Chapter 1
Lost faces
Eliza Belmouth wasn't in the brightest of spirits. The sun was glaring at her when she woke up on the wrong side of the bed. One look at the clock told her she was late for work. She had stumbled into the kitchen, where the dog had once again, peed in the sink. Heaving a sigh, she had made a coffee and picked up the mail which the mailman had unceremoniously dropped on the floor outside her shabby one bedroom apartment. Her eyes scanned the pile of bills lying on her rickety old table but she hadn't found the letter with the familiar name and neat cursive on it. James must be really busy. Sighing again, she had called in sick to work. Being a journalist sure did have its perks, writing from home occassionally was one of them. She was smiling a little, smelling her coffee and looking out the window into the Manhattan sunshine, wondering if she could have lunch with her friend, Martha, when the pone rang.
"Hello"
"Eliza! It's me, Martha."
"Speak of the devil and he shall appear.."
"Good morning to you too Eliza!" Martha's cheery voice reached her ear. "Why aren't you at work today? Are you ill? Should I come over? Are you sure you're-"
"I'm fine Mar, just a nasty headache, don't fret. Why did you call anyway? I know its not to inquire about my health." Liza asked, a hint of playfulness in her voice.
"Ooh!! Liza, you know Janice, from the gossip section, she said she'd heard Lily say to Jill that Adam Sinclair was asking if I was single! Imagine Liz, Adam Sinclair!!!-"
Eliza held the receiver away from her ear and cringed at the shrieking coming from the other side. "Mar, that is great. Now you can move on from the jerk of a boyfriend you had before." Liza said.
"He wasn't worth it anyway, the confounded cheater! But I bet Adam is not like that.." Martha said dreamily.
"Sorry to break it to you, but isn't he a rake?" Liza was immediately shut up by her friend saying " I know that Liz, but I'm not passing up this chance. Opportunity doesn't come knocking twice, darlin' " Martha said suggestively.
"Oh I'm sure-"
Eliza's reply was cut short by the doorbell. "Mar, I've got to get the door, meet you for lunch?"
"Oh sweety, I suppose I didn't mention it. Mr.Winderson asked if you could do two extra features on the new Cafe at Sixth and the price hiking. Apparently, Jill couldn't do it. I guess you are going to need the rest of the day to finish writing, and I've already said I would take an extra shift at mom's shop. Sorry, sweet."
"Oh..It's alright. Why did the Devil have to make me do it anyway?" Liz's muttering was interrupted by the doorbell, more insistent this time. She uttered a quick goodbye and put down the phone, tightening her robe around her as she opened the door.
"Miss Belmouth?" A suit-clad man probably in his forties adressed her with a grave face.
"Yes. Who are you?" "I am Richard, your father's assistant.I am here to deliver a message from him."
"My father? You must have me confused with someone else. I..I don't have a father. I'm an orphan, I'm afraid." Liza struggled to keep her voice steady.
The man did not notice her unease, or pretended not to. His face showed no trace of emotion as he said " You are Miss Elizabeth Belmouth, are you not?" Liz nodded mutely. " Your father, Mr. Finley sent me to escort you to his home, as soon as possible. Your mother is gravely ill."
Eliza was stunned. She had been abandoned on the steps of a church when she was barely four years old. All she remembered of her mother was the face on the photo which had apparently been tucked inside her jacket. She had guarded it with her life ever since she had slipped it from the warden's office at the orphange. She remembered crying to sleep, holding the picture to her heart, staring at it for hours on end, imagining the angelic woman in it and why she would abandon her. She remembered the lone tear staining the book she was reading, perched on a window seat, as the rain pelted down outside. The sound of rain reminded her of a distinctly familiar tune, shrouded in her memories, she supposed it was something related to her mother. Speaking of which, it was drizzling outside now. Her eyes went to the window, which was fogged. Just like her memories of her mother. Her reverie was abruplty broken by the man clearing his throat.
"Mr. Finley said you would not be convinced. He sent this." He said, handing her a photograph.
It was a picture of pure bliss, of a couple completely in love. They were young, in their late twenties perhaps. The man was tall, with dark blond hair and hazel eyes. But it was the woman's face that made her heart skip a beat. She did not need to look at her precious photograph to recognize the familiar, yet foreign face. She was beautiful. Brown wavy hair fell down her shoulders and her blue eyes were sparkling. The high cheekbones, straight nose and full lips reminded her of someone. No, not someone, her own reflection. A single word escaped her lips-
"Mother."
