I left the rest of my belongings in the large suitcase and delivered it, my shoulder bag, and my carry-on bag to the hotel’s checked-luggage room, saying that I would pick them up in a few days.
I returned to my suite with a profound sense of accomplishment and a bone-deep craving for sleep. The jet lag that had left me alone for most of the day had returned with a vengeance. Unfortunately, I couldn’t close my eyes until I’d spoken with my nearest and dearest.
I called Bill, to bring him up to speed on my revised itinerary, to find out how the boys’ day had gone, and to get an update on Ruth and Louise, who were still alive, if not completely well. Then I settled onto the sofa, opened the blue journal, and tried not to sound as drowsy as I felt.
“Dimity?” I said. “I’m back from Aubrey Pym, Junior’s apartment. Things didn’t exactly go as planned.”
They seldom do, my dear. What happened?
I described our encounters with Jessie the landlady and Bridgette the critical care nurse, and summarized what Cameron and I had learned about A. J., Edmund, and Bree Pym.
Oh, dear. Ruth and Louise will be devastated when they learn that they missed contacting their long-lost nephew by a matter of weeks.
“In Ed’s case, it was a matter of hours,” I reminded her. “If I’d come one day sooner . . .” I finished the thought with a deep sigh.
If you’d come ten years ago, everything would have been different. Dwelling on “ ifs” is pointless, my dear. You came as swiftly as you could.
“True,” I said. “And you have to admit that A. J. and Edmund didn’t live up to the Pym sisters’ standards, in terms of life expectancy. A. J. was only in his late eighties when he died, and Edmund didn’t make it to fifty. It’s hard to believe they were related to Ruth and Louise.”
Environment can trump genetics, Lori. Excessive drinking doesn’t usually promote longevity, and no one can help catching pneumonia. Ruth and Louise have been blessed throughout their lives with an abundance of good health and an absence of bad habits. I hope their great-grandniece takes after them. Will you and Cameron Mackenzie attempt to locate her?
“We’ll leave for the Hokianga as soon as Cameron gets back to the hotel,” I informed her.
Ah, the Hokianga, discovered in the tenth century by Kupe, the great Polynesian explorer. Kupe is considered by some to be the first man to set foot in New Zealand.
I instantly vowed to study my new guidebook assiduously before I spoke with Aunt Dimity again, then asked, “How in heaven’s name do you know about the Hokianga? ”
One of the soldiers I met in London was from Omapere, a small town in the Hokianga. He described it as a quiet backwater surrounded by great natural beauty. To tell you the truth, he made it sound a bit like Finch.
“Why would an eighteen-year-old girl with a good education take a waitressing job in a quiet backwater? ” I asked. “Do you think Bree went there because she needed to put some distance between herself and her father?”
I would read rather more into her actions than a desire to separate herself from her father, Lori. Consider, if you will, the timing of her departure. After heaven knows how many years of looking after her father and her grandfather, her grandfather dies and her father goes on a self-destructive drinking spree. Perhaps Bree couldn’t stand it any longer. Perhaps she needed to find someone who would take care of her for a change. Bree may not be running away from someone, Lori. She may be running toward someone.
“A boyfriend?” I guessed.
I doubt that a girl raised in Takapuna would have a boyfriend in the Hokianga. I’m thinking of someone else, someone she lost many years ago.
I frowned down at the journal until an unlikely answer popped into my weary mind.
“Are you talking about her mother?” I said skeptically. “I don’t think Bree knows where her mother is, Dimity. Ed told Nurse Bridgette that he lost track of his ex-wife after the divorce.”
Husbands may lose track of wives, my dear, but children can be extraordinarily persistent when it comes to finding a parent. Bree is an intelligent girl and she had a computer at her disposal. I doubt that she’d have much trouble discovering her mother’s current whereabouts.
“You may be right,” I said, yawning. Dimity hadn’t convinced me, but I was too tired to argue with her. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
I’m so pleased that we’re going to the Hokianga. While we’re there you must—you simply MUST—pay your respects to the Lord of the Forest.
“Is he related to the Lord of the Rings? ” I asked.
Certainly not. The Lord of the Forest is quite real, Lori, and far older than any character created by Professor Tolkien. Cameron Mackenzie will be able to take you to him. I suggest that you refresh yourself with a short nap. You’ll want to be wide-awake during your journey. The scenery will be splendid.
“Talk to you later.” I waited until Aunt Dimity’s words had faded from the page, then closed the journal, rested my head against the back of the sofa, and let jet lag have its way with me.