Kate’s mouth formed a grim line. ‘Not the kind of woman for you, then. Whatever happened to end it is a mercy as far as I can see. You certainly can’t trust a woman like that. Nor your “best” friend.’
‘Not sure I can trust anyone.’
‘That’s silly, Daniel!’ said Kate, glaring at him. ‘Not all women are the same. Not all people are the same.’
‘But I can’t seem to figure out how to trust. I mean I trusted Bailey, but she told me so many lies that it would put your head in a spin.’
She leant forward, shaking her head, her brow furrowed. ‘How did it get to that? Surely your father and I brought you up to recognise bad from good?’
He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘Not your fault, Mum. Truth is I was like a lamb to the slaughter. Completely gullible. So unused to the kind of people I was working and playing with. Dad would have said I’ve been mixing with “the wrong crowd”.’
‘You must have been. Because it’s not the words you trust, it’s the people.’
‘And how do I know when someone is trustworthy? Just wish they came with a label.’
Kate pressed her hands to her stomach. ‘Gut feeling. It works every time. You ignore it at your peril.’
Her phone went and she reached out, shook her head and then slid it back onto the table.
She glanced at Dan. ‘Lucy.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me if she wasn’t, to be honest. She knows I worry, despite what I may say publicly.’
‘What you say publicly is true. She’ll be fine. Lucy is more than a match for Oliver. I’m sure she’ll sort it out, one way or another.’
‘Yes, I know. But I hate seeing my children hurting.’
Dan glanced down at the photograph sitting on a pile of books. ‘And we don’t like seeing our mother hurting either.’
She picked up the photograph. ‘It’s not a sharp hurt, more an indistinct sadness that I’ll have to leave the family home at some point. Maybe sooner now we know this man’s name.’
‘We don’t have to follow it up. The Michigan lawyers seem to be worse than useless.’
‘If they are doing anything, they’re not keeping us informed. I mean we’re only the beneficiaries of the trust — or were. We’re not even that anymore.’ She blinked in the bright light. ‘Which leaves me with two options. I either wait for them to do whatever they’re going to do, whenever they’re going to do it, or I take control.’
‘Taking control sounds good. There’s nothing worse than feeling at the mercy of other people and events.’
‘Trouble is,’ said Kate, ‘if I pursue it and get the whole thing cleared up, I’ll be hastening my departure from the house.’
‘You don’t have to do it. Who knows, at the rate these solicitors are going, they won’t get the Trust sorted for decades. We don’t need to help them.’
‘True, but it’s the right thing to do. Besides, I’ve had enough of waiting. I want to take control.’ Even saying the words made her feel better. ‘But I’ve been staring at this all afternoon,’ she said, tapping the photograph lightly against her knee. ‘And it’s driving me mad.’
Dan leaned over her shoulder to have a look. The young marine looked back at her from another time — confident, composed, his gaze unmistakably fixed on the person behind the camera. There was something in his expression that went beyond friendliness. His eyes held an intensity, an affection which couldn’t be mistaken. He wasn’t being photographed by a stranger, but by someone who meant a lot to him.
Dan took the photo from her, his eyes narrowing as he focussed on the small image. ‘Great-grandma Ngaire’s Johnnie.’ He grunted a half-laugh. ‘I wonder what Tamati made of him.’
‘Tamati probably didn’t know him. This was taken in 1942 when Augustini said John Kowalski was stationed at the US Marine camp. Tamati and Ngaire didn’t marry until a few years after that.’
‘Where did Liam find it?’
‘Upstairs in a cupboard, tucked away in a box of Ngaire’s things.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why, but the more I look at this man, the more I feel as if I’ve seen him before. Which makes no sense at all.’
‘That is strange,’ said Dan with a frown. ‘But you wouldn’t have seen anyone in that uniform, surely?’
‘No. Certainly not. I was born in 1962. Seventeen years after the war ended.’
