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‘He remembers you? He called you Stein...?’
‘My father, though we are not alike—he died very young.’ He paused, shielding his expression as the image that had haunted him down the years floated into his head.
‘How many other secrets does he have?’ she wondered out loud before raising her gaze to this man who might have some of the answers to the hundred questions in her head. ‘Do you still live—?’
‘We moved away some years ago,’ Soren cut in smoothly. ‘My mother is Sicilian by birth.’
Sicilian, well, that explained his vibrant colouring. His ice-blue eyes were the only evidence of his northern genes.
‘I still don’t understand any of this. My grandfather never mentioned—’
‘It is hard sometimes to think that our parents, and I suppose that goes doubly for grandparents, had a life before we came along—like us, they have their own secrets.’
It was only the knowledge that it would make her sound boring that stopped her blurting that she had no secrets.
‘I suppose you’re right... I wish I knew though.’
Be careful of what you wish for, he thought, feeling an unexpected and unwelcome stab of sadness for her soon-to-be-lost innocence.
She looked up, smiling. ‘I wish you’d known him...before...seeing him yelling that way...he never raised his voice to me. He was such a decent and honourable man, everyone loved him.’
A nerve jumped in Soren’s lean cheek. Not everyone, and soon maybe no one, but he knew without doubt that she would cling to her illusions for as long as she could.
And when they were gone? He left the thought unfinished. That was not his responsibility. There were a lot of people out there, a lot of victims who deserved the truth.
‘He was...’ Her eyes moved past him. ‘It’s Dr Greyson.’ A smile on her face, she moved past him to meet the group who were walking towards them.
Soren could hear several staff members greeting Anna by name as he turned in the opposite direction and walked away.
CHAPTER THREE
SORENLIFTEDAhand to his jaw and felt the rough growth of stubble. He had arrived at the London office of the Vitale Group the previous evening direct from the Merlin clinic, drawing a look of reproach from his superbly organised PA, Natalie, who had arrived the day before. She had already sorted every detail of the complex meetings scheduled for the following day...which was, Soren realised as he glanced out of the panoramic plate-glass windows that revealed the wide-awake city below, today.
‘You’re a distraction.’
‘Where’s the respect? The—?’
‘Obsequious boot-licking...? Wrong PA. Also, I worked for you before you were infallible and a financial genius.’
Soren had grinned and retreated to his office because that was where he’d been heading anyway. He glanced down now, his lip curled in mild distaste as he took in his creased suit. He would definitely be a distraction if he rolled up looking like this, or start rumours of all-night partying.
He grabbed the jacket hooked over the back of his chair, and shook it out. He hadn’t been partying, he’d worked through the night, which was not unusual—he liked the lack of distractions his days were filled with.
Except last night there had been distractions, mostly in his own head. Tor had robbed him of the moment he had dreamt of all these years.
Not that he was escaping justice—sure, his diagnosis, faked or real, might make him personally untouchable, but Tor’s sins had caught up with him and very soon his reputation would be trashed along with the reputations of all those who had conspired with him.
It felt like coming second in a race, and Soren had never seen the point in that, and being forced to accept it now did not sit well with him.
Unbidden, the face of Anna Randall floated into his head. The green eyes seemed to look at him reproachfully. He swore, she really was too good to be true...but if, as he suspected, she was... He rose in one restless fluid motion, and, jacket slung across his shoulder, dragged a hand through his already ruffled hair.
If she was about to have her eyes opened, she ought, he told himself sourly, to be thanking him.
He doubted she would.
What he needed was a shower and a change of clothes. Would that it were as easy to wash away the totally irrational sense of...no,notguilt. Why should he feel guilt? If she got hurt the blame lay at her grandfather’s door, not his. If she was innocent, she had nothing to fear. He ejected those green eyes from the space in his head that should be occupied by the new addition to the designer label that was about to be incorporated into the Vitale brand. Since the launch of their designer glasses, they had been steadily buying up their rivals. Pretty soon there would be few that were not owned by Vitale.
He had made it halfway to the door before the phone lying on his desk began to vibrate.
