“You would?”
Sometimes she would sneak out and hide on the moors, high above the nearby village, and watch the people go about their normal lives, and dream of being part of that. But that sounded pathetic and for some reason she didn’t want Christian Roth to think her pathetic. “Sometimes I would go out, but mostly I’d stay. It was an odd life, but I didn’t know any different, and I was happy, at least when I was younger. Then six months ago my aunt died.”
The familiar sense of loss washed over her. Her aunt’s death hadn’t been sudden—she’d been ill for a long time—but it had been the end of everything Tara had known.
“And?”
Her hands gripped the edge of the desk in front of her. “And I found everything she had told me was lies.”
“Everything?”
“I don’t think she was even my aunt. I don’t know who she was, or why she brought me up. After she died, I found papers, but there was nothing about her. It was like she never existed.” She glanced at his impassive face. “My whole world was a lie. Everything I was brought up to believe in.” All those stupid rules she had followed for the last twenty-two years.
“So what is it you’d like me to do?”
She frowned. Hadn’t she been clear? “I told you, I want you to find out who I am. Who my aunt was and why she was looking after me.” When he remained silent, she continued, “I have money to pay you. The house was in my name and I have all sorts of investments. I’ve got copies of the paperwork here. I thought it might help.”
She took out the folder containing the meager amount of paperwork she’d been able to find about herself and her aunt and placed it on the desk in front of him. She watched as he flicked through the file, his eyes widening. Hers had almost popped out of her head when she’d seen how much money her aunt had stashed away, all in Tara’s name.
Christian closed the file and sat back. “Why do you want to know?”
It was a good question, and one she’d asked herself many times. She had a life now. She had friends, was going to college, getting real qualifications. She had a chance of that normal life she’d always dreamed of. But while she’d love nothing more than to forget the past, she couldn’t. All the time, in the back of her mind, the questions niggled.
Why had her aunt lied? What was she hiding? What was so bad that Aunt Kathy had concealed them away in that big old house on the moors? And what was it with all the stupid rules? The list of questions was endless and she needed answers.
“My life has been pretty odd until now and I just want to be normal. But what if I’m not?”
“So really, you want me to find proof that you’re normal?”
She smiled; she’d come to the right place after all. “Yes.”
There was a light tap on the door. She glanced over her shoulder as Graham peered inside.
“Christian—”
“What is it?”
“Piers Lamont is in reception.”
“Okay, Graham. We’ve finished here for the moment.”
Graham closed the door behind him and Christian rose to his feet. “Well, Ms. Collins—”
“Please, call me Tara.”
“And you must call me Christian. Well, Tara, I’ll read through the papers and see where we can go from there. Perhaps you can come back in a few days and answer any questions that come up.”
She stood. “Do you think you’ll find anything?”
“I’m sure I will, and don’t worry,” he added. “There will be an explanation.”
Tara searched his face, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Or was he just trying to placate her, because really he thought she was crazy, and he wanted to get her out of there fast? But his face was bland, impossible to read. Suddenly she felt drained. She’d done it, broken the rules, and now she had to live with whatever they found.
“Tara?”
“Yes?”
“One question before you go. How did you choose me?”
For a moment, she considered lying—after all, she had just said she wanted to be normal. Then she shrugged. “I didn’t choose you. My cat did. He’s called Smokey and I’ve had him all my life.”
He scrutinized her as though wondering what to say next, or perhaps whether to say anything at all. “And just how did…Smokey, choose me.”
“Well, he didn’t pick you personally, just your company. He put his paw right on your advertisement.” Christian regarded her with a strange expression in his eyes, and she hurried on, “I don’t want you to think I’m crazy or anything, but Smokey is actually super bright and I did look you up on the internet afterward.”
“Very…sensible.”
Why did she get the impression that “sensible” was not the word he was thinking of right now? Perhaps it was time to leave.