Page 19 of The Hidden Daughter (The Lost Daughters #7)

PRESENT DAY

Amalie had begun to cry, her hand pressed to her heart as she started to whisper Oskar’s name over and over again, and Charlotte found it hard to witness without becoming emotional herself.

She’d recounted so much this time, but the joy in telling her story had seemed to fade, her voice cracking as she’d talked about meeting Oskar’s family.

Charlotte couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to be belittled like that, to truly feel as if you weren’t good enough to even breathe the same air as the people whose company you were in.

But it meant little to them when they still had no clue who Oskar was and where he fitted into their family story.

‘Charlotte, why don’t you go and find a nurse? I think we might need something to help calm her down,’ her grandmother said.

Charlotte walked quickly into the hall and stopped the first nurse she saw, pointing her towards Amalie’s room, but she didn’t follow her. Instead, Charlotte leaned against the wall, tipping her head back and taking a moment to close her eyes and process everything Amalie had told them.

No matter what they might have thought, she knew in her heart that Amalie was telling the story of the greatest love of her life, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for what was to come next.

Her heart was already breaking for Amalie, and she could see that the more she talked about Oskar, the more painful Amalie seemed to find it.

She knew her grandmother was finding it hard to sit there and listen to a part of her own mother’s life that she’d never known anything about.

Charlotte didn’t know if it was being with the two women or the emotions of it all—perhaps both—but since arriving to see Amalie all she’d been able to think of was something Harrison had said to her about visiting her father before it was too late.

She took a deep breath and pushed off from the wall, taking her phone out of her pocket and staring down at it. Charlotte looked up her father’s number, something she hadn’t done in years now, and decided to send him a message.

I’m in Oslo and thought it would be nice to meet. Could I come by the house and see you, or we could have lunch? Charlotte

She pressed send before she could change her mind, staring at the screen and immediately seeing little bubbles appear, indicating that he was typing back.

But as quickly as they appeared, the bubbles disappeared, and she pushed her phone back into her pocket, telling herself she wouldn’t stand around and stare at it, waiting for him.

She’d sent the message, she’d reached out, and now it was up to him.

She would look at her phone again later.

Charlotte forced her feet to take her back in the direction of Amalie’s room, knowing that her grandmother would be wondering where she was, when her phone pinged in her pocket. And, of course, despite her best intentions, she quickly looked to see if it was him.

Lovely to hear from you. Come round tonight if you’re free? I’ll organise dinner for us.

She took a deep breath. Whether she was ready or not, it was time to see her father again.

When Charlotte arrived on her father’s doorstep with a bottle of wine in hand, she felt more like she was going to a dinner party at an acquaintance’s house than visiting her family home.

She was almost surprised he still lived here and hadn’t sold it to buy something smaller, and she realised then that she hadn’t even thought to ask him or her grandmother whether he’d moved or not.

She just presumed he was still here, or they would have told her otherwise, and she hoped she was right when she lifted her hand to knock.

When the door opened, she stood almost frozen, but he immediately closed the space between them and gave her a hug. It was a little awkward, but she returned it, grateful that he’d been so quick to embrace her.

‘Charlotte! It’s so good to see you.’

‘You, too, Dad,’ she murmured into his shoulder, as he slowly released her.

‘What brings you back to Oslo?’ he asked as he ushered her inside and took her coat.

‘A job, actually,’ she said. ‘Have you seen the new hotel in the city? Down by the water?’

‘I certainly have; everyone’s talking about it. Stunning architecture, if you ask me.’

Charlotte smiled. She hoped she remembered to tell Harrison that when she saw him next.

‘You’re here for an interview, or have you already got the job?’

‘I’ve received an offer, but I’m still thinking it over,’ she said, glancing around and seeing that much had stayed the same. But things had changed, too. The photos of her and her brother were still placed everywhere, but the sofas and the dining table were new.

