’t move. “How about Frank Conners?”

Scoop in hand, olive dish half-filled, Angelo pauses. “Frank? What do you want Frank for?”

“So, you know him?”

“Course I know him. What's your problem with him?”

“He's wrapped up with her. She's wrapped up in the drug trade.”

“Frank’s in real estate. It's nonsense. I told you that before.”

The cop’s tone is lazy. “That's not what the evidence is telling us. So, have you seen him?”

“No... Not since…”

Since the last time he saw Mitch…

“Since when?”

“A couple of weeks back.”

“He with her?”

“Yes.”

Pushing the cap back from his face, the cop scans the room, points. “That's her isn’t it?” He levels a

finger at the corkboard over the back of the bar. “In the photo?”

Angelo’s reply is slow, reluctant. “Yes.”

The cop snaps fingers at the image. Face set, Angelo unpins it from the board, passes it across. Mitch

and Frank smile out of the photo. Larry scowls.

He holds it up to the light, peering at the detail. “And who are the two men? Is one of them your friend

Conners?”

“Yes, the one on right.”

“He looks friendly. Got his arm around her.”

Angelo’s silence is loud.

“I'd like to borrow this.”

“It's not mine to give.”

“I didn't say give. I said borrow. If your friend Frank is innocent, then he’s a missing person. You should

be glad to let me have it.”

Angelo jerks his chin down, barely a nod.

The cop tucks the photo into a jacket pocket, touches his cap. “Always a pleasure to work with a

cooperative citizen.”

*****