Part 4

Chapter 12

“Robin,” Diane raised her voice. “Are you listening to me?” 

Robin looked over the restaurant table at her mother. Lost in thought about something other than Eleanor, she hadn’t been listening. The past week had been so sweet after all the anguish about the possibility of her sister still being alive. She had decided to stop thinking about it. And it had been a good week for that: knee-deep snow had kept cars off the road for two days (thank goodness the toilet paper and milk supplies were up to date). The sidewalk down William Street, however, had been shoveled and the path well-worn between Numbers 46 and 54. Robin was still in a state of amazement over it all.

 “Sorry, Mom. What were you saying?”

“This is important, Robin. I’ve been giving this Eleanor nonsense some thought. I think we have to find the daughter. I know you don’t want to look for Eleanor anymore – I don’t blame you – but I want to know my granddaughter.”

Robin played with the shrimp salad on her plate and sipped at her iced tea. She didn’t know why her mother liked this restaurant so much. It was noisy and since it was close to the Inner Harbor it was always filled with tourists. And no matter how much the ads called it a local restaurant, this was a chain and they couldn’t do justice to a crab cake or an oyster. Bad food put Robin in a bad mood.

“It’s hopeless,” she replied. “I’ve looked for her but all I’ve found is a birth certificate. She’s not in the schools; I can’t get medical information. I can’t find an address. Mom, I’ve looked everywhere I can think of.”

“You’ve left one place out, though,” Diane said and reached for her tidy beige leather bag. She pulled out red, white and blue ticket folders. “British Airways” was boldly printed across them. 

“Will you go to England with me?”

“Mom! England? I’d love to go but why?” Robin reached for the folders and glanced at the tickets inside. The departure date was only a week away. And she noticed breathlessly, the tickets were for business class.

“You’re the one who mentioned an English man. Somebody Carrington? Maybe Eleanor married him. Maybe he’s there now and we can find him,” Diane said and added, lowering her voice, “Maybe Eleanor’s there with her daughter.”

Diane looked at Robin and exclaimed, “Oh Robin, now that we know she’s alive, we must find her.” 

Robin couldn’t remember seeing her mother this way. Not when she was a little girl and certainly not in the past few years. They’d barely talked since Robin’s father had died. The gravestone hadn’t even been delivered before Diane had sold the house, moved to Havre de Grace and taken up with that man. Yes, he was a very nice man but it surprised Robin how quickly her mother became “chummy” with him. She had even married him — without a word to Robin.

When her mother had moved away, Robin had felt the losses all the more. Her sister was gone, her father dead and now her mother was making a whole new life for herself far from the one she had had as Mrs. Browne. 

She could hardly guess what was going through her mother’s mind.  Could she really be missing her old life? – as Robin had to admit she missed hers. She looked again at those tickets. 

She’d declared her sister dead once again only a few days before. She had closed that chapter and put aside her weak detective tendencies. 

No, she wasn’t going to get all wrapped up in this mystery again, she told herself. But how would she tell her mother? She started to shake her head and put the tickets on the table.

“Just go with me,” Diane pleaded. “We’ll see the sights, go to a play and have tea every afternoon. If I happen to check the phone book or make a few calls, you won’t mind, will you? You do have a passport, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t, as a matter of fact. I haven’t gone anywhere I’d need one,” Robin said, thinking that might be a perfect excuse.

“Well, never mind. You can take the tickets to the passport office in D.C. and get a passport tomorrow. Good mother that I am, I happen to have your birth certificate with me. There’s a Kinko’s down the street from the passport office – there are lots of places, in fact – to get pictures taken.”

“Then I guess it’s all settled,” Robin said, weakly. “We’re going to London.”

****

The dreary winter of London was no better than the dreary winter of Baltimore, Robin thought as she watched the old city speed by from her quaint black cab. The cab driver had given her a wink as he opened the taxi door and offered a short tour on the way to their hotel in Notting Hill.

She was sure the driver wasn’t taking the direct route but he was lively and filled with information about the palace, the changing of the guards and Parliament. He even offered the weather report.

“Now there’s a great place for tea in Notting Hill,” the driver said. “The late Princess Diana was a big fan of the Garden Café. I’ll point you in the right direction when we get to your hotel.”

“Won’t that be lovely?” cooed Diane, a big fan of the princess. “We’ll have to go there today.”

Robin knew her mother was trying her hardest to make this trip seem like a big, happy adventure but Robin felt herself preparing for more disappointment. Not with London, of course. She figured if she could get past the cold and drizzle, it might not be a bad town for a couple of weeks. After all, she’d wanted to see London since sixth grade social studies. Hadn’t everybody? 

She stretched and leaned back into the taxi’s seat. She always thought she’d be a world traveler after she finished college and yet, this was her first trip since then. She rarely left Baltimore, except for trips up to Havre de Grace or down to the beach. Now here she was in London. She watched as the famous sights gave way to pretty townhouses. “Yes, tea sounds good,” Robin said, trying to sound cheery. She really was going to make it a good trip.  “But the jet lag is killing me. I need a nap first.”

