In addition to thanking you all once again for reading and reviewing (you have no idea how much they make my day), I would also like to express my appreciation to MMT-VB for once again kindly agreeing to beta this chapter, to elleisforlovee who recently recommended this fic on her tumblr page and to dustedoffanoldie who asked me if she could produce a manip for the story (and taught me a new word in the process!). She said that she imagined Tom being stubbly and wearing glasses, so the brief mention of his short-sightedness in this chapter is for her!
Sybil can hear the astonishment in Mary's voice on hearing about the impulsive decision to accompany Tom to Stuttgart and with resignation listens to the line of questionning about her motives behind such a choice.
"Darling, you hardly know him!" Mary exclaims when Sybil becomes irritable and defensive at such an inquisition.
"I've spent a lot of time with him since Emma disappeared and anyway, what does it matter? If I can be of practical help - another pair of hands to distribute leaflets, a second person to talk to people, then that's all that's important."
"I just feel that it's a lot to ask of you, regardless of the circumstances, that's all."
"He didn't ask me!" reiterates Sybil with more than a hint of frustration. "I offered!" She doesn't need to be in her sister's presence in order to visualise her lips narrowing and an eyebrow arching and not for the first time, speculates at how Mary can be so wholly cautious in every aspect of her life.
"Well I hope he's not taking advantage of your generous nature in any way." Mary continues and Sybil can't help but smile at her choice of words.
"Funnily enough, he accused somebody else of doing the same thing recently. I really don't think you need to worry, Mary. We both have Emma's welfare as our priority; we're on the same side."
"I do feel that it ought to be somebody else in his family who's helping him though, rather than her flatmate who didn't really know her all that well."
"There isn't anyone else." Sybil replies with a touch of sadness. "His brother doesn't really know Emma, his father's dead, his mother's got a bad hip and won't travel…" her voice tails off as the reality of Tom's isolation in this case is made clear.
"They sound quite dysfunctional." her sister adds and Sybil gives a little sigh.
"I don't know the details to be honest. But there's been a lot of unhappiness in their family. Maybe Emma's safe recovery might bring them all back together again."
"Well I trust that he's booked two rooms in the hotel." The tone of Mary's question leads her sister to roll her eyes with exasperation.
"I was with him when he made the reservation and yes, he did. But I'm afraid that we might be sitting next to one another on the plane; does that worry you or would you like him to take an HIV test before we fly?"
"I really wish I'd never told you about that."
"Your third date, Mary! Talk about a conversation killer. Poor Matthew."
"Poor Matthew indeed!" Mary snorts with mock indignation and Sybil can detect a softening approach at the mention of her fiancé's name. "He couldn't get down to the hospital fast enough once he realised it was going to lead to taking me to bed. It may have killed the conversation at the time but it livened everything else up marvellously. I recommend it, Sybil."
"Yes well I'm not going to bed with Tom, am I? So I think I'll pass on that particular topic."
"Are you sure?"
Sybil can feel herself blushing furiously and is certain that her subsequent faltering response is due only to the fact that her sister has surprised her with such a prolonged interrogation.
"Of…of course! I mean, we're going to look for Emma, it's not about him and me! Honestly, Mary, haven't you ever stayed in the same hotel as a male colleague before? It's really no different from that!"
Mary has reverted to her usual cool and collected tone. "I didn't necessarily mean in Germany. I meant at some point in the future."
"Wh..wh..why are you asking this? Do you think I sleep with any man I get to know?"
"Of course not, darling. But I don't sense quite the same level of admiration in your voice with other men."
"We're friends, that's all." Sybil replies firmly, disregarding any sensation which might contradict such a statement.
"If you say so. Well, I hope your trip is fruitful, I really do. It's a horrid situation and I wish you weren't caught up in something so unpleasant. But we're all very proud of the way you're handling it."
"Thank you."
"And Tom seems like a very admirable man, taking on all the responsibility for his family, working on his own initiative."
"He just wants her home safely and he'll do whatever it takes to help. We both will."
