“I'm sorry I'm late.” She spoke barely above a whisper, and he sensed easily that she was frightened. “I drove myself, and I had a terrible time finding a parking place. I finally just gave the car to the doorman.” He nodded, and they sat down in a corner, in two large red velvet chairs that seemed perfectly suited to the occasion.

“Would you like a drink? Or a cup of tea?” But she was too nervous to eat or drink, and she shook her head as he pulled the file out of his briefcase. It was much thicker than it had been when Arthur Patterson first gave it to John. There was what he knew of Hilary's life in it now. And soon there would be Alexandra's.

“Thank you, I'm fine.” Her eyes looked deep into his. “Are you close to finding the others?”

“We hope so.”

“The last trace we have of Hilary was when she went to see Arthur Patterson about twenty years ago, to find you and your younger sister, and she was furious to discover that he hadn't kept track of any of you. I suppose she tried to find you herself, and obviously couldn't. In any case, she held him responsible for the breakup of your family, and I imagine she hates him. And that is not difficult to understand, from what we know of her early life.

“I don't know what's happened to Megan yet, but certainly compared to you, Hilary got the worst deal possible.” He told her what he knew and Alexandra's eyes filled with tears as she listened, thinking of what a terrible fate a life like that would be for anyone. She tried to imagine it happening to her own two little girls, and the very thought made her ill. No wonder Hilary was bitter. She had every right to be. Abandoned, beaten, forgotten. “I gather that when she went to New York, she went to see Patterson, and after that we've lost her. But I have a very intense investigation going on this week, and I imagine there will be more recent information on Hilary when I get back. We already thought we'd found her once, but it was a mistake.” He was referring to the woman at CBA. But wherever she was, he would find her. “But next time it won't be.”

“My God, what an awful life.” Alexandra discreetly wiped the tears away and he offered her the file for her own inspection. She could hardly bear what she read, and looked up at him finally with anguish on her face. “How could she survive it?” Alexandra felt a wave of guilt wash over her as she thought of her own life in comparison to her sister's. “Why did this happen?”

“I don't know that. The turns of fate are not always kind, Mrs. de Morigny.”

“I know.” She spoke softly, but she had never seen it quite so clearly. It was like one of the kaleidoscopes she gave to her children, you turned it just a fraction, and all of the same pieces fell into a totally different pattern. One moment they were flowers, and the next moment they were demons breathing fire. It seemed so wrong to her that Hilary would have been left to the demons. With effort, she turned her thoughts back to John Chapman. “What can I do to help you find them?”

“Nothing at the moment, unless you remember anything specific that might help us. But your knowledge would have ended a long time ago, I don't think it's of much use now. I'll call you as soon as I've found the others, and Mr. Patterson would like you to come to his home in Connecticut to meet them. It's the one thing he wants to do before he dies.” It seemed a noble wish, but less so if you thought of the pain he had caused them.

“What's he like? It's odd, but I don't remember him at all.” Nor did she remember her father. She had glanced at the clippings of Sam in John Chapman's file, and had been struck by how handsome he was, and how successful. There were only two photographs of her mother, one of a smiling young woman with cascading shafts of bright red hair, and in a funny way, she looked a little bit like Alexandra's youngest daughter. And the other photograph showed the three little girls, Alexandra and Hilary in matching white dresses and shiny black shoes, and the baby in a long ruffled gown in her mother's arms, taken just after Megan was born, on the last Easter their mother was alive. It was taken outside their house on Sutton Place, but it didn't look familiar to Alexandra.

Chapman tried to answer her question. “Mr. Patterson is very old, and very sick. I don't think he'll live much longer. He's very anxious to get the three of you together before he dies. It means a great deal to him.”

“And if he dies before you find them?” Alexandra asked bluntly.

“He's made provisions to continue the investigation and bring you together. But he would like to be around to see it.” She nodded. He had thought of everything. It was only a shame he hadn't thought of it thirty years sooner. It would have made a big difference to Hilary. And she said as much to John Chapman. “If he was so close to my parents, why didn't he take us, and keep us together?”

John Chapman shook his head. “I don't know. He said something about his wife not feeling able to cope with it. I think he regrets it now. Sometimes we make terrible mistakes, but we only see it in hindsight.” He dared to ask her then what Arthur wanted to know. “Are you happy, Alexandra? Forgive me for asking …” But it meant a great deal to Arthur. And she smiled at John.

“I have always been very happy. I have been blessed with wonderful parents whom I have loved deeply. Pierre de Borne was a remarkable man, and I'm only grateful he lived as long as he did. He was the joy of my life,” she blushed, “and I of his.” And then she smiled more broadly. “And you met my mother yesterday. She's wonderful, isn't she? She's my closest friend and greatest ally. This has been very hard for her.” Alexandra's face sobered as she thought of her mother's tears the day before. “It was terribly hard for her to remind me of the past. I don't suppose it will be easy for anyone to dredge all this up, particularly given the way it all happened.” She sighed and looked hard at him. “Does anyone really know why he killed her?”

“Not really.” He shook his head. “Some sort of an argument, I believe. I think he was drunk. Temporary insanity, as the defense said. Mr. Patterson maintains to this day that Sam, your father, adored her. It's difficult to understand people giving way to that kind of violence and emotions.”

