The Postcard by Leah Fleming Page A

them. She
kept seeing that look on his face, his laughter at her tale and his denial of any knowledge of her. Why had she been told all this? There had to be an explanation and only one fitted the bill.
    She must be a waif and stray adopted in secret so Aunt Phee could have a child to bring up, a child of her own. She was one of those poor orphan babies given away and this story was spun to
protect her from the shameful truth of her birth. It explained why there were no pictures in the house of her parents, no little mementoes left for her to inherit, and why Aunt Phee didn’t
talk about her own background and her upbringing in the back-streets of Leeds, which was so different from the privileged education she had provided for Callie.
    Primmy was quiet, too, and upset for forcing her to go on the wild-goose chase. She kept fussing round, wanting to make it right, but no one could ever make this right for Callie now. She really
was an Orphan Annie after all.
    It was hard for her not to wallow in self-pity about her plight, but eventually the mountains did work some magic, the river walks soothed her spirit and camping under the stars, with fires and
late-night singing, was fun. ‘Will you be all right? Have you written to your aunt?’ Prim asked, as they folded up the tents and prepared to go home.
    ‘I’m fine and I’m saying nothing, not yet. It’s not really important,’ Callie lied.
    ‘Are you sure? You ought to know the truth.’
    ‘When I need your advice, I’ll ask for it,’ she snapped, then was immediately contrite. ‘Sorry . . . just leave me alone.’
    She knew Prim was upset, but this was her burden to bear and to deal with in her own time. There was one other person who might know something and that was Marthe. Callie vowed to write to her
as soon as she got home. Marthe wouldn’t lie to her or let her down . . . but then she remembered Marthe was married and busy with her new life, and she sank into hopelessness again.
    Why couldn’t you just rub out stuff you didn’t want to know about once you knew it, like rubbing out mistakes with an eraser, she wondered.
    There was, however, one place that wouldn’t change just because she was feeling strange and lost. Dalradnor was her home and she couldn’t wait to get back to the safety of its walls.
There, all her troubles would fade. That was the only place where she truly belonged now.

8
    Phoebe noticed the change in Caroline the minute she saw her in Dalradnor. It was if as she had curled up inside and closed the door on everyone, going for long walks and rides
alone, picking at the meals Nan Ibell so lovingly prepared, choosing to sit on the window seat in the stairwell, head in a book.
    ‘I thought the Highland camp would put colour in her cheeks,’ Phoebe whispered to the housekeeper.
    ‘May be it is the time of the month . . . She’s quite the young lady now and I know she misses the wee dog. Dinna fasch yerself . . . she’s at that awkward age, neither fish
nor fowl.’ Nan was whisking up a chocolate cake. ‘This’ll cheer her up.’
    ‘Has she fallen out with her friend?’
    ‘No, I just think she’s a bitty lost off with hersel’. It’ll soon be term time. How long will she stay up in the school?’
    ‘Nothing is settled. I thought Switzerland might be a good place to finish her off but now I’m not sure.’
    ‘That’ll cost a pretty penny,’ sniffed the housekeeper. ‘Aren’t there places closer to home, in London?’ Was there a hint of rebuke in that question?
    ‘She’s good with languages and she’ll improve her French. There’d be skiing a chance to make new friends, all that sort of thing.’
    ‘Aye, a change of scene may do her good. She’s just no’ herself. I’m wondering if something is worrying her. Girls of that age get awful stirred up . . . A young man,
perhaps?’
    ‘Surely not, she’s only sixteen.’ In Phoebe’s eyes she was still a harum-scarum in black stockings and gymslip. ‘Time