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“Your suit is impeccably clean to say that.”
“Christopher.”
He laughed and relinquished his hold on the tea tray, then threw his arms out to the sides. “What do you want me to say to you? I know what I’d like to say, but I’m not sure you’d appreciate it.”
“No, thank you. I have already had the “I told you so” speech from my best friend.”
Alexander had made it known under no uncertain terms that he was very much enjoying being correct.
Me?
Not so much.
I didn’t like being wrong at the best of times, but this one was particularly galling.
“Is your relationship progressing to something real?” Christopher asked, leaning against the sofa. “Or is it one-sided?”
“It’s not. She’s most definitely given me enough information to believe she has feelings for me, but Eva doesn’t really wear her heart on her sleeve.”
“I have noticed. She tends to keep it locked in an underground safe, doesn’t she?”
“One that’s buried very, very deep.” I chuckled, folding my arms across my chest. “It doesn’t bother me, or I thought it didn’t. She’s dealing with enough without me begging her to tell me how she really feels.”
“I respect that a lot,” Christopher replied, nodding his head slowly. “She is quite unwell at the moment, isn’t she? Is she still taking the anti-sickness meds?”
“She is. The doctor wants her to keep taking them for at least another week, but Mum thinks she’ll need them longer.”
“What is she able to eat at the moment? Is there anything I can make and portion out for her that won’t take long to reheat? My daughter struggled with nausea and ate several small meals a day so she was never hungry.”
“Toast,” I said wryly.
He laughed.
“On a serious note, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe pasta in tomato sauce? I think she eventually managed some of that last night.” I pressed my lips together. “It’s a bit of a vicious circle—she’s so tired and needs to eat, but at the same time, she’s too nauseous to eat, so she just takes another nap.”
“I’ll make some pasta with chicken for her. That way she can get some protein in at the very least.” He took his phone from his pocket and tapped on it. “I’ve set a reminder to do that for her. Can I get you anything?”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. I appreciate the offer, though. Why don’t you do that and take the afternoon to spend some time with Ceri?”
“Oh, there’s quite enough to do here, and—”
“I insist,” I said, reaching over and touching his arm. “Go and see your granddaughter. You don’t get to do that enough.”
Christopher stared at me for a moment, then walked to the other side of the library. I frowned as he reached to the top shelf and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book. He opened it and slipped out an envelope that he tucked under his arm before he carefully replaced the book.
“This is yours.” He held it out to me, still standing in front of the shelf.
I walked over to him, stilling when I saw the top of it.
My name was on there. In short, stocky block letters that sent a pang of grief right through me.
That was my father’s handwriting.
“He asked me to hold onto this until you became a father, but something tells me this letter is meant for you right now.”
My jaw twitched as I fought back the lump in my throat, and I gingerly took the letter from Christopher’s grasp. “It’s not another bloody wild goose chase, is it?”
He smiled, resting his hand on my shoulder. “No.”
“How do you know?”
“He gave me this one in the hospital before he died. There’s no way he was able to smuggle several others into very obscure places in this house.”
I held the letter to my chest and smiled sadly. “Thank you, Christopher. For everything you do for my family.”
He squeezed my shoulder, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say his eyes were a little on the watery side. “Right,” he said firmly, releasing my shoulder. “I’m off to clean this tea tray away and make some pasta for Eva. If she comes down, would you like me to let her know where you are?”
My fingers twitched around the letter. “Of course. Unless Mum comes home before that.”
On that, he bowed his head and ducked away, and I closed my eyes as the sound of teacups clinking against each other slowly faded away to silence.
If you could consider rain hitting the window as silence.
Somehow, I did.
It was a comforting backdrop akin to white noise as my legs carried me to the closest sofa. I slowly sat down and drew the envelope away from my chest. I traced my gaze over the letters of my name over and over again, and the ache in my chest only intensified when I brushed my finger over the word.
