The Girl in the Scrapbook by Carolyn Ruffles (reading women TXT) 📕

as he noticed Emily standing in the doorway and grinned. ‘You must be the mystery person Jen mentioned.’

Jennifer performed the introductions and then disappeared back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,’ she said.

David raised his eyebrows and waited while Emily busied herself moving cushions to get comfortable on the sofa opposite him. Molly, she noticed, had joined them and was sitting primly on the third sofa, opposite the wood burner, waiting to listen to what David had to say. Meanwhile, her own first impressions were positive. He seems like a nice guy, she thought, watching as he stretched his long legs out and relaxed back into the furnishings. He was clearly waiting for her to initiate conversation and she pondered how best to start.

‘I understand you’ve always lived in the village?’ She made it into a question and he nodded a response.

‘More or less. I was brought up here but then went off to college and moved around for a bit after that. Then I moved back here with my wife about thirty years ago.’

‘Oh, you’re married.’ Emily could not quite keep the surprise out of her voice. She had noticed the warmth of his greeting to Jennifer.

‘A widower. My wife died in 2005.’

‘Oh,’ Emily said again. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He shrugged and smiled at her. ‘Thank you. It was a while ago but I still miss her.’

She nodded her understanding and silence stretched between them. Emily fiddled with the cushion she was leaning against, as if tracing the pattern embroidered there would show her the way forward.

David watched her with interest. She was a striking young woman and there was something about her that echoed a chord, a soft ringing, in his memory. Where had he seen those eyes before?

‘So, what brings someone like you to Chalkham at this time of year?’ he asked eventually.

She pondered the question. ‘I’m looking for some answers,’ she said slowly. ‘I have reason to believe that my family may have lived here a long while ago and I’m trying to trace them. My biological family that is – I was adopted when I was a baby.’

‘What have you found out so far?’

She told him about her visits to Angela Carr and Daisy Stanhope and what she had discovered. As she was showing him Norah’s scrapbook, Jennifer appeared with three glasses and a bottle of wine. She glanced sharply at Molly still sitting on the sofa and then at David who was poring over the photographs. She looked across at Emily who shook her head slightly, attuned to the silent question.

‘How are you doing?’ Jennifer asked brightly as she handed round the glasses of wine.

David looked up and frowned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t recognise anyone here,’ he said, ‘but I do recognise the house in this photo.’ He tapped the picture of the frail looking woman in the garden. ‘That’s Willow Farm. I used to live there.’

‘That’s what Daisy said,’ Emily exclaimed. ‘Of course, this picture would have been taken in the nineteen twenties.’ She gave him a mischievous glance. ‘I don’t suppose you’re that old!’

‘Cheeky!’ David smiled back at her. ‘I was born in 1958 and my family moved back here in the mid-sixties. My mother had lived in Chalkham when she was a child, I remember, and she was so happy to return here. My dad’s business was doing well and he bought Willow Farm.’

‘Is your mother still alive?’ Jennifer asked.

David nodded. ‘She is. She’s eighty-seven and still going strong. She lives with my sister, Caroline, and her husband.’

‘Does she live locally? Do you think she’d agree to talk to me?’ Emily asked eagerly. ‘She might remember what happened my family.’

‘I’m sure she would. She likes nothing better than talking about the past. She would love this.’ He tapped the album. ‘She lives in Copden, only a few miles away. I’ll phone her tomorrow and see if she’s available to see you then. I presume you’d like to go as soon as possible?’

‘That would be fantastic! Thank you so much.’

‘Do you know the names of these people in the photographs? If you know their names, then they will have been recorded in a census and it may well be that they appear in the parish records.’

Emily turned back to the beginning of the album where Norah’s name was inscribed on the flyleaf. ‘I’m assuming that the girl is Norah and that her maiden name began with D because of the initials stamped on the front cover. Daisy was able to tell me that the man was called Arthur Fletcher and that he had a daughter called Iris. I’m assuming that Norah was married to Arthur so she would have become Norah Fletcher but we don’t know anything about the little boy in this photo here. Daisy was friends with Iris and said that she thought her mother had died but she had no knowledge of a brother.’

‘Iris Fletcher …’ David pondered the name. ‘I remember my mother had a friend called Iris but her surname wasn’t Fletcher. I’m trying to think what it was … it began with M … Miller, I think. Iris Miller. She might have been someone else entirely.’

‘I can’t wait to meet her. If her friend is my Iris, she might be able to tell me where she is now, if she’s still alive, of course.’

‘Just one thing – my mum has been a bit poorly. In fact, she was in hospital all over Christmas and gave us a bit of a scare. She’s recovered now but she’s still quite frail. If she’s up to a visit, we may have to keep it short. I wouldn’t want to overtire her.’ He looked across at Jennifer. ‘That’s the reason I haven’t been in contact, if you had been wondering.’

Jennifer took a sip of wine and avoided his gaze. ‘I really hadn’t given it any thought,’ she lied. ‘I’m glad your mum’s on the mend. Right.’ She put her glass down and stood up.