Page 63 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)
FIFTY-THREE
Frankfurt, Germany
Quinn wound her scarf around her neck and zipped up her coat before exiting the terminal.
A steady stream of humanity flowed past her as she looked around, trying to spot Rhys.
The access road in front of the terminal was thronged with cars, mostly taxis, picking up and dropping off their fares, the scene reminiscent of every airport Quinn had ever flown into.
A gentle snow fell, the snowflakes twirling gracefully before settling on the pavement.
There was a stillness in the air, but it was much colder than it had been in London, and Quinn shivered, hoping Rhys would get there soon.
She smiled widely when a yellow Honda Fit nosed into a space just vacated by a taxi.
“Welcome to Germany,” Rhys said as Quinn wrapped her arms tightly around him. He winced, then instantly rearranged his features into a bright smile.
“Are you all right?” Quinn asked.
“Absolutely fine.”
She knew Rhys wasn’t being truthful but didn’t press him. He was a private person and wouldn’t appreciate her prying. She smiled back and surrendered her case to Rhys, who stowed it in the boot before getting into the driver’s seat.
“Can we go directly to the hospital?” Quinn asked, breathless with nervousness and excitement.
“Sorry but visiting hours will be over by the time we get there, so you’ll have to wait till tomorrow morning,” Rhys said as he eased the car into the flow of traffic. He seemed surprisingly comfortable with driving on the right side of the road. “For tonight, you’re stuck with me.”
“I could do with a drink,” Quinn confessed. “I’m so nervous. I keep wondering what Jo will make of me.”
“Do you wonder what you’ll make of her?” Rhys asked.
Quinn turned to look at him, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”
“You keep worrying about her reaction to you, but what about your reaction to her? Is there anything that might put you off?”
“Why would you ask me that?” Quinn demanded, suddenly worried that Rhys wasn’t telling her something vital.
“I’m just curious,” Rhys replied, his tone light.
“Rhys, what are you not telling me?”
Rhys didn’t answer immediately. He drove for a few minutes until he spotted a bar on the side of the road and pulled up in front. He got out of the car, opened Quinn’s door, and invited her to follow him inside.
The bar was cozy and dimly lit, most of the tables unoccupied at this early hour.
A few old-timers sat at the bar, enjoying their drinks and chatting with the barkeep.
Quinn’s heart sank when Rhys motioned her toward an empty table in the corner and went up to the bar to place an order.
He returned with an espresso for himself and a glass of wine for Quinn.
She took a healthy gulp in anticipation of whatever it was Rhys was about to impart.
He took a delicate sip of his coffee and set the cup down, watching Quinn with an air of amusement.
“Whatever it is, tell me this instant or you will live to regret it,” Quinn threatened. She was thrumming with nervous energy and what Rhys was doing was absolute torture .
“I didn’t want to tell you in the car,” Rhys replied.
He was smiling, so whatever he had to tell her couldn’t be too awful.
“Quinn, Jo knows all about you. She’s watched videos of your interviews and the first season of Echoes .
She received your letter before she left for Kabul. She can’t wait to meet you.”
“She knows?” Quinn whispered. “She’s looking forward to meeting me?” A wonderful, warm feeling spread outward from her chest, cocooning her in a delicious sense of well-being.
Rhys nodded. “She’s fragile, Quinn. And lonely. There doesn’t seem to be anyone waiting for her back in England.”
“How can that be?”
Rhys shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she’ll tell you.”
“Have you told her about Logan and Jude, and Sylvia? What about Seth?”
“No. I thought it would be better coming from you. How is Jude?” Rhys asked carefully.
Quinn sighed and took a long sip of wine. “He’s still unconscious. I spoke to Logan just before I boarded. Sylvia hasn’t left his side.”
“There’s no greater tragedy than losing a child,” Rhys said quietly.
Quinn reached across the table and placed her hand over his. No words were needed. Rhys turned his hand over and took hold of hers, squeezing it gently. His gaze misted over with unshed tears and he looked away, staring at the snow falling outside the window.
“Rhys—”
“I’m fine. Tell me about Mary,” he invited.
It was a distraction tactic, but Quinn was happy to play along.
They both needed a moment to collect themselves, and Mary was a safe subject, having been dead for nearly four hundred years.
“Have you learned anything that might explain what happened to her? Have you brought the comb with you?”
“Yes, I have,” Quinn replied sadly. “I think it won’t be long now until it all kicks off.”
“How can you tell?”
“Mary became pregnant but didn’t know who the father of her baby was. She was torn between her love for Walker, a Native American of mixed blood, and her duty to John. If the baby she was carrying was the one we found in the coffin with her, then she only has a few more months to live.”
“But how did she wind up in Cornwall?” Rhys asked as he took a sip of his coffee.
“That seems to be the million-dollar question,” Quinn replied.
“You sound like an American,” Rhys said with a chuckle. “I think your father is beginning to rub off on you.”
“I find some of his turns of phrase very amusing, and he thinks some of the things I say are absolutely hilarious.”
“Ah, the joys of having a multicultural family,” Rhys quipped as he took a last sip of his espresso. “Would you like another glass of wine?”
“No, I’m all right.”
“So, do you think John Forrester might have decided to return to England?”
“John was doing very well for himself in Virginia. He had no reason to leave Jamestown,” Quinn said.
“Unless he was forced to,” Rhys countered.
“Unless he was forced to,” Quinn agreed .
“Have you been able to locate any records to back up our narrative?”
Quinn shook her head. “There’s tangible proof that Mary Wilby went out to Virginia in 1620 and married John Forrester.
And, of course, Elizabeth and Ambrose Viccars are on the list of colonists who went out to Roanoke Island and vanished along with the rest of the settlers sometime between 1587 and 1590.
That’s all I have so far. I’ve been a little preoccupied. ”
“I know. Sorry. Have you told Seth about Jo?”
“I was going to call him last night but decided to wait until I saw Jo for myself and had something more concrete to tell him. Knowing Seth, he’d be on the next plane to Germany, and I wanted to make sure his presence would be welcome.
I think meeting one long-lost relative might be enough for Jo to handle for now. ”
“I think you made the right call. She needs time, Quinn.”
“Why did she never respond to my letter? Did she tell you?” Quinn asked.
“She was nervous, same as you. She thought it might be better to speak in person. She was going to get in touch when she returned from Afghanistan.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink tonight,” Quinn said. “I’m too wound up.”
“What you need is a hot bath, a good dinner, and another glass of wine. Or six. You’ll sleep like a baby.
Rest in the knowledge that tomorrow you will finally meet your sister, and it will be a happy reunion,” Rhys said.
“Now, let’s get you to the hotel. It’s starting to snow heavier, and I don’t fancy driving on the Autobahn in this clown mobile. ”
“It is kind of ridiculous,” Quinn agreed.
“It was the only one available on such short notice and in the size I requested. ”
By the time they got to the hotel, it was fully dark, and Quinn was ready for a meal despite her nervousness. After she ate, she took a long, hot bath, and got into bed. She was asleep within minutes despite her earlier misgivings, because morning couldn’t come soon enough.