"Then I wish you both the best of luck, darling. Just promise me that you'll be careful." Sybil's not entirely certain what her assurances entail, but she provides them nonetheless; unnerved by her sister's perception yet secretly gratified by the potential it suggests.
ooOoo
She believes that she is already in possession of a relatively strong knowledge about Tom's personality traits and characteristics, but as they land at Stuttgart airport, Sybil is now aware of three additional important facts. Firstly, he is allergic to prawns; an issue made abundantly clear when he leaps a foot backwards with horror in M&S Simply Foods at Heathrow Airport as she considers buying a prawn mayonnaise sandwich to eat on the plane. Secondly, he's short sighted and unexpectedly self-conscious about his glasses, which he only briefly whips out of his shirt pocket when he can't read the departures board, shortly before burying them away again and resolutely ignoring Sybil's attempt to admire their design. Thirdly, his journalistic career has led him to be exceedingly critical of others' published efforts; he spends his first half an hour on the plane flicking furiously through Lufthansa's in-house magazine while muttering his disapproval about split infinitives and misuse of the semi-colon.
On the other hand, Tom now has absolutely no doubt about her fear of the taking off process. Although she understands the mechanics of flying, has never allowed her anxiety to prevent her from travelling and can relax easily once in the air, she is unable to contain her nerves as the plane's engines begin to roar and she is thrown back into her seat while hurtling along the runway and rising slowly from the ground. Her fingers repeatedly drum the armrests as they wait their turn on the tarmac; an agonising delay while she nervously anticipates every nuance of noise to follow. She fidgets in her seat, scratches an improvised itch on her neck and stares out of the window, avoiding Tom's curious observation, then grasps each arm rest for security as her stomach lurches and they begin to pick up speed. Her eyes are closed and she's attempting to take deep breaths while thinking calming thoughts – sandy white beaches, a Buddhist temple, the rolling acres around Downton, anything will do – when she feels Tom's hand encircle hers. No words are uttered as she grips his fingers tightly; her eyes squeezed shut, she remains immobile for several minutes until the reassuring bell alerts them that seatbelts may now be released. Bracing herself for the inevitable sound of the engines slowing as the plane reaches its summit - without fail she imagines it will precede complete mechanical failure and an inexorable plummet to the ground – she turns slowly to face him and loudly exhales the breath she's been holding for some time. His expression is neither judgemental nor pitying and she's grateful that he doesn't ask any questions about her prior terror.
"OK?" he asks and she nods, offering a weak smile and adjusting her position in the seat. His hand releases hers and gives a reassuring pat on the wrist, before he retrieves the in-house magazine and recommences his critical analysis.
During the latter part of their journey, they finalise a loose plan of action. Tom's surplus of free time over the last few days has given him an opportunity to be wholeheartedly prepared and Sybil is impressed by his efforts. He has printed street maps and researched the main thoroughfares of the city, as well as created posters and leaflets in German, assisted by the Austrian wife of a former colleague in Dublin.
Several days earlier, and with the support of Dawn Pulliver and her team, he'd created a website findemmabranson dot org and he explains that he's trawling through its messages on a daily basis. Many are simply well meaning sentiments of support, but he passes on any potential useful information to the police, while he deletes and tries to ignore the inevitable posts of vitriolic abuse which are left by those who feed off the anonymity provided by the internet.
He's frustrated by the lack of progress with the investigation and vents his exasperation to Sybil; desperate to find potential hope or possibility within Dawn's daily updates. All of Emma's phone records have now been thoroughly researched; her colleagues, friends and family interviewed and without forthcoming evidence about the two Pay As You Go mobiles that she contacted on a regular basis, the search is grinding to a perturbing standstill.
Sybil identifies with his disappointment and distress; understands his desire to take matters into his own hands and not to leave everything in the hands of the police. She at least has a full time job to keep her mind and body occupied. More often than not she works beyond the end of her shift, reluctant to spend an excessive amount of time in the flat alone, dwelling on Emma's fate and her inability to move things along of her own accord. She's refused almost all social invitations; has no desire to join colleagues for coffee or in the pub after a long shift and declines frenzied requests from her parents to come home on her days off. They have National Trust commitments pending all month, but she's certain that her mother, desperate to comfort her youngest daughter and to reassure her maternal instincts that she is not in any danger of her own, will be on a train to London if there's no progress shortly.