A wave of nostalgia hit her as she thought about their old dining table; the little scuff marks on it from when she and her brother hadn’t been careful enough; the nights they’d spent eating family dinners.

She still had memories of her mum sitting there, entertaining them with stories about what had happened that day and making them all laugh, her father bringing dinner to the table and wondering what was so funny. But that was before.

‘So you’re still enjoying your cooking?’ he asked, taking the wine from her and walking into the kitchen.

Charlotte took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. Cooking. He’d always referred to what she did as cooking, as if she pottered away in her kitchen at home. But she was not going to argue with him, not tonight.

‘I’ve actually been offered the role of executive chef at the new hotel,’ she said, following him and watching as he poured two glasses of wine. ‘It’s a pretty big deal.’

When he passed her a glass, his eyes met hers, and she saw something there that she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

‘I’ve followed your career, Lotte. I know how successful you’ve been in London.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You have? I presumed that you didn’t even know what I was doing. You always refer to it as just cooking, so…’ She took a sip of her wine.

‘I’m impressed with what you’ve done, and your brother is always regaling me with tales of how wonderful you are. I’m sorry if I didn’t use the correct terminology, or it implied I wasn’t proud, because it certainly wasn’t my intention.’

He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d tried, and a glimmer of hope lit within her.

‘That means a lot, more than you can imagine. Thanks, Dad.’ Tears prickled her eyes but she blinked them away.

She took a sip and wandered with glass in hand to the table. ‘I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s nice.’

‘I actually have a lady friend, and she’s helped me choose some new things. I never did have much of a flair for interiors.’

Charlotte wasn’t surprised he’d met someone, or that she didn’t know. ‘Well, I’m happy you’ve met someone. Life’s too short to be alone.’ She regretted her choice of words the moment they came out of her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I meant—’

‘Your mother left a long time ago, Charlotte. You have nothing to apologise for.’

But that was the problem. She always felt as if she did have something to apologise for. For her mother leaving, for not studying medicine, for leaving Norway, for choosing to return for her mother’s funeral. Somehow, it always ended up being her fault, or at least it felt that way.

‘You know, I wanted to see you because it’s been too long,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking that if I didn’t see you now…’

‘That I might die, and you’d have missed your chance?’ her father asked with a laugh.

She sighed, although she did appreciate that he could find the humour in it.

From the moment she’d walked in the door, she’d noticed how much older her father seemed.

‘If I’m honest, yes, but also there’s so much unsaid between us.

I suppose my hope is that we don’t go another ten years without seeing each other after this. ’

He held up his glass of wine, leaning forwards to clink it gently against hers. ‘Now that’s something to drink to. How about we agree to start afresh? For all the things I should have said or said in error, I wholeheartedly apologise. I love you, Lotte, and I’m just grateful to see you again.’

Charlotte nodded and clinked her glass back, taking another sip, pleased that she’d brought such a nice bottle with her.

‘May I ask you something, though?’ she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret it. ‘Because if I don’t, I feel like it will always be unresolved between us.’

‘Of course.’

‘Why could you not accept my decision to become a chef? Was it truly such a terrible choice of career?’ she asked. ‘Your reaction felt akin to me announcing I wanted to become an adult entertainer or a circus performer.’

‘Charlotte, if I’m honest, it had nothing to do with you wanting to be a chef.’

She sat back and listened. It was a question she’d wanted to ask him for so long, one she’d turned over and over in her mind, and she wanted to hear him out. To truly listen to him rather than bristle at whatever came out of his mouth next.

‘When your mother left, I suppose it felt as if the only way of keeping you and your brother close was to take charge of everything that happened after that point. I thought that if you both just followed the path I’d set for you, if I could just have you do what I planned, that I would have some semblance of control over our lives, to stop anything else painful from happening to our family. That I wouldn’t lose you, too.’

His words washed over her, and she closed her eyes for a beat as they sank in. ‘It truly had nothing to do with me being a chef? It wouldn’t have mattered if I wanted to be a lawyer or an architect?’