“Well, here we are, ladies,” the driver said, pulling up to a stylish, white hotel flanked by potted evergreens. “You should have a good time here. Some say it’s a little quirky but then again, some say that’s what makes it good. Been here before?”

“Not in a very long time,” Diane said, unfolding her long legs from the back seat. Friends at the travel agency in Havre de Grace had recommended this hotel when she booked the flight. Yes, she thought as she approached the marble steps, it is charming. Expensive, but charming. 

“Now, don’t you forget the Garden Café. Just down the road a few blocks. It might be a bit of a cold walk if the weather doesn’t cooperate, but you’ll be glad you stopped in,” the driver said. In an old-fashioned gesture, he tipped his cap as he left.

I’m in England, Robin thought. The thought woke her up to all the possibilities the next week could bring. She thought about her plans as a tourist, certainly not as a sister. She had her red travel guide in her bag, marked up during the overnight flight. She hadn’t been able to sleep so she’d read everything the guide had said about London.  After a short nap, she would take some time to pick out exactly where she wanted to go first. Westminster Abbey and Big Ben, certainly. The Victoria and Albert Museum, of course. The Tower of London and London Bridge? Oh and shopping at Harrods and crossing Abbey Road. C’mon, Robin, she told herself. Have some fun. You’re in England.

Chapter 13

St. James’ Park was a surprise to Robin. She’d never heard of it until yesterday. But even today, on one of the dreariest of winter days, it attracted people who strolled or jogged along its tree-lined walkways. The ponds were filled with noisy ducks and ragged little birds who fought for the crumbs of bread thrown their way. There was even an elderly man, bundled in a gray coat and scarf who fed birds directly from his hands. The little wrens showed no fear as they descended onto his outstretched hands filled with seed. He murmured to them as they came and went. He caught Robin staring at him and his birds and nodded to her with a warm smile. She felt her face grow hot but the sight had warmed her, too. She hurried away but only far enough away to watch from a distance. Lounge chairs on the lawn seemed oddly out of place this time of year but Robin took a seat anyway. The rain had stopped during the night and a wan sun had burned through the remaining clouds. It wasn’t warm but it was dry enough to enjoy the park.

Robin wondered what had happened to her mother. Diane had disappeared from her room early that morning and left a note under Robin’s door that they’d meet at teatime. She had the whole day to herself she thought. She’d decided to spend the day wandering. She’d traveled on the tube — so different from the short little subway in Baltimore — and taken a guided tour of the city. In a matter of hours, she had checked off a number of must-sees: Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus, the Tower Bridge, Big Ben. She’d had a few minutes to stop in a couple of small shops, too, before ending up here to while away what was left of the afternoon before heading back to Notting Hill. 

She pulled her coat around her and relaxed back in the chair to watch the people go by. Schools had been dismissed; she could tell by the number of uniformed children tossing book bags in a pile to play a game. Young mothers had brought out their tots for a needed breath of fresh air. Strollers clogged the walkways near the entrance as parents gathered. A trio of elderly women giggling on a nearby bench made Robin feel like laughing herself. She wondered if they had been friends all their lives.

The sight of so many groups of friends suddenly made Robin feel so lonely. It was a feeling she felt often. She hated it and fought it every time it sneaked back into her heart. Once the young Robin had felt part of a lively family: loving parents, doting grandmother, sister she adored. One by one all the people in that circle had disappeared until only she remained. Even her mother had taken herself out of the circle when she moved to Havre de Grace. Could any place be more remote? Robin knew it was a silly thing to think. Her mother hadn’t moved to Montana, after all.  But it was a long drive up a busy interstate with exorbitant tolls. Even a phone call was long distance. The town, though picturesque, was foreign to Robin. And her mother was living in her husband’s home, a place Robin had never felt welcome. It was all so far removed from Robin’s childhood home in Annapolis and from her grandmother’s city rowhouse she now called her own home. It was also a place, she reminded herself, where she lived there alone. 

She had friends, Robin argued with herself. There was always Jane to talk to. And Robin thought about her friends at the aquarium with whom she had dinner a couple of times a month. She wished her neighbors were a friendlier lot, but they were busy as she was. She couldn’t even remember the names of the people she saw once in a while. Jennifer, she remembered the name of the young mother she’d seen recently, Was that just last week? Yes, it was the same day she’d met up with Jim. She liked Jim, she thought, remembering their walks in the snow that week. A child running past woke her from her reverie and she rose to catch a cab back to the hotel. “Mother’s waiting,” she thought.

Chapter 14

“Very pretty, Robin,” Diane smiled as her daughter arrived at the table. 

“Oh, do you like it?” Robin asked, smoothing down the pale green tweed skirt she had bought that afternoon. “I feel like a native.”

“I can’t believe you went shopping without me.”

“I can’t believe you left me all day on our first full day in London. Besides, I didn’t go to Harrod’s without you. I found this in a little shop just around the corner from here. You’d like it. Where’d you go?”

“What a perfectly horrid day,” Diane said, pouring a steaming cup of tea for Robin. 

The perfume of the Earl Grey filled the air as Robin picked up a tiny sandwich.

