The Girl in the Scrapbook, Carolyn Ruffles [iphone ebook reader .TXT] 📗

to find four grainy, black and white photographs of a young girl on a pony. There were two action shots of the pair jumping some small fences in what looked like a show jumping competition. Then there was a photo of the girl receiving a trophy from a man in a bowler hat. The last showed the girl in a blurry close up, beaming at the camera, with a man and woman standing, smiling, either side of her. She looked so happy, this young girl from 1923, so joyful that Emily could not help but smile. She also looked strangely familiar. Who was she?

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Now, ten years later, she looked again at the photographs of the girl in Norah’s scrapbook, as she had done so often, but she was still no closer to finding answers. Since her marriage and Alex’s birth, it had lain untouched in a box and she had tried to get on with her life. However, over the course of this last year, she had become more and more restless and unsettled. Adam had been away from home a lot more on business and, left alone with a three-year-old, her thoughts had become more introspective.

Then, this morning, Molly’s appearance in her bedroom, after a five-year absence, had shaken her. She had been convinced that she had at last outgrown her imaginary friend. Her presence had reawakened suppressed memories and made her wonder if her current listlessness was a symptom of unfinished business. As soon as she had put Alex down for his nap, she had emptied cupboards looking for the box and, on finding it, had turned once again to the first page of the scrapbook. If only she knew what the D in the initials stood for. It was a mystery which had always haunted her dreams. This girl on the pony was somehow linked to her real mother but her smiling face revealed no clues. It was as familiar to her as her own but she was no closer, all these years later, to knowing her identity, just as she was no closer to knowing her own identity.

Noises from the baby monitor snapped her out of her reverie. Alex was awake and moving about in his bedroom upstairs. As she stood, she laid the book, still open, on a side table – a reminder to look through the rest of the photographs and news clippings it contained later on. There must be something in there she had missed, she was convinced of it.

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Chapter 4

Jennifer – November 2016

Everything had been going so well, Jennifer Thompson thought as she gave a final wave to the Fowlers, her guests for the past three days, but there always had to be a fly in the ointment. Her moment of triumph at a job well done was soon forgotten when she saw the unmistakeable, tall, muscular, dark-haired figure of David Brewer striding up the lane towards her. What did he want? She was sorely tempted to shut the door behind her and pretend she was not in but she knew she was too late for such tactics. He would have already seen her.

‘Morning, Jen,’ he bellowed cheerfully as he approached. Jen! No one ever called her Jen or Jenny. She had always been Jennifer; she had patiently pointed this out to him on more than one occasion but he had taken no notice. That was the problem. The man took absolutely no notice of anything she said.

‘Morning,’ she replied shortly. ‘Sorry but I was just about to go in. It’s cold out here.’ She turned away dismissively, hoping he would say his piece quickly and be gone.

‘Great. I’ll join you. A nice cup of coffee will soon warm us both up.’

He followed her into her newly refurbished cottage and paused to take his boots off at the front door. ‘I saw your first guests leaving,’ he said. ‘How did it go?’

‘Very well thank you,’ she replied stiffly and put the kettle on while he leaned comfortably against the marble kitchen worktop, his large frame overpowering in the small space. She smiled briefly as she recalled how effusive the Fowlers had been in their praise. They had been her first official ‘bed and breakfast’ guests and had been delighted with everything. It had been a great start to her new career.

‘That’s good. Two sugars please.’ He looked around appreciatively. ‘Of course, they couldn’t fail to be impressed. We’ve done a great job here, you and I, if I say so myself. We make a great team.’ He beamed at her as she handed him one of her huge collection of ‘Best Teacher’ mugs and took a gulp. ‘Mm, that hits the spot.’

‘Can I help you with anything, David?’ she asked politely. The sooner he told her the reason for his visit, the sooner she could get rid of him.

He raised his eyebrows in the semblance of a leer. ‘I’m sure a lovely lady like you could help me with lots of things.’

Ugh. The man was beyond belief, an anachronism from the dark ages of wolf whistles and Benny Hill. Jennifer folded her arms across her chest protectively and gave him her best, cold stare. ‘The point of this visit?’ she prompted again.

David Brewer took his time in answering, taking slow mouthfuls of coffee and silently appraising the woman in front of him. She was very attractive with her blond hair coiffed in a sleek bob, her clear, grey eyes and slim figure. She definitely had a hint of Helen Mirren about her. Such a shame that she did not seem to have much of a sense of humour. He knew she found his presence irksome and could not resist teasing her, trying to soften some of her sharp edges.

‘I was wondering what you were doing next Saturday night? There’s a charity race night on at the village hall and I thought, if you weren’t busy, you might want to come along.’

‘Er … next Saturday ...’ Completely flummoxed,