“But he loved his family constantly,” Antoinette cut in.
“That’s true,” Roberta agreed. She examined Phaedra’s face, trying to find traces of George in her features. “You don’t look anything like him.”
Phaedra felt the chill of her scrutiny. “True, I look like my mother.”
David leapt to her defense. “I don’t look anything like Dad, either.”
“But you share many characteristics,” Roberta added. “What characteristics do you share with George, Phaedra?”
At that question, Phaedra’s face lit up. “We had so much in common. We loved all the same things: the mountains, climbing in wild places, traveling, sport.”
“You don’t ski, do you?” David asked excitedly.
“Absolutely. I grew up in Vancouver.”
“Did you ski with Dad?”
“Yes, he was a beautiful skier.”
“Did he take you to Murenburg?” Antoinette asked, fighting a sudden sense of betrayal. How was it that they had done all these things together without her knowledge? Climbing, traveling, skiing . . . She swallowed back tears as the secret suddenly became so much bigger.
“No, he took me to Whistler in Canada for my birthday. We also played cards. He was a wicked bridge player.” Antoinette recalled the various times George had tried, and failed, to teach her bridge. She watched Phaedra across the table and wondered whether George had found a soul mate in his daughter, someone who loved all the same things that he loved: all the things she hated.
“Was he very surprised when you appeared, claiming to be his daughter?” Roberta probed deeper. “I mean, did your mother really keep your birth secret from him? I find that very unlikely.”
Phaedra couldn’t help but admire the girl’s perseverance, although she didn’t relish having to answer her questions. Her heart was thumping wildly, and her hands had begun to sweat. Everyone was staring at her, which was daunting. “My mother didn’t want anything from George, Roberta. It was a brief love affair that ended. Telling him she was carrying his child would not have resurrected it. Besides, she soon married Jack, and we became a family for a while. I grew up believing Jack was my father.”
“Why did she leave it so late to tell you the truth?” Roberta asked.
Phaedra lowered her eyes and seemed to wilt for a moment beneath the pressure of Roberta’s questioning. “Jack died. She wanted me to know then that he wasn’t my real father.”
“Dear girl, how ghastly for you to lose two fathers in such a short space of time,” said Rosamunde.
“Jack was a father to me for the first ten years of my life, and I felt bereft and betrayed when he left. He settled in New Zealand and raised a family there. He didn’t keep in touch. When he died, I felt nothing. I barely remember him now.”
David noticed that Phaedra’s eyes had begun to glitter and pushed back his chair. “Right, let’s eat. I’m ravenous!” Harris had brought in the food on large china dishes and placed them on the sideboard at the end of the room. “Phaedra, why don’t you come and help yourself,” he suggested quietly.
But Roberta wasn’t finished. “Did you see a lot of George over the eighteen months that you knew him?” she persisted.
“Yes. He was a busy man, but he made time for me. We skied and trekked together. I lived in Paris but spent a lot of time traveling in Asia, which is where he loved to be, too. I’ve been working on a big photographic book of the Himalayan communities, you see. George was helping me. He knew the area well. I moved to London only very recently to see more of him.” She lowered her eyes and fingered her fork nervously. “I’ll be moving back to Paris now, as I have to finish my book and there’s no reason for me to stay.”
“Why Paris?”
“I’ve lived all over, Roberta, but Paris is the city I feel most at home in,” Phaedra replied, trying to remain composed as Roberta fired one question after another. “I speak French and have many friends there.”
“Did George introduce you to people? How did he keep you secret for all that time?”
“He didn’t have to. We were climbing mostly. Just us and a few sherpas and porters. It was irrelevant.”
“But when you were skiing in Whistler, for example? How did he keep you secret there?”
“He didn’t. He kept the fact that I was his daughter secret.”
Roberta crinkled her nose. “So how did he introduce you?”
“As a photographer,” Phaedra replied simply, placing her napkin on the table and standing up. “He didn’t feel the need to explain to anyone.”