They take a taxi into the centre of Stuttgart and although it's too early to check in at their hotel, an uninspiring but functional property owned by an international chain, they are able to leave their overnight bags and head immediately out to Schlossplatz, the city's scenic hub. Sybil obtains her share of leaflets and posters and they plot their respective routes along the main shopping and business streets, highlighting visits to the station and university in the hope that Emma's presence might be known. She only knows a smattering of German, but Tom has prepared her in the hope that initial efforts in their mother tongue may persuade passers-by to listen to their plea.
"Kennen Sie dieser Frau?" she asks, holding up an image of Emma's smiling face.
"Entschuldigung, können Sie mir bitte helfen?"
The results are mixed and she notes with dismay the number of people who quickly draw their mobile phone out of their pockets, desperate to give the impression of being otherwise occupied, as she approaches. Office workers on their lunch breaks hurry past giving a swift shake of their heads to deter her, while harassed mothers with children in tow are rarely compliant to her request. The young are generally more receptive, particularly at an opportunity to practice their English and she soon learns how to gain the attention of middle aged men, easily swayed by a pretty face. She's grateful that it remains dry, despite the unremitting grey cloud ahead and the temperatures haven't yet dropped enough for her to be perturbed by a lengthy stint. On a couple of occasions, someone displays initial recognition at the sight of Emma's photograph; eyes narrow and Sybil's heart races with hope and anticipation before all expectation is dashed by the subsequent reply.
"I read about this woman when I was in London last week" explains a smartly dressed woman with an apologetic shrug, while a young female student gives an embarrassed smile and admits "She looks like my cousin. Sorry, that's why I thought I know her."
Tom texts her with news of similarly demoralising circumstances, but they agree to continue until six thirty, catching the evening commuters heading home, after which point they meet at the hotel and plan the evening's strategy. Retiring to their respective rooms for an hour, Sybil takes a welcome shower and rests her aching feet on the bed while she sorts through another pile of leaflets. They'll choose the liveliest neighbourhood for dinner – although the crowds are likely to be limited on a Monday night – and hope that they might catch a different set of residents from their daytime efforts. After hastily consuming plates of pasta in an Italian trattoria recommended by the hotel receptionist, they persuade the owner to display a poster and begin to visit bars and other restaurants with a similar request. On several occasions they are recognised by those who passed them during the day and there's increased sympathy and a genuine desire to help by those enjoying more relaxed circumstances. They're only minutes away from calling it a night when a young man approaches them as they move to exit from another bar in which they've circulated.
"Excuse me. I think maybe I know her" he says. Sybil swallows quickly and despite the disappointments earlier in the day, feels a swell of anticipation. Tom's nodding eagerly and holding out a copy of the poster, while the man narrows his eyes and gives a little shrug while he struggles to provide an explanation within his limited grasp of English.
"I think maybe she work in a café near my job. I don't know for sure, but I think she is from Ireland and she work there only three or four weeks now."
"Where is it, is it open now?" Tom asks keenly, but the man shakes his head.
"Morning and afternoon only. No evening." He gives them the name and address and brushes off their repeated attempts at gratitude. "I hope for you" he adds with a smile as they depart.
As they walk back to the hotel, Sybil's beside herself with excitement, although she knows she shouldn't raise her hopes too greatly and she can see that Tom is battling with mixed emotions as he searches for the café's location on his phone.
"It still might not be her." he mutters as he strides along, puffing furiously on a cigarette and she has to almost skip in order to keep up with him, nodding in support and not daring to verbalise her own anticipation. It's Sybil who suggests a drink in the bar when they return to the hotel. Although she's not certain that she ought to be encouraging his alcohol consumption, she can see how agitated he is and can't imagine that he'll be able to sleep unless he has a chance to reflect and calm down. She's only half way through her glass of wine when he finishes his beer and she expects him to buy himself another, but instead he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes in contemplation.
"Christ Sybil, this might be it. Whatever she's done or is hiding from, it doesn't matter. Even if she doesn't want to come home, we might finally be able to get some answers." She murmurs in accord, despite not wishing to commit to such optimism, and he waits patiently for her to finish her drink. They're on different floors but share the lift and he turns towards her when it reaches the third floor on which he's based. She can't help but remember her conversation with Mary as their eyes lock in what she has no doubt now is mutual appreciation. However, there is no sense of expectation, nor belief that her sister's suspicions may be fulfilled; whatever emotions they each possess are focussed on Emma this evening and Sybil does not feel disappointed when he leans forward to gently kiss her cheek.
