The way he pronounced the word fiancée made Rory’s blood simmer. “How can you say that? She was pregnant with your child when he sent her away.”
“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that I might not have been the only man in Soline’s life. And that there might be a very simple explanation for why the father is listed as unknown—she didn’t know herself.”
Rory stared at him, stunned by his feigned indifference. And it was feigned. She could see it in the set of his jaw and in the way he gripped the base of his glass, so tightly his knuckles went white. He couldn’t let himself believe the truth because it meant he’d thrown away too much.
“You don’t believe that,” she said evenly. “I know you don’t.”
A muscle ticked along Anson’s jaw. “I think I should be the judge of what I believe and what I don’t. She’s convinced you that she’s some kind of martyr, but I happen to know better. It doesn’t matter how; I just do. So let’s dispense with the fairy tale that she’s spent the last forty years nursing a broken heart.”
“She never married.”
Anson lifted his glass, nearly empty now, and stared into the dregs. “That’s no business of mine.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Do I need to point out the obvious? She didn’t come looking for me either.”
“Why would she look for you? She thought you were dead.”
Anson’s head came up sharply. “Dead?”
Finally, she seemed to have his attention. “Your father had already sent her away when news came that you were alive, and he was perfectly fine with letting her go on believing you were dead. And to let you believe she’d walked out on you. He didn’t just send her away. He made sure she’d have no reason to ever come back.”
Anson met her gaze with strained calm. “That’s quite a story.”
“Your sister can verify what I’m saying if you don’t want to take my word. She was crushed when Soline left, but she only knew what your father told her—the same thing he told you. Then she found the ledger and started putting the pieces together. She tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t let her. She thought you might listen to me.”
For an instant, Rory thought she saw something flicker in Anson’s eyes, a chink in his icy armor, but it was gone almost instantly. “I understand my sister having a blind spot. They were close once. But I’m curious. What is all this to you? After all these years, why do you care? You’re a bit old for piggyback rides and camping trips with Grandpa. What is it you see happening here?”
“Why do I care?” Rory echoed, stung to the point of tears by his cavalier response. “Soline is my grandmother. And even if she wasn’t, she’s still my friend. I don’t want anything from you. I’m just trying to right a forty-year-old wrong. Because I know what she went through when you went missing, the hell of not knowing if you were alive or dead, to never know what happened or even say goodbye. I know what that feels like. I know it firsthand.” She turned to wipe the tears from her face, mortified to have veered into such personal territory.
“Ms. Grant . . .”
When she looked up, Anson was holding out a crisply folded handkerchief. The monogram was in dark blue now, but it was there. A.W.P. She took it, blotting her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get emotional, but this is a lot to digest for me, too, and I really do know what it’s like to lose someone the way she did. To never know . . .”
His entire bearing seemed to change as he leaned forward, arms folded on the edge of the table. “Your husband?”
The lines around his mouth and eyes had softened, making him look younger—and so much like Camilla that she felt herself relax. “My fiancé, Hux. Sorry, his name is actually Matthew, but his last name is Huxley so everyone calls him Hux.”
“What happened?”
“He’s with the MSF—Doctors Without Borders—in South Sudan. He’s a pediatrician. There was a raid early one morning at the clinic where he was working. A truck pulled up and abducted him and two others. It’s been nine months, and no one seems to know anything.”
“I’m sorry. That’s a tough part of the world right now, so much unrest and so many factions with their own agendas. But don’t give up. His abductors, whoever they are, know any chance of getting what they want begins and ends with keeping their hostages alive. It may feel hopeless, but I have some experience here. The IFRC works with governments all over the world to bring our guys home. Not hearing anything doesn’t mean nothing’s being done.”