Nasty business, this chewing. It drove other people crazy, but it kept her sane. Working on someone else’s story kept her from having to reflect on her own.
Leaning against a pillar, she removed an envelope from her handbag. This visit wasn’t about her. It was about a girl lost long ago. A girl who’d never seemed to find her way home.
Mr. Knight had given her a copy of a black-and-white photograph. The image was grainy, but there was a girl with braids in the center, a bow over the wide collar of her dress, a ruffle around her hem. She was holding the hands of her parents. Smiling. Her mother’s eyes were hidden behind her glasses, but her father looked worried, his lips pinched.
Had Brigitte reunited with her father? Perhaps she had returned to live a quiet life in Germany after the war, taking care of a man who’d been broken in a concentration camp.
Quenby slipped the envelope back into her handbag. Then she descended the steps toward the lower terrace. The patio was surrounded by boulders and a man-made waterfall that cascaded over rocks, into the swimming pool. Water bubbled out of the pool near the rock wall, into a creek bed that trickled across the terrace before pouring over the edge of the cliff.
Quenby took off her sandals and sat on the tiled edge of the pool, dipping her toes into the cool water.
One thing was clear to her—to this day, Mr. Knight loved Brigitte deeply. She saw it in his gaze that kept wandering down to the princess toy in his feeble hand. Heard it in the tremble of his voice as he talked about the girl he’d struggled to keep alive.
His story fascinated her. The journey through an occupied Belgium seemed impossible, and yet he’d finished it, despite all that opposed him. It would make a compelling feature, but no matter how much she researched—or what she uncovered—there would be no article. Mr. Knight wanted to find Brigitte, but he’d made it quite clear that this story was not for the syndicate.
Any information she found on the Rickers in the process of her search, she could retain for her article, but how could she take on this job and maintain her position with World News? Even if he did pay for her work, she wasn’t certain she wanted to partner with a man she knew so little about. A man who apparently knew an enormous amount about her.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Jack, his gaze focused over her head, beyond the stone wall. “If you keep your eyes on the water, you’re bound to see one of the orca pods swim by.”
“Killer whales?”
“It’s a strange name to call them when they’re not even whales,” he said. “Orcas are actually part of the dolphin family.”
She sighed. “Not everything is as it seems.”
Jack sat on the edge of a cushioned deck chair, his knees folded up into an awkward sort of platform. “Don’t be afraid of Mr. Knight. He is a good man.”
“He’s asking me to do the impossible.”
“I’ve worked for him more than forty years, and one thing I know for certain, he’s an excellent judge of character.” Jack stretched out his legs, then scooted the chair closer to her. “He wouldn’t ask you to do something he thinks an impossibility.”
She lifted her feet, letting the water stream off her toes, back into the pool. Had Jack heard the story of the boy who’d tried to rescue Brigitte? Daniel didn’t seem like the kind of person who liked to share his past either.
Her neck craned back, she looked up at the spires towering overhead. “Who built this place?”
“Mr. Knight hired a crew to build it in 1970, but it took them almost ten years to complete.”
“Why did he build a castle?”
Instead of answering her question, Jack pointed at the highest tower in the center. “That’s the keep.”
She examined the gray walls. “It looks like a tower to me.”
“The keep is much more important than a tower,” he said, smiling. “In the Middle Ages, if an enemy stormed a castle, the residents would either escape underneath it or they’d take refuge up there. Knights could win a battle from the keep.”
She studied it again. “And your employer needs one of these because—?”
He smiled again, dimples creasing in his ruddy cheeks. “A fine question to ask him.”
She sighed. “Could you tell me what time it is, or is that a secret as well?”
“Two o’clock, Pacific time.”
She calculated the hours in her head. “Ten o’clock in London. How long do you think they’ll meet?”
“It’s different every time,” he said, tossing her a white towel. “You have family in England?”
She shook her head as she dried her feet. “Not anymore. I always wanted to visit London, though, so I accepted an internship at a newspaper there during college.” She threw the towel into a hamper. “Spent most of my summer grinding coffee beans and running errands, but after graduation, my former boss offered me an editorial job.”
“I went to London once, on my honeymoon.” He looked back toward the sea. “My wife pretended we were royalty for a week.”