"Night, Sybil. See you in the morning."
ooOoo
It's no surprise that they each wake early, despite their physical exertions of the previous day and evening. There's relative silence over the breakfast table, neither daring to voice their hopes too greatly for fear of subsequent disappointment. Most other guests are here on business; a vision of dark suits and hastily drunk coffee before they depart. With their casual clothes and shared table, Sybil muses that they must appear to be on holiday, an established couple leisurely choosing how to spend their day. Although she tries not to dwell on the image, it's not unpleasant and once established, becomes difficult to banish from her mind.
Tom suggests that they walk and Sybil's happy to pass more time that way, rather than take the tram. The café's website explains that it opens at nine thirty and the hotel receptionist advises that a brisk walk to the outer suburb where it's located will take little more than forty minutes. Checking out before nine, they attempt to stroll and Sybil tries to distract a chain-smoking Tom by pointing out various items of interest - a statue of a long forgotten prince, second hand bookshop, a 17th Century water fountain - but she's aware that he's only half-heartedly paying attention. However, her efforts serve their purpose and it's nine thirty five when they arrive at the café, Sybil's stomach lurching with both fear and excitement. A quick glance in Tom's direction makes it clear that he's experiencing similar emotions but he assumes a confident air as he pushes open the door and they step outside.
"Guten Morgen!" comes the cheery cry from the middle aged woman standing behind the counter and they both hesitate, unsure how to appropriately commence with their enquiry.
"Guten Morgen" Tom repeats, nodding his head and clearing his throat in preparation. "Um..Sprechen Sie Englisch?"
The woman smiles kindly "Yes a little, but…" she turns her head towards the kitchen and calls out "Emily!"
As her colleague enters the room, Sybil feels her heart momentarily miss a beat before she is abruptly enveloped by disappointment.
"It's not her" Tom mutters and she reaches out blindly to hold his hand in silent support.
The women are both watching him without comprehension and the older of the two speaks softly to her colleague, who offers a cheery grin and asks in a soft Irish lilt. "Can we help you at all?"
Sybil can't speak, she's so overwhelmed by frustration and distress. Despite her attempts to remain level-headed and realistic about their prospects, she had gradually come to believe that their search would come to fruition and she is unable to offer any explanation to the women who appear increasingly concerned by their silence.
"Are you OK?" Emily asks, beginning to walk towards them and Tom emits an incomprehensible sound as he clasps Sybil's hand tightly and reaches out to hold a nearby chair for support with his other palm.
"I thought you were my sister" he whispers and Sybil feels accompanying tears of loss and regret spring to her eyes.
"Oh…" Emily awkwardly replies, rubbing at her elbow with obvious discomfort. Sybil reaches into her bag and pulls out one of Tom's leaflets, thrusting it towards this imposter and attempting to curtail her expression of sadness.
"She's gone missing and somebody told us that she might work here. You look quite similar to her in many ways and you're Irish…" her voice tails off wearily and Emily's face twists in sympathy.
"Yes, I've read about her…I'm so sorry. My Mam said that she thought she looks a bit like me, said it unnerved her." She realises that her words are not in any way comforting and comes to a halt, pulling at the straps on her apron and making a face in apology.
"The police have been told about two sightings here in Stuttgart…" Tom makes a contribution, his voice thick with emotion. "One in a department store…um Galleria Kaufhof, I think it's called."
"Well I have been in there, so it could have been me."
"And the other in a café, which I guess was here."
"Probably." Emily looks away, seemingly embarrassed to be the cause of such bitter disappointment. "I'm sorry, I hope you find her."
"She speaks German you see…" Tom appears to want to clarify why they've made the journey; to justify their belief that Emma might be found here. "…she studied in Tübingen and I just thought…"
"…that she might have come back here. I understand. I'm really so very sorry that you've made such a wasted journey…" There's nothing more to be said. Sybil wonders if out of courtesy, they should sit and order a drink, but Tom's beginning to back towards the door, mumbling apologies to disguise his distress and so she gives Emily a brief smile and follows. He doesn't wait for her; she pulls the door firmly shut and sees him already striding along the pavement, pulling his packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. Even from a distance of twenty or so metres, she can see his hands shaking as he repeatedly attempts to light up and on reaching him, she spots his tears.
