THIRTY-EIGHT
Thirty-eight
Good grief.
Lottie was stunned by the revelation Damian had just made. Days of Our Lives had nothing on this twisted tale. ‘I don’t understand … How is it possible that Catherine’s child was hidden in plain sight this entire time?’
‘From what we can piece together, Catherine dies and Kate’s left—quite literally—holding the baby. She’s not going to abandon a helpless child, and they can’t take it to anyone because then there’d be questions, and they can’t have anyone find Catherine because that would only implicate her and her family in the robbery and murder of six men,’ he stated matter-of-factly. ‘No one would think twice about seeing Kate with a newborn baby, if they even saw her, given how remote her home was. She’d already had a tribe of kids by then.’
‘But not registering the birth was a bit suspicious, surely?’
‘Maybe registering it would be more risky, if someone started adding up dates. Who knows, maybe, despite being a criminal family, they were still cautious about lying to the church? Religion played a much bigger role in lives back then.’
It made sense. She stopped then stared at him. ‘If Finnegan wasn’t Kate’s child …’ she started, then felt her eyes widen as comprehension suddenly dawned. ‘Then Cher isn’t related to the McNallys. She’s related to the—’
‘Comptons,’ Damian finished for her. ‘Finnegan O’Ryan is a descendant of Alexander Compton.’
Lottie let out a shocked chuckle. ‘Cher is going to be devastated.’
They shared a momentary smile, but Lottie soon felt it slip from her face as reality set in. Damian was here. In her shop. She’d pictured this scene a time or two since their break-up, but in those imaginings, she hadn’t been dressed in a pair of old jeans, an oversized T-shirt and joggers, with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail after she’d spent the day rearranging the store.
‘I, uh … excuse me for a minute,’ she said in a rush, heading out the back to lock herself in the tiny bathroom, feeling sweaty and gross.
She glanced up at the mirror and groaned at the sight, quickly smoothing her hair back and giving her armpits a brief sniff. This is not how this moment was supposed to go. She took a deep breath before opening the door and heading back out.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said, avoiding his worried gaze.
‘So … how have you been?’ Damian asked when the silence threatened to turn uncomfortable.
‘Good,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Busy.’
‘I heard about your book being published. Congratulations,’ he said. His smile almost melted her tattered heart.
‘Thanks. I’m not sure how it’ll go, but I’m pretty happy that it’s finally finished.’ Then a thought occurred to her. ‘How did you know about the book?’
‘Gordon mentioned it.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Of course. She’d never asked Gordon about him—she hadn’t been brave enough—but she should have realised they would have stayed in contact.
‘He and your mum are still going strong, I see.’
‘Yeah. Like two teenagers in love.’
‘I’m happy for them.’
In the quiet of the shop, she heard the old grandfather clock ticking loudly in time with her heartbeat until it became too much. ‘Why are you really here, Damian?’ she blurted.
‘I … missed you,’ he said finally.
Her heart skipped a beat and she felt a slice of pain go through her. She’d missed him too. Every day. But having him suddenly reappear out of the blue like this was … a lot.
‘You were the last person I expected to see today,’ she found herself saying, facing each other like a pair of strangers. It felt weird to know someone so well, yet feel as though you suddenly didn’t know them at all.
‘I thought about letting you know I was in town, but then I was worried you might justifiably tell me to get lost,’ he said with a grimace. ‘So I figured I’d use the element of surprise to my advantage.’
‘Well, I guess it worked.’ She’d been too shocked to slam the door in his face, even if she’d thought about doing it. ‘How long are you here for?’
‘About that,’ he started, swallowing nervously. ‘I got offered a job.’
‘Oh.’ Here we go again , she thought. This dreadful feeling of déjà vu.
‘Yeah, as a curator for a new Early Australian Museum that’s being planned. It covers the period from the First Fleet arrivals, early colonial settlement, Indigenous colonial history through to the gold rush and bushranger era.’
‘Wow, that sounds amazing.’ It really did. ‘I’m happy for you.’ She really was.
‘Yeah. It means staying on in Sydney full-time, though,’ he said with a long sigh. Her heart plummeted, though she didn’t know why—he’d already left once.
‘That’s great,’ she said, forcing a smile and straightening her shoulders. ‘Well, I’d better get ready to close and let you get back to whatever you were doing,’ she said, turning away quickly as she felt an annoying prickle behind her eyelids. She was mortified that he might see her cry.
‘Which is why I turned down the offer,’ he continued, making her stop.
She turned back towards him. ‘Why would you do that?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Because I’d already applied for another job … and got it.’
What the hell kind of game is he playing at? Lottie simply stared at him.
‘I’ll be working at the university up here.’
Lottie felt her mouth drop open as she continued to stare at him—her mind racing—trying to keep up with what he was saying. ‘You gave up a dream job as a curator at a museum to be a lecturer at Armidale ?’
He flashed that lopsided little grin at her and Lottie’s insides did a flip. God, she’d missed that.
‘The hours are flexible, so I can focus on my writing, which was my original plan until everything went haywire and I got sidetracked by things I thought I should want.’ He took a step closer to her. ‘I know what I actually want now.’
‘What do you want?’ she asked quietly.
‘I want us. I want you … if you’ll give me another chance?’
‘You really want to give up everything you worked for to move up here?’ she asked incredulously, still unable to believe what she was hearing.
‘I let myself get swept away by all the hype. I lost sight of what made me happy. It wasn’t the TV stuff or the media hype. I let all that craziness cloud my judgement and worse, I did it at the cost of losing you.’
‘You were always very clear about how much your career means to you, Damian.’
Damian looked at her desperately. ‘Here’s the thing, Lottie. It didn’t matter how much it would help my career, or how many books it would sell, when I didn’t have you there by my side to share all that success. Our success.’
‘We made a pretty good team,’ Lottie acknowledged. ‘But you only did what anyone would have done in the same situation. I never blamed you for that.’
‘ I blame me for it. I’m so sorry, Lottie. I don’t want any of it. I want the dream we started to plan, and I’m hoping you might still too.’ He slowly stepped around the counter, cautious hope in his step. ‘Would you consider it? Maybe see if you can fall in love with me again?’
Her throat tightened; this time, there was no hope of stopping the tears as they fell. ‘You idiot. I never fell out of love with you,’ she said with a sniff.
He closed the distance between them and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly. Against his chest, she could hear his heart beating fast, yet reassuringly, and she knew they’d finally found the place where they both belonged.
‘I’m a what ?’ Cher demanded, her voice rising in alarm after Lottie and Damian had sat her down to explain over a drink at the bar what they’d uncovered.
‘You’re a descendant of Lady Catherine Compton,’ Damian repeated.
For a moment, Cher sat stunned into silence, which was no mean feat.
‘I’m … a lady !’ she gasped.
‘Well, I don’t think you’re actually …’ Damian trailed off.
‘I have noble blood,’ she declared. ‘I knew it.’
‘You’re not disappointed about not having a blood connection to Kate anymore?’ Lottie asked cautiously.
‘Of course, that’s going to take a bit of time to adjust to,’ Cher said, tilting her head slightly, ‘but let’s face it, finding out I’m a Compton is a pretty good upgrade. I can’t wait till the girls down south find out about this.’
‘Do you think you should let this all sink in for a bit before you get too excited?’ Lottie suggested gently.
‘Maybe you’re right.’ Cher gasped, placing one lethally manicured hand on Lottie’s arm. ‘Maybe I should wait a few days and get used to it.’ She nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll need some time to plan my party anyway.’
‘What party?’
‘My announcement party! I’m no longer a madame . I’m now Lady Cherise Dubois,’ she said dramatically, trying out the name.
‘Oh boy,’ Lottie sighed.