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‘The words make sense in his head,’ she explained. ‘They just—’
Soren hesitated. The internal battle was brief. It was deeply frustrating to realise that despite his grandfather’s years of training he had retained more scruples than he would own to.
‘They do make sense.’
‘To him, yes, but—’
He ignored her, dismissing her interruption. ‘He is speaking Icelandic.’
‘My grandfather doesn’t speak—’ She paused and bit her lip as her grandfather began to speak over her.
Soren was good at multitasking. He could listen to Tor predicting the Icelandic banking meltdown of decades earlier and watch as his protective granddaughter chucked Soren a rot-in-hell look.
The irony was, of course, she was too late to protect her grandfather, at least from the truth, which Soren had already selectively leaked to cause maximum impact... He ignored the scratch of guilt and told himself that that old man didn’t deserve such dedication and, while he was willing to admit that his granddaughter seemed genuinely ignorant of his previous life, she seemed more than capable of looking after herself and there were others out there who deserved the truth, others who had lost everything because of Tor.
Anna’s teeth clenched as the stranger ignored her and responded to her grandfather, speaking fluent gibberish back.
‘I asked you not to—’ She stopped as she watched her grandfather’s face light up. Eagerness she had forgotten about lit his eyes as he responded with a convincing fluency that was not necessarily significant given her grandfather’s confusion.
He didn’t seem confused now, he sounded more animated than he had in weeks, and now that she listened she heard a pattern, a repetition in the words that she had never noticed before—because she had not been listening for them.
She was dealing with the first quiver of nagging doubt when she registered that her grandfather was looking at her, his white brows raised in enquiry.
‘He is asking if you have done your homework,’ Soren translated, recognising that the chances were Tor was never going to drop the act.
If it was an act?
He pushed the thought away. ‘Maths homework.’
‘It’s true?’ She searched his face. ‘Youunderstandwhat he’s saying?’
‘I do.’
‘So all the time we thought he was... Tell him—’ Before she could ask the stranger to translate for her the walking stick fell from her grandfather’s limp clasp and his eyes closed.
‘He’s asleep...?’
Soren turned his head from the figure in the chair in time to see her nod in response. Her luminous eyes were fixed on the old man, an entire world of emotion chasing across her expressive features. In the unguarded moment, her face had a piercing vulnerability.
He looked away, feeling he’d intruded on something intensely private.
‘He can’t sleep at night, it’s part of his condition. When he was at home,’ she continued, her expression abstracted, her voice so soft now it was almost as if she was talking to herself rather than him, ‘I had to lock the doors. The police found him wandering in the park in his pyjamas.’
‘You cared for him at home?’ He could only imagine what that would entail, but he was sure it would have included putting her own life on hold. He had some experience of having a grandparent take over your life, but his had been a bargain with benefits—it seemed hard to imagine any benefits for this woman.
‘For a while.’
‘So you were essentially his carer?’
‘For a short time.’ At least he didn’t seem about to acclaim herselflessactions, Anna thought, which was a relief. His faint disapproval was preferable to being viewed as either a saint or an object of pity.
‘No sleep at night but in the day...he just drops off without warning in the middle of drinking a cup of tea sometimes. He had a bad night and—’
She broke off, her eyes lifting from the slumped sleeping figure to the man standing by the door, his broad shoulders propped against the wall, his eyes fixed on her face. The piercing blue regard made her shift uncomfortably and she bent to pick up the broken glass, wincing as a bubble of blood appeared on her fingertip.
He was pleased to hear her swear crudely. A moment later she flashed him a rueful look and pulled her finger from her mouth and, aware of the sleeping figure, whispered, ‘Sorry,’ as she rose to her feet, sucking her finger, which immediately drew his attention to her lips with uncomfortable results.
‘I’ve heard worse.’
