Truth

el, I will bring you some water, and Monsieur?”
    “ I would like some coffee please, Madeline?” He bowed toward the woman.
    She laughed at his gesture, “Why, of course. I will bring it out soon.” With that, she disappeared, leaving the lady and gentleman of the house alone.
    Her husband reached for Claire’s shoulder and gently massaged. While the sound of his voice instigated chills, the touch of his hand sent her body into mayhem. It hadn’t changed; she hoped it never would.
     
    *****
     
    Catherine sat at Tony’s grand desk. It wasn’t like he’d be sitting there anytime soon. Thanks to his kind provisions in his absence, Catherine Marie London was listed as executor of Anthony Rawlings’ estate and anything related to it. The title came with a nice trust fund. That money plus the large sum she’d accumulated over the years left her more than financially solvent.
    It took almost twenty-five years, but Marie had finally fulfilled Nathaniel’s desire. She was finally the lady of the manor. Maybe her name wasn’t Rawls, but that didn’t matter. Nathaniel told her many times how he wanted her to live, and it wasn’t as Anton’s housekeeper. Catherine Marie leaned back against the plush leather and scanned the grand office. There was no doubt; the room was much more regal from this perspective.
    Catherine opened the drawer on the lower right, to inspect Anton’s private files. She fingered the tabs... in this paperless world it surprised her he’d kept these printed documents. Thankfully, the ICPD hadn’t felt the need to confiscate them as evidence.
    She eyed the scribed names. There were so many. How could she figure out which one was her daughter? Catherine saw her own name. Maybe there was a clue in there. When she opened the file, she feared her heart would stop pumping. The writing wasn’t Anton’s. Catherine knew his writing well enough to duplicate it easily. This writing was Nathaniel’s.
    Scribbled in the margin of a contract was the name Sophia Rossi . Catherine went through the drawer again. The only Sophia was Sophia Burke . Suddenly she no longer remembered her husband’s love, she remembered his vendetta. Burke? Burke? There was no way her daughter could be connected to Jonathon Burke.
    Catherine removed the Sophia Burke file and opened the folder. Above the typed name Sophia Rossi, was the scribbled name Sophia Rossi Burke ... Catherine searched the pages. There was a plethora of outdated information. Nonetheless, written above the text on the second page was a telephone number. Catherine couldn’t resist. She used the blocked house phone.
     
    Derek answered his wife’s cellphone. The past few weeks were too much. She wasn’t up for solicitors or blocked numbers. “Hello?”
    Catherine hesitated, questioning the correctness of the number. She expected a woman’s voice. “I’m sorry, I’m looking for the beautiful baby girl I was forced to give away thirty-three years ago.”
    Derek listened. Sophia had said she didn’t want to know her birth parents. Nevertheless, this may be their only chance to learn the truth. “I’m sorry; my wife is indisposed right now. She’s had a difficult few weeks.”
    “ Yes, that’s the reason I’m calling. I never wanted to interfere with her and her adoptive parents. But now....” Catherine wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. Now she was lonely and wanted to at least meet her daughter? Now she thought her daughter might be more open to learning about her birth mother? Now she had nothing better to do...
    Thankfully she didn’t need to finish the sentence. Derek interjected. “Tell me the date you gave birth.”
    Catherine sat taller. Who was this man demanding information? She sure as hell wasn’t intimidated. She’d loved Nathaniel Rawls and outlasted Anton Rawls... this man was nothing in comparison. However, she answered, “July 19, 1980.”
    Catherine heard muffled voices. Then a woman’s voice, “Please, don’t call again. My parents are dead. I don’t know you.”
    Marie sat straighter. Of course she deserved this response. Nonetheless, part of reasoned maybe she could fill a void left by the death of her daughter’s adoptive parents. If nothing else, she could look out for the young woman from afar, as Anton and Nathaniel had done. “I’m sorry, I won’t call you again.”
    Resolutely, the young woman swallowed her emotions. “Wait, if you could give me your number, I’ll think about it. Then when