Page 89 of The Vanished

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive,” Rhys replied. “Of course you should continue to hope.”

“I know you weren’t speaking about Logan, but thank you.”

“I’ll hold on to the items from the well until you can examine them,” Rhys offered. “In the meantime, stay safe, and I pray you get some answers soon.”

After she ended the call with Rhys, Quinn tried Drew and Jude, but neither one answered. It was only then that she realized Max wasn’t asleep. The little boy lay on his bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He looked so dejected, he reminded Quinn of Emma when she’d first come to live with her and Gabe at the age of three and had kept asking about her mum. How awful it had to be to suddenly be torn away from the one person you relied on most in the world, and who was supposed to be there no matter what.

For the first time since Logan had vanished, Quinn felt a hollow feeling in her chest. It was as if a candle had suddenly gone out and the room had been plunged into darkness. She knew that feeling. She’d experienced it several times before, and she found herself trembling with fear.

“Quinn, what is it?” Gabe asked as he walked into the bedroom.

“Logan,” Quinn whispered and instantly realized she shouldn’t have said even that much in front of Max.

The vacant look was gone, and Max was watching her, his bottom lip quivering as he tried to hold back tears. “Dad?”

Quinn went to sit on his bed and gathered Max into her arms, stroking his hair gently. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

But Max wriggled away from her and lay back down. He buried his face in the pillow, and his narrow shoulders shook with grief. Quinn made to reach for him, but Gabe shook his head.

“Let him be,” he said softly. “Anything we say will only belittle his feelings.”

Quinn nodded, then kissed the top of Max’s head and returned to her own bed.

FIFTY-EIGHT

DECEMBER 1923

Ravenglass

On Boxing Day, the morning was cold and bright, the sky a pale winter blue. Frost-covered grass crunched underfoot as Geneva set off for Rory’s cottage. Her heart was heavy, but her mind was made up. She would do her duty to her family. And after she spoke to Rory, she would share the news with Honor. Her sister shouldn’t find out at the same time as everyone else at the New Year’s Eve celebration. She deserved better than that.

Rory smiled in welcome when he opened the door. He must have just shaved because his face was pink and there was a dab of soap just beneath his chin. He was still in his shirtsleeves and wore a towel over his shoulder.

“Geneva,” he said, his pleasure at seeing her evident. “I hope ye had a happy Christmas. Please, come in.”

She stepped inside the cottage, glad of the warmth, but suddenly became aware just how small the space was and how close she was to Rory. He reached for her hand, but his arm fell to his side when she took a hasty step back, afraid he’d want to kiss her. A look of hurt passed over Rory’s face but was instantly replaced with one of blank neutrality. He was too proud to force his attentions on any woman, and he had probably already realized that she might be there to deliver bad news.

“Make yerself comfortable,” he said as he moved away. “Can I offer ye a cup of tea? The kettle’s only just boiled.”

Geneva was about to refuse, but realized she was shivering and a cup of tea would warm her and give her something to do with her hands.

“Thank you.”

Rory took her coat, hat, and gloves, and she sat at the table while he fetched two cups and saucers from the cupboard and went about making the tea.

“Are ye hungry?” he asked. “There’s bread and cheese.”

“You go ahead. I’ve already eaten.”

She hadn’t been able to eat much at breakfast and had just nibbled on a triangle of toast before excusing herself. Rory was probably hungry, but he made no move to make himself breakfast. Instead, he sat across from her and, once it had steeped, poured them cups of tea. He passed Geneva the bottle of milk before making his own tea. She added a splash and was about to add sugar when she noticed that there were only two pieces left in the bowl. It seemed wrong to take them.

“One for you, one for me?” Rory asked when he peered inside.

“You have them.”

Rory added the sugar to his tea and stirred it slowly as he waited for her to speak. Geneva looked around the cottage. Rory didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions, but it seemed he had already started to pack, since the room was even more spartan than before.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” she asked.