A Touch of Notoriety - By Carole Mortimer Page 0,35
Lawrence’s demise,’ he amended gruffly; after all, until a few minutes ago Beth had believed she was Elizabeth Lawrence, and so to her talking of Elizabeth Lawrence’s death was the equivalent of talking of her own death.
‘But you really haven’t told him yet?’ Beth pushed.
‘I have said not.’
‘And if I asked you to delay doing so for another day or so?’ she prompted evenly.
Raphael looked at her through narrowed lids. ‘And why would I want to do that?’
She drew in a ragged breath, her gaze a deep and steady brown as she looked across at him. ‘Because I asked you to.’
‘That does not tell me why, Beth,’ he murmured softly.
She breathed deeply. ‘Because I want you to take me to the churchyard at the village of Stopley tomorrow, so that I can see Elizabeth’s grave for myself, and place some flowers there in remembrance of her. I want— Raphael, I need to say goodbye to her, before I can even think of saying hello to Gabriela Navarro.’
‘Beth—’
‘This is important to me, Raphael!’
Yes, he could see by the glitter of tears in Beth’s eyes, and the brave determination of her expression, that this was very important to her.
Important enough for Raphael to ignore Cesar’s instructions and do as Beth asked?
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘IT’S SUCH A little grave...’ Beth murmured huskily as she straightened to stand beside Raphael in the peaceful silence of the churchyard, having just placed the small bouquet of yellow roses she had brought with her on top of the grave that bore the indisputable inscription on the headstone: ‘Elizabeth Carla Lawrence, aged two years, beloved daughter of James and Carla Lawrence. Rest in Peace our Angel.’
Beautiful sentiments, but the small person in that grave certainly wasn’t Beth, who for most of her life had believed she was Elizabeth Carla Lawrence.
The real Elizabeth Lawrence had lived the two brief years of her life in the small village of Stopley that Beth and Raphael had driven through just a few minutes ago on their way to the grey-stone church and its surrounding graveyard at the furthest end of the village. Beth was grateful that Raphael had opted to drive the two of them to Stopley himself in one of the less ostentatious Navarro vehicles. It was a village Beth had had no knowledge of until yesterday, let alone had ever lived in, as a young child or at any other time.
She had barely slept at all the previous night, insisting on going in to work this morning. She hadn’t told Raphael why she had insisted, but she had spent part of the morning speaking to Graham Selkirk, her immediate boss, explaining the situation as much as she felt able to without involving the Navarro family, before requesting a month’s leave of absence. Even if she hadn’t confided the fact to Raphael yet, their visit to Stopley that afternoon was only the start of the process of her accepting, once and for all, that she really was Gabriela Navarro. Graham Selkirk would have been perfectly within his rights to deny Beth’s request for leave, and so giving her no choice but to give immediate notice. Instead he had told her to take as long as she needed to sort out her family problem, and that her job would be waiting for her when she came back, if she still wanted it.
That last comment had given Beth the sneaking suspicion that Cesar’s interference might have had something to do with Graham’s easy acquiescence to her request. Cesar probably hadn’t bought the company, yet, but no doubt he’d had a quiet word with whoever did own it! But she was too upset, too tense, from her sleepless night, and the thought of her planned visit to Stopley later that afternoon, and the ensuing consequences of that visit, to bother questioning Graham on the subject. What was the point, when all of the evidence now pointed to her being Gabriela Navarro? And Cesar had already made it more than clear that he did not approve of his sister Gabriela working in an English publishing house, that her place was in Argentina, with her family...
* * *
Raphael had no idea what answer to make in reply to Beth’s husky comment. It was indeed a tiny grave. And six feet beneath that top layer of grass were the remains of two-year-old Elizabeth Carla Lawrence. The daughter of James and Carla Lawrence.
‘You never did finish telling me how you think they managed all this.’ Beth spoke again quietly. Raphael