"Oh for fuck's sake!" he shouts after another futile attempt and she reaches forward to take the lighter and his cigarette out of his hands. She hasn't smoked since medical school and even then had only a handful of amateur attempts, but she manages not to cough as she lights the cigarette before passing it back into his trembling hands.
"Thanks" he says, closing his eyes as the first rush of nicotine hits him and begins to instil an element of calm. They stand motionless at the edge of the pavement for a few minutes, pedestrians passing hurriedly past, until Sybil pulls gently on his arm.
"Come on, let's find somewhere else to go and have a hot drink and talk about it."
Tom sighs. "You realise we're stuck here all day now? The flight's not until five." It's really the least of her concerns at present, but she nods and indicates with her head that they should carry on walking. The street turns residential and she guides him to an adjacent road, determined that they should not head back the way they came and pass Emily's café once more. After a few minutes they come across an alternative venue and Sybil takes charge, ordering coffee and 'schwarztee mit milch'; the waitress in the hotel had taught her the phrase this morning after observing her disappointment with the herbal variety served. Tom appears calmer now, the cigarette and brisk walk have restored his composure, but it's impossible for him to adequately express his disappointment. He had attempted to remain realistic about the prospect of Emma's discovery here, but Sybil understands that his hope had also gradually turned to belief, only to be eliminated in an instant by a woman who bore only a passing resemblance to his sister.
Uncertain of how to respond, Sybil lightly places her hand on his across the table and he smiles gratefully, twisting his wrist so that they are entwined. Words can't effectively express how either of them is feeling and they sit motionless for several minutes, Tom staring forlornly out of the window, while Sybil observes the barista expertly dealing with the coffee machine behind the counter. All of her previous fears about Emma's fate are restored, but she sees the misery in Tom's face and understands that this trip was not only an opportunity to find her, but also to restore his family ties and to begin their process of healing.
She's so lucky, she reflects, not simply because of her family background and the privilege and comfort it provides, but by the stability her parents have given her and her sisters throughout her life. Regardless of disagreements and inevitable teenage conflict, she has always been confident of their unconditional love and support, the knowledge of which guides her through any difficult period or misguided decision. There has always been sibling rivalry and dispute from time to time, yet she is certain that if she needed their help, either of her sisters would willingly step forward without hesitation. She cannot imagine any quarrel or discord which would lead to their estrangement, nor truly appreciate the circumstances under which such an arrangement could occur.
Tom's childhood seems to have been swathed in bitterness, grief and recrimination and she can only begin to imagine the heartbreak caused by divorce, death and long-lasting separation. He masks his vulnerability behind a veil of ill-humour at times, yet in the last three trying weeks she's seen plenty of evidence of the loyal and kind-hearted man who lies beneath.
In Sybil's professional life, it is her duty to heal the wounded and the instinctive consequence is her desire to help Tom regain some form of contentment and equilibrium within his life. She is in no doubt now that her feelings for him run deeper than simply friendship, but understands that he may not be in a position to consider such a prospect while Emma's fate remains unresolved. In the meantime, she can offer both support and solace and hopes that their shared experiences will hold any possible change to their relationship in good stead.
They make a sombre pair walking back to the hotel to collect their luggage and Tom is only marginally cheered by Sybil's suggestion of visiting the Porsche Museum to fill the remaining hours before they head back to the airport. She's aware of his love of cars and he's confessed a secret ambition to write for a motoring magazine in the future. It's not the most appropriate circumstances for him to entirely enjoy their short excursion, but it does appear to take his mind off their disappointment for at least a few minutes at a time as he stops to admire the top range models on display. Nevertheless, the reality of the situation has to be faced when they later land back in London; the search for Emma has once again ground to a halt.
German translations (apologies to Andorra97 if I wrote any incorrectly, it's 20 years since I lived there!):
Kennen Sie dieser Frau? – Do you know this woman?
Entschuldigung, können Sie mir bitte helfen? – Excuse me, can you please help me?
Guten Morgen – Good morning
Sprechen Sie Englisch? – Do you speak English?
Schwarztee mit milch – Black tea with milk. (Basically the way that British people drink it. Otherwise you are served a very light tea with lemon)
I know you all wanted something to happen between Sybil and Tom in Stuttgart, but if I tell you that your patience will be rewarded very soon, will you forgive me?!