Page 72 of The Vanished

“Is it to do with Logan?” Rhys asked.

“Yes.”

Quinn was acutely aware of the pain and the sense of defeat in her voice and hated how low she had been brought in only a few days. The human psyche was remarkably resilient, yet the very mechanisms that allowed it to adapt to unforeseen circumstances could also lull one into a false sense of security. When everything seemed to be going well, it was easy to believe one was safe and that nothing truly dreadful could happen. And yet terrible, painful things occurred all the time, often lying in wait just around the corner, ready to strike when least expected.

She had found her footing again after the events of the past few years. Though she still grieved for those she had lost, she had begun to make her peace with it. But now, once again, the unthinkable had happened, and this time she didn’t even know what it was, which made it all the more difficult to process.

“Tell me when you feel ready,” Rhys said and immediately moved on, having understood that she needed to talk of something else. “I have a call in to Andie Parke’s agent. I think she would be perfect as Geneva.”

“Yes, I can see the resemblance,” Quinn said, her mind instantly going to the last role she’d seen Andie Parke in. She had portrayed a young Agatha Christie in a film adaptation of the author’s life. Few women’s looks were enhanced by shingled hair plastered to the scalp, eyebrows plucked into nearly invisible lines, and dresses that resembled shapeless sacks, flattering only to the thinnest and most boyish of figures, but Andie had managed to look lovely, nonetheless, and would do Geneva justice.

“Any thoughts for Honor?” Quinn asked.

“We’ll have to tap a lesser-known actress,” Rhys replied. “We don’t have the budget for a high-profile cast. And we still need to find our male leads. Have you learned anything new since we last talked?” he asked carefully.

“Yes, I’ve traveled to 1923 several times,” Quinn said. “Mostly to escape.”

“And?” Rhys instantly perked up.

“Geneva had some difficult decisions to make, and she was understandably conflicted.”

“Do tell.”

Quinn could almost hear Rhys shifting into a more comfortable position as he settled in to hear the story. That was the bitter reality of history: for those who lived through it, events were often heartbreaking and life-altering, but, for those who came after, even the most heinous acts were transformed into entertainment. To this day, films and novels about the world wars dominated the bestseller charts and the box offices, proof that people enjoyed immersing themselves in another’s suffering, however unsettling parts of it might be. Murder mysteries, true crime especially, remained bestselling genres. What did that say about mankind? Was it cathartic, a way of empathizing with the victims and making sense of the horror, or was it simply a diversion—a few hours spent exploring someone else’s misery while sitting comfortably on the sofa, snacks to hand?

“Well, go on, then,” Rhys urged.

And Quinn had to admit that she would much rather discuss Geneva’s tragedy than focus on the one unfolding in her own life.

“Geneva had become involved with the estate manager, Rory Sullivan.”

“Typical,” Rhys remarked. “Was she playing Lady Chatterley to her working-class lover?”

“She was,” Quinn admitted, though she resented Rhys’s callous tone.

But, of course, to him Geneva was just an idea, not a real young woman in whose head he’d spent countless hours, thinking her thoughts and feeling her emotional pain.

“Rory was Geneva’s first romantic experience, and she was unhappy and confused.”

“So not exploring her budding sexuality, then?”

“Not quite.”

“Shame, that. First love is always precious, even if it’s all wrong,” Rhys said wistfully. “The highs and the lows, the greedy exploration of each other’s bodies and minds. The exquisite agony of parting, and then the ecstasy of coming together again.”

“Are you quite finished, Shakespeare?” Quinn asked with a chuckle.

“I take it you don’t have bittersweet memories of your first love?”

“No. He was an absolute wanker. And, if Facebook is anything to go by, still is.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Do you mind if we get back to Geneva now?”

“Not in the least,” Rhys replied.

Despite her annoyance, Quinn couldn’t help but be amused. That was the thing about Rhys, he always knew how to distract her from her problems and make her feel better without relying on patronizing platitudes and empty promises. Whatever happened happened, and at the end of it all Rhys was still there, steadfast in his friendship.