Not Their Daughter: An emotional and gripping domestic suspense novel by Laura Elliot

Author:Laura Elliot [Elliot, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2024-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

Gates open automatically. I enter a tree-lined avenue. Above me, branches intertwine and enfold me in a green, leafy tunnel. The sun, at its midday height, peeks intermittently through the leaves and flashes against the windows of my car. This is my last opportunity to see my birth mother before I leave for New York.

I slow down and fight off a dizzying spasm. Drive away… drive away… Cassie’s voice fills my ears. I accelerate and drown her out.

The canopy of leaves lightens and there it is. Beech Park. This home where I first knew love. Could I have been any happier with Maria is this magnificent house? I played on sand and around the rocks, not on those spacious lawns that fan out on either side of me.

Beech Park is an Edwardian-style house with elegant bay windows. The grounds surrounding it have a natural wildness that must have seemed like heaven to my father, as a neglected boy. He would have climbed the trees and hidden in the maze of bushes. I blink back tears as I imagine him, a skinny urchin racing across the grass in pursuit of Maria. Did he kiss her behind the trunk of that wide-spanning oak? Paddy Murdock is nowhere in this vast, idyllic space. I can’t allow him in. He belongs only to Cassie’s story.

Aloysius Russell comes down the steps to meet me. ‘Did you have any problem finding us?’ he asks.

‘Not at all. I used Maps.’

‘Of course you did.’ He chuckles. ‘I guess people don’t get lost anymore, which is good. But losing your way can also bring you in interesting new directions.’

‘Has that ever happened to you?’ I ask.

‘Many times. But I always make sure I can find my way back to the old path.’ Again, he gives that gravelly chuckle and ushers me inside with a slight bow.

A magnificent chandelier hangs from the centre of the hall. The doors leading into various rooms have a weathered appearance. Sturdy and built to last, they failed to protect me when my father closed the front door behind him, my three-week-old self in his arms.

I follow Aloysius into his study. ‘Douglas is one of your admirers.’ He sits behind a desk that is heavily carved and old-fashioned enough to qualify as an antique, and nods towards a chair in front of it. ‘He thinks you have a unique talent. On his recommendation, I’ve listened to recordings of your morning shows and your recent podcasts. You’re astute and feisty. Not afraid to speak your mind and develop an argument. I respect that.’ My value is summed up with a benign nod. ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’

I wait for him to continue. I’m here for only one reason. When will the door open and reveal her?

‘I’d like to work with you on a series of podcasts,’ Aloysius says.

I force myself to pay attention to him.

‘Since my retirement I’ve had time to think about problems that were outside my remit when I was a minister.

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