She nodded, but she was thinking about Hilary and they still hadn't found out about Megan. “I hope Megan's all right. I hope they both are.” It was as though she knew them now, as though they had already come back to her, like her own children. “I have two little girls of my own, Axelle and Marie-Louise. It's odd,” she mused thoughtfully, “I think Marie-Louise looks rather like Hilary.” It was odd too that Alexandra had returned to her mother's native country.

And then Chapman asked her a difficult question. “Have you told your husband about all this?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I'm afraid Henri won't understand it. I think he'll be very upset that my parents didn't tell him when we got married. And until you find the others, there's no point confronting him. It will only make him unhappy.” It was a story she had been telling herself since the night before, and she was almost convinced now.

“And when we find the others?”

“Then I'll have to tell him something.” She smiled uncomfortably. “I don't normally go off to America at the drop of a hat, Mr. Chapman.”

“You did not deceive him, you didn't know all this.” He was trying to soothe her, but she knew better.

“My parents did though. He will be very angry. He believes me to be the daughter of the Comte de Borne. The bloodline means a great deal to Henri. He can trace his family back nine hundred years. I don't really think that a murderer and a French war bride were exactly what he had in mind for the grandparents of his children.” Perhaps it was just as well they had never had a son. Then he would never forgive her. And perhaps he wouldn't as it was. Chapman felt sorry for her as he watched her face. He sensed that her husband was not an easy person.

“I think he'll adjust. You've obviously been married for a long time. And he loves you. That counts for a lot.”

“Not to everyone, Mr. Chapman.” She smiled wistfully. And how could he be so sure that Henri loved her? She wasn't sure of it herself sometimes. He owned her, like a fine piece of Louis XV furniture, or a very good painting. And if the painting turned out to be a fraud? Would he still love it enough to keep it? She knew some would, but she wasn't at all sure Henri was among them. He was obsessed with quality and veracity and perfection. And she knew now that her pedigree was badly flawed. It was not difficult to imagine Henri's reaction.

Chapman was looking at her gently as they sat quietly in a corner of his hotel, and he realized that he liked her. She was gentle and shy, and she had kind eyes, the kind of eyes he had always wanted to find in a woman. She was so graceful, and so gentle. He hoped that Arthur's investigation was not going to cause her pain. She had done nothing to deserve it.

“May I invite you to lunch, Alexandra? And will you forgive me for being so informal?” He smiled his boyish smile at her and she laughed.

“You know all the secrets of my life. I hardly expect you to call me by my husband's title.”

“Oh, dear … is he titled too then?”

“Of course.” She laughed again, and when she did she looked so much younger. “The Baron Henri Edouard Antoine Xavier Saint Brumier de Morigny. Lovely name, isn't it?” She was almost giggling. It had been a very tense morning, and she needed the relief. They both did.

“Does it all fit on his driver's license?”

She laughed at the thought. And then sobered. “And you, Mr. Chapman, what do you think of all this? You're an intelligent man. It must all seem rather shocking.”

“Nothing shocks me anymore. I think it's a shame so many lives were destroyed by one act of madness. And in some ways, I think it's a shame to disturb the embers. But it's not for me to make those judgments, and perhaps it will bring some comfort to some of you to be reunited. Are you curious about the others?” She nodded. She had to admit she was.

“I remember Hilary a little bit … just flashes and little bits, ever since speaking to my mother yesterday.” And then she sighed. “It was a tremendous shock for her.”

“And for you too.” There was compassion in his eyes and he wanted to reach out and touch her hand, but he didn't. “I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

“You haven't yet.” But he would, when he found the others.

“Can I induce you to have lunch with me, in spite of all that?” He liked her, and funnily enough, he wanted to get to know her. He told himself it was so he could report back to his client, but he knew it was more than that. The pieces of the mystery were beginning to fall into place, and she was a lovely woman, and he liked her.

She hesitated for only a fraction of an instant, calculating what harm it could do, and decided it could do none. “I'd love it.”

“Any suggestions? I haven't been here recently, and I'm afraid I'm not very much up-to-date on the in places.”

“The best places, Mr. Chapman, are the old ones.” She stood up and smiled, and he put everything back in his briefcase and locked it. For an odd moment, she wanted to ask him for the picture of her as a little girl with her sisters, but she imagined that he needed it to show to the others, when he found them. And now suddenly she understood why there were no photographs of her as a baby. She thought of it suddenly as they crossed the lobby and he insisted that she call him John, and he noticed an odd look in her eyes then.

“I just realized something I'd never really understood before. My parents have no photographs of me as a baby, and I just accepted it, as though it were normal.”

“You had no reason to doubt them. Where are we going for lunch?”

“I thought we'd have lunch at the Ritz, with all the little old ladies.” She grinned and he laughed as she took his arm and they began walking.

“It sounds delightful.”

“They make me look terribly young and attractive.”

“You are, or haven't you noticed that lately?”

“I try not to look. I only see the wrinkles.” But it was only idle talk, she didn't even look thirty, and she had exquisite skin and silky hair, which reminded him that she looked different than he had expected.

“You know, it's funny. I thought you'd have red hair.”

She smiled guiltily, and looked very female, and he was struck again by how pretty she was, in a subtle way. It was almost as though she were trying to hide it, with her ladylike hairdo and subdued clothes. He wondered what she would look like if she really let herself go wild. Probably a great deal like her mother.