The Lost Sister by Kathleen McGurl (i can read book club .TXT) 📕

York on the Olympic in the Twenties and Thirties, surely she would have tried to find her?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Also, the family put a death notice in the local paper. Do you remember Ruby talking much about her English family?’

‘Hmm.’ Robert scratched his beard. ‘She did talk about them a little. I remember her saying her mother was poor but hard-working. Her father died when she was quite young. Her sisters – ah yes, I remember something she used to say when we asked her about them – “one bossy, one sweet as sugar”. I don’t remember which was which. But she’d been adamant she had to have a clean break from them all, and never wanted to contact them. “They wouldn’t understand, and they’d never forgive me,” she used to say. Grandpa used to just listen in silence, looking sad. I had the impression over the years he might have tried to persuade her to contact her mother at least, and let her know she was alive and well, even if she didn’t want to stay in touch with them. He could never talk her into anything she didn’t want to do, though. No one could.’

‘Did she remain living in New York?’ Harriet asked.

‘Yes, she and Grandpa owned an apartment near Central Park. I used to love visiting as a child, taking the subway in from New Jersey. It seemed such a glamorous place to live – there was a concierge at the front desk and an elevator with a brass concertina door you had to pull across manually. They lived on the sixth floor and there was a stunning view over the park.’

‘Sounds lovely – and a far cry from the Victorian terraced house Ruby grew up in,’ Harriet said.

‘Grandpa was well off. He’d inherited money from his father. Say, I’d love to come over some time for a trip to England. I’ve only been to London on a brief visit twenty years ago. Perhaps if I come over, I could come to Southampton and take a look at Grandma’s old place, if it’s still there. Maybe you and I could meet up for a coffee?’

‘I’d love that! I don’t live far from Southampton so could easily meet you. It’s a nice city. The Higgins’s house is still there, according to Google Street View. It’s nothing special, just a typical Victorian terrace. We’ve hundreds of thousands of houses like that in this country. You’ll be surprised how small it is!’

‘All right! Well, ma’am, I’m afraid I must go now, as I have errands to run this afternoon and I imagine it is getting late over there in England. It has been tremendously exciting to chat to you, long lost cousin! Let’s stay in touch by WhatsApp and I’ll let you know when I’ve booked my trip to England.’

‘Yes, please do! Lovely to talk to you, too. Hope to see you soon.’

Harriet ended the call with a broad grin on her face. What a wonderful second cousin she had! He seemed like a genuinely nice man and she hoped his plan of coming over for a visit would work out. She had the impression he had plenty of money so hopping on a trans-Atlantic flight wouldn’t be a big deal to him.

It had been quite a momentous day. The estate agent had called earlier, saying that Mr and Mrs Cannon had put forward an asking-price offer for her house. They clearly wanted it badly – they’d only viewed the house that morning. Harriet had accepted, and now the pressure was on to find somewhere she could move to.

Harriet had to share all her news with someone. She had found a bungalow she wanted to view, and the estate agent had set up an appointment for the following afternoon. She phoned Sheila.

‘Need you, Sheila,’ she said, when her friend picked up the phone. ‘Lots to tell you, plus I need your opinion on a house.’

‘Ooh, a viewing?’ Sheila squealed. ‘You know I said I’d come any time to look at possibilities. I love nosing around houses.’

‘Two o’clock? I’ll pick you up. I’m to meet the estate agent at the property.’

‘Sure, perfect. And what’s all the news? Is Jerome any better?’

‘He’s still the same, poor little mite. The search for a donor is ongoing.’

‘Aw, bless him. Hope they find one soon.’

‘Also, I have a buyer for my house.’

‘Fabulous! Well, we must work hard to find you a suitable new home then!’

At two o’clock, Harriet picked up Sheila who was wearing a fake leather jacket in an alarming shade of green. She’d dyed her hair a bright orange since Harriet had last seen her. ‘Look at you, brightening up the day,’ Harriet said. ‘Who cares if we have grey skies?’

‘Well, that’s what I thought,’ Sheila said as she climbed into the car. ‘So, what news?’

They drove to the bungalow – further from the beach than her current home but still within walking distance, she was pleased to note. Once there and sitting in the car outside waiting for the estate agent, Harriet filled her in on what she’d learned from Robert.

‘So Ruby lived! That exhibition listing her as dead was wrong, then.’

‘Not just that. All the websites, every list I’ve found online. A newspaper notice in the Southern Daily Echo in 1912 that her family placed. She was pregnant, it seems, and wanted to make a fresh start somewhere new. Perhaps her family didn’t approve of whoever her boyfriend was. Ah – see, that fellow looks like an estate agent.’

A young man in a shiny suit was locking his Vauxhall parked on the other side of the road. Harriet climbed out of her car and looked across at him. He smiled and approached her, hand outstretched to shake. ‘Mrs Wilson? James, from Winkworth. We spoke on the phone. Nice to meet you. Are you ready to go in?’

‘Yes, thanks. This is my friend Sheila who’s going to have a look round with me.’

‘Nice to meet you, Sheila. Always wise to bring someone with