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“She says she’s your great-niece, Professor.”
He pales and turns luminous wide eyes back to her. “Alessia?” he whispers.
What! He knows her!
Tears well in her eyes, and she nods, still unable to speak.
“Oh, my dear!” he exclaims, rising from his chair. He steps around the desk and takes both of her hands in his. “I never thought…” His voice trails off as he chokes up, and they stare at each other, holding each other’s hands. She takes in the smile lines around his eyes and his ridiculous mustache that peaks at each end. His neat beard. His impressive mane of hair just like her grandmother.
“Virginia?” he whispers.
He doesn’t know.
Alessia shakes her head.
“Oh no,” he says and tears pool in his eyes. He squeezes her hands while they face each other for several seconds, and myriad emotions flit across his face as he absorbs the sad news. Finally, Alessia’s tears fall, streaming down her face as she remembers her dear, dear Nana. Tobias pulls a cotton handkerchief from his pants pocket and wipes his eyes.
“My dear, you have quite undone me. My dear, dear sister. I wondered. I hadn’t heard from her for a long while. I hoped…” He takes a breath. “Mrs. Smith. Tea. Please. You’ll take tea, won’t you, my dear?”
Alessia nods, and she reaches for a tissue from her handbag. Mrs. Smith, whose gentle smile reveals her demeanor has transformed from suspicious to solicitous, hurries out of the room.
“That gold cross. It looks familiar. Was it hers?”
“Yes!” Alessia says. “It was.” Automatically, Alessia’s fingers fly to her throat, and she fiddles with the cross. “It’s very precious. I loved her dearly.”
He smiles. A sad smile. “I remember it. My parents were terribly religious. Ginny too. That’s why she went to Albania, to spread the Word during the Communist era.” He shakes his head as if to rid himself of some unpleasant memory. “Let’s move to the drawing room.” He ushers Alessia toward the door.
“So, I never had an address for Ginny, but she would write to me very occasionally. That’s how I know about you. I think she was concerned that my parents would go and ‘rescue’ her from the depths of Albania. They did not approve of her marriage at all.” Toby sighs. “Dreadful business. They lