Epilogue
Four months later . . .
They spent several idyllic weeks of their honeymoon in Europe. Paris first, then Rome, on to Florence to take in as much of the Uffizi as they could, ending their whirlwind tour in Venice, Queen of the Adriatic. It was time to return to their base in London and from there make the trip to the Scottish Borders in the hope of finally meeting up with Helena.
Although they had agreed they wanted a smallish wedding with only close friends, it hadn’t turned out that way. There just had been too many people who would have been devastated not to be included in the celebrations. Stefan Hartmann had given Isabelle away. His very stylish wife, Robyn, had taken him in hand. Primped and polished, beautifully dressed in the updated formalwear the bridegroom had chosen for the wedding party: long black dress coat, double-breasted waistcoats in a colour of their choice, dark grey trousers, dress shirt and tie. Stefan had cut a fine figure.
Stefan and Robyn’s daughter Kimberley, Isabelle’s new found cousin, had been thrilled to be asked to be one of the two bridesmaids, the other Isabelle’s best friend at the Royal College. Bruno had taken care of all Marianne’s expenses, flying her in. Cassie had acted as matron of honour. Bruno’s great friend from university days had been his best man. Kurt had acted as a groomsman. Several of Bruno’s team happily took over the role of ushers. Bruno’s wedding was a great excitement for all of them. They all thoroughly approved of his beautiful bride.
Marta Lubrinski couldn’t be kept entirely out of it. No way! She had set her heart on arranging the reception at the Lubrinski mansion, so both Isabelle and Bruno gave way on the condition that she run all her splendid ideas past Isabelle. In no time at all, Marta had found she was able to love Bruno’s most beautiful and talented bride. Isabelle had even asked her opinion of the wedding dress, to be made by a top designer house. The most exquisite, delicate white lace over taffeta. A strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline and a wide taffeta cummerbund to show off Isabelle’s tiny waist. Marta had pronounced it perfect for a young bride.
The evening before the wedding, Bruno had presented his bride with his wedding gift. It was a time of high emotion for them both. His gift took Isabelle’s breath away. An emerald and diamond pendant necklace and earrings to match her lovely engagement ring. Even Isabelle, who had never focused on her looks, thought she looked radiant on her wedding day. It was a day that would forever be remembered by all who had had the good fortune to attend. Weddings were known to work magic. Bruno and Isabelle McKendrick’s wedding was judged more magical than most. It was such an uplifting feeling to see two people so much in love.
* * *
It was a cloudy day with intermittent grey drifts of rain, more like drizzle to anyone born and bred in Australia. They had hired a 4WD in Edinburgh, and now they were in Sir Walter Scott Country. They had taken in his favourite view overlooking the River Tweed valley. Lord and Lady Wyndham’s country seat, which stood by the Tweed, would be their final destination.
“Does it ever stop raining?” Bruno asked, his eyes narrowing against the rain spatter on the windscreen.
“The short answer to that, dearest husband, is no. That’s why it’s so lovely and green. I think I can spot a patch of blue,” she said hopefully. “With any luck, the sun will come out. I always feel better when the sun is shining like at home.”
They had left the upland hills behind now they were driving through a spectacular all-shades-of-green valley.
“Nervous?” Bruno asked. His own nerves were churning. If things didn’t appear welcoming, they would leave. He wasn’t going to have Bella upset.
“Of course,” she breathed. “Though they mightn’t even be there.”
“Most probably are,” Bruno said. “Like a lot of the grand country homes, they’ve had to open up parts of the house and gardens to cover the huge maintenance costs. They probably run various events as well.”
“What am I going to say?” Isabelle asked rather desperately.
Bruno reached out to place his hand over hers. “I don’t think you’ll have to say anything. Your face will do the talking.”
“We believe I’m Lady Helena’s daughter stolen in infancy?”
“We do. If we’re blessed with a meeting, we let Helena take the lead.”
“Of course.”
“What will she do when she hears my story?” Isabelle asked with a quiver in her voice.
“Up to her, my darling. She’s either going to believe the accidental swap was made by the hospital or take it further.”
“That would shake a lot of people up,” Isabelle said. “Most of all Hilary, though she will stick to her story to the death.”
“Or go to jail. We still don’t know why neither Helena nor Piers ever contacted her family.”