“Horrid? What happened?” she asked.

Diane had taken the job of detective very seriously but found to her dismay that the local police didn’t take her as seriously. She’d gone down to the police station to inquire about filling out a missing persons report. She figured she could see if the police could find Eleanor if she was living here. 

But Diane found them only rude. “They told me I was wasting their time when they had serious matters to attend to. One policeman took pity on me and suggested I see a private detective. Do you know how many private detective agencies there are in the city of London? Hundreds. I went back to the hotel, got out the phone book and started calling offices. Most of them are really just answering machines and I wasn’t about to leave my life story on a recording. I almost lost hope after the first two people I talked to. One didn’t sound smart enough to follow my story. The other started talking about fees first. It was depressing.

“But then I talked to Donald Graham. He used to work at Scotland Yard. He retired about seven years ago and started Graham Investigations. He offered to meet us here this afternoon,” Diane said. “I have no idea what he looks like so I don’t know how we’ll –“

“Mrs. Martin, I presume,” a tall, slender man with thick, wavy gray hair bowed before Diane. “Donald Graham at your service, madam.”

“Oh Mr. Graham. I was just wondering how I’d find you,” Diane said. “This is my daughter Robin.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Miss,” he said, bowing again. His clear blue eyes shone from a time-worn face. Robin didn’t think his accent was English, Scottish maybe, she couldn’t tell, but it was softer, warmer than a crisp and proper English accent.

 “Mrs. Martin, I’ve been considering your case and I’ll be frank. It could be very difficult to find your daughter if she’s still alive. It may be that she doesn’t want to be found. Maybe she changed her name or lives under an assumed name. I’ll check all the usual places. Did you bring your photograph of her?”

Diane pulled a small picture from her wallet. The photo of Eleanor had been taken her senior year in high school. Long golden hair framed Eleanor’s oval face. Even faded, the photo captured the young woman’s laughing blue eyes and bright smile. Diane remembered the first time she saw the photograph. She’d been surprised at her own daughter’s beauty. Eleanor usually didn’t have time for hairdos and make-up and often pulled that beautiful hair back in a ponytail before dashing off in a pair of jeans. 

She reluctantly handed over the photo, afraid of losing this beloved image of her missing daughter. But if this might help bring Eleanor back, she was ready to part with it. 

Diane had been a young mother. She’d married her college sweetheart Scott when they were only juniors. They didn’t want to wait until graduation. Diane’s mother was thrilled with Scott and told him she was looking forward to becoming a grandmother. Diane wasn’t sure she was ready for that. But a year later, instead of celebrating her graduation, she was welcoming a squirming, cranky baby they named Eleanor. Diane still wasn’t sure about motherhood. 

But she put aside her dreams of travel, found a government job flexible enough for a new mother and found a way to finish those last few credits for her B.A. Then Scott announced he had landed a job at the Naval Academy in Annapolis and the new family put down roots in the old state capital.

Annapolis was a good place to raise a child. It had small town charm, the nearby Academy offered some excitement and there was plenty of water for swimming, crabbing or sailing. They spent many a Sunday afternoon at nearby Sandy Point with a picnic and their kites. Scott would stop as a sailboat slid by and say, “Someday we’ve got to get a sailboat.” Diane had never been on a sailboat; she’d barely been around water growing up in Roland Park. But one day, when they thought the girls were old enough, Scott started looking for a small day sailer. It didn’t take long. 

Those Sunday sails on their 19-foot O’Day kept the small family close. Eleanor was a fearless sailor who thought nothing of whitecaps on the bay. She’d haul the sails in close and hang on as the boat heeled over. Diane found she loved those exciting afternoons – a trip on a calm day would be only a bore. She encouraged her daughter’s fearlessness and watched as that same fearlessness affected other parts of her life. She saw herself in her little girl – but she was beginning to see her mother in herself. She wasn’t even 30 but she discovered she loved family life. Like her mother, she was selfish about time spent as a family. Sundays were always family days whether on the boat in summer or around the dinner table on a winter’s day.

Diane had worried about having two girls when Robin was born. She had been an only child and Scott had practically been raised alone. Although he had had a much older sister, she had moved away to the Eastern Shore when he was still little. Since they lived so close, they crossed the Bay Bridge a few times each summer to visit. The girls liked wandering the country roads around her house. Diane was relieved to see a friendship blossom between them. But Diane soon realized two daughters meant twice as much work so Diane sadly gave up her office job. Finally, she had learned to love the adventures of motherhood.

Describing her beautiful, adventurous, talented daughter to a stranger wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared. Diane was proud of Eleanor. She still wished her daughter hadn’t gone to Europe – she missed her so much. But recalling how much the young woman wanted to go, and remembering her own young dreams, she was glad for Eleanor’s chance. Maybe, she was still making her dreams come true. Diane refused to speculate why her daughter had chosen to disappear from their lives. She refused to wonder why she would keep a granddaughter from her. It was enough to hope she might still be alive.

“I’ll see what I can do, Mrs. Martin,” Graham said. “We’ll be in touch.”