Thanks Meira! :D Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Later, Lionel was peeling potatoes. The kids were due any minute. His mind was firmly elsewhere. He tried not to think of her, how she looked just hours earlier, sitting at the very kitchen table behind him now as he worked. How she held the mug. Her voice. Every word of what was said.

She'd shown him the folder that contained the documents that proved..

But he didn't need them. Whatever else had passed between them, he had no reason not to trust the girl's biological mother's word. Cecily's birthdate was right. About nine months after.. and eight months or so after she'd left the plantation.

"You'll have to forgive me" he'd begun, sticking his shaky hands in his pocket.

"I've come as a bit of a shock.." she said.

"Margaret never said. We've only seen each other once since..and she never breathed a word."

"How did-"

"Do you know, you have my mother's eyes. Mine, I suppose too.."

She smiled widely at that.

"I guess you're right."

"And there's something of her in you as well."

Cecily's expression changed to one of hurt then. He could tell from that – the meeting had not gone well. She realized.

" No, I didn't mean, there were no dramatics, no hysterics, or anything. It's – it's just I think she separated us a long time ago. I'm not sure I'll ever have a place in her life."

Her gaze wondered the same thing about him.

And then because he didn't know what else to say, he said brokenly

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The gentle touch on his arm.

"There's no need to apologise."

They'd lingered a bit after that. Cecily had shown him her sketch book, which she'd pulled out of her shoulder bag to find a piece of paper to write down her address and phone number for him. And he was amazed at the skill and emotion he saw there.

"Nearly all my life, drawing, painting, has been part of me. I almost couldn't imagine doing anything else in life. That's what I'm studying now, art ."

She told him she'd been raised in New Zealand, he'd thought that was where her accent was from/

"I remember Margaret said her sister lives in Auckland. Maybe she went there when she.."

Cecily continued for him.

"Well, that's where my parents lived, and where I was born, so you must be right. My mum, she wasn't able to safely carry a baby to term because of health problems, so they adopted me. My dad's just retired, and they decided to come here to the UK, they live in Essex now, right by the sea. My brother-he's about five years older than me, a foster child, that's how he came to our family, when I was three. He lives in Queenstown. Does the whole adventure tour guide thing. Always been the outdoors, risktaking type of person, I guess. I don't really get it." she shuddered jokingly.

"Still, we're quite close, always have been." She talked more about her family life. He began to ache more and more as she went on, but his thirst for this painful knowledge only grew.

Then, she'd taken a sip of the tea and then looked up towards him again.

"But I've talked enough. What about you?"

So he'd told her, funny how he didn't feel uncomfortable at all, telling a perfect stranger about Jean, about the army, Kenya, all of it.

Then, reluctantly, he was surprised to find, Cecily told him she needed to leave, to return home.

"I'll have to read your book sometime."

"Well, if you ever suffer insomnia, it's recommended for that, at least."

She'd laughed

"Oh I'm sure it's not as bad as that."

She'd shouldered her knapsack, and said

"Goodbye. Talk to you soon?" As if not trusting that he would want to.

He wanted to ask her, a part of him did, to stay to dinner, to meet Jean, her daughter and son-in-law.

Another part, the wiser part, knew that it was best to take things slowly.

He'd folded the piece of paper on which she'd written her address and phone number-he'd had the presence of mind to ask her- and put it carefully in his pocket, and tried his best to go on with his day.

"Hello Mum, Lionel" he now heard from the front door.

"Hello Judy love."

He came out of the kitchen to a hug from his stepdaughter.

"How have you been, Lionel?"

"Quite well, thank you. And you?"

She smiled her dimpled smile

"Fine."

"Where's Alistair?"

"Just parking. He should be in in a minute."

And he was. As usual the vivid presence that almost made Lionel forget that nothing was usual on this day..

"Mom and Pop-in-law!" Alistair greeted them heartily, arms outstretched.

Lionel glared, the same way he did at just about everyone of Alistair's greetings.

"Alistair" he replied.

"Sorry, Li." The younger man grinned.

"Come in, come in." Jean said, "I'll get you something to drink. dinner shouldn't be too much longer."

It was over the pudding that they made their announcement.

"We-we thought it would be best to let you know here, now, and promise you I just found out this very afternoon"

Judy took a deep breath, her eyes shining

"Oh Judy.." her mother breathed.

"I'm so thrilled. Beyond words. Lionel isn't this wonderful?"

"Absolutely. Congratulations you two." He meant it, with all his heart. In spite of Fate that seemed somewhere to be cackling at him.

After they'd finished, they toasted the new baby. He and Alistair then decided to fall back onto their old habit of a strategic retreat to the pub. Judy and Jean didn't mind, they were chattering away, making plans. Also, Alistair did need it. This was like his wedding, only more intense, more reason to worry, more of everything that Alistair had a tendency to fear – commitment, responsibility. But then, he wasn't one of those men who was unable to handle it. He'd be OK, eventually. Lionel nursed his half as Alistair tried to come to terms with his feelings – frightening and joyful. And wondered what the publisher would say to know that they were almost at least, in the same boat. Except in his, Lionel's, case, there was pain and regret, guilt, and terrible uncertainty added into the bargain.

When they'd called it a night, Lionel had walked home, pulled on his pyjamas, did his nighttime ablutions, and dropped off in short order, as he usually did. The trick was to stay that way. His dreams were defined by the mess of emotions, and he kept waking up, sweaty , his heart pounding, the dream itself gone, but the feelings it had attached lingered.

It wasn't long before Jean nudged him awake.

"Lionel, you're talking in your sleep again."

"Oh, sorry. Thanks for waking me."

She smiled, and turned over to get comfortable again. He knew he had to tell her. Now.

"Jean, can we talk? It's important."