“I expect if we’re lucky we’ll find out. They must have had a good reason. Maybe Abigail?”
“Most probably. Whatever happens, you and I are going to have a wonderful life together, Bella mia. I’m going to do everything in my power to make that possible.”
She turned her head to smile. “I love you, Bruno McKendrick.”
“I love you too, Isabella McKendrick,” Bruno said. It was a declaration that came from the bottom of his heart.
* * *
They passed through the huge gates of the estate, with their enormous pillars, a lodgelike building to the right, coming on the house through a long tunnel of trees with wonderful open woodlands, oaks, ash, sycamores, with slopes of spring flowers to either side. One huge area was carpeted in blue bells. Another, yellow daffodils.
“May in the British Isles! It’s an enchanting sight.” The beauty around her was calming Isabelle’s nerves. She couldn’t help comparing Eaglehawk’s home compound with the entry to Wyndham Manor. The one set down in the remote desert heart of the continent, the other a magnificent green woodland sown with flowers. They could see as they approached the eighteenth-century house walls of glorious blood-red rhododendrons in full flower half-tucking out of sight the various outbuildings with signs posted outside.
“We’re here now,” Bruno said in a perfectly calm and composed voice. He didn’t park near the outbuildings, as Isabelle had expected. He ran the 4WD right into the great courtyard that fronted the four-story house with a city of chimneys atop, its portico held up by six huge columns.
“Ready, my love?” Bruno asked, unclipping his seat belt.
“I’m ready for anything with you by my side.” Isabelle met his dark eyes, her pride and trust in him apparent.
A young girl was watching them from the top of the stairs. She was wearing riding gear. The sun had come out, lighting up the clouds of Isabelle’s titian hair. Almost hesitantly, the girl, in her early teens, came down the stone steps. Her hair shone a glossy red, woven into a thick pigtail that hung down her back.
The girl shaded her eyes. “Do you have an invitation?” she asked politely, clearly surprised to see them.
Bruno answered in his usual charming manner. “I’m Bruno McKendrick. This is my wife, Isabella. We were hoping to see Lady Wyndham.”
“We’ve come a long way,” said Isabelle. “From Australia. But I was born in England.”
“Australia?” The girl’s lips trembled.
“Who is it, darling?” A tall, slender woman, also in riding dress, moved from the entrance hall out into the portico.
The girl’s eyes darted back to her mother, who came down the steps, a look of intense concentration fixed on Isabelle. It was obvious the closer she came, the more deeply she was affected.
In a dreamlike state, Isabelle moved off towards the beautiful woman who now appeared on the verge of collapse. She caught the woman in her arms, saying over and over, “Helena. Helena, Helena. It’s you! I think I got stolen from you in the hospital where you gave birth to me. Another baby was switched into my place.”
The young girl turned her eyes on Bruno. “Who is Isabelle?” she cried. “Why does she look so much like my mother?”
Bruno didn’t hesitate. “We are hoping she’s your long-lost sister,” he said.
“Really?” The girl’s voice rose in astonishment. She was greatly struck by the fact that her mother and the young woman from Australia were hugging each other as though they would never let go. She gave Bruno’s words due consideration. She knew her mother was from Australia. She also knew her mom had had a baby before she was born and her mother’s heart had been broken when the baby died. Maybe she didn’t die . . . “I can live with that,” she said finally, giving Bruno the sweetest smile.
Her mother turned, the beautiful young woman who looked so much like her mother and she too for that matter, turned towards her as well. They waved, clearly inviting her into the circle of their arms.
Bruno watched the young girl run to join them.
No explanations appeared necessary. This was his idea of the power of blood. Of recognition. A knowing that needed no words. It had taken over twenty years, but they had found Helena. He knew his beloved father, Ross, could rest in peace. He would eventually go back and investigate his father’s death. He believed Abigail had been behind it.
Lady Wyndham called to him, her beautiful face aglow. She was clearly in a state of euphoria, as was his adored wife. “Bruno, Bruno, please join us. We’re going into the house. You must stay with us.” The words came out with absolute joy.
And afterwards, Bruno thought, they would talk, and uncover the mystery that had surrounded Helena’s departure from Australia. But he pretty much knew the answers—fear for her life, and she had left with the love of her life.
She who had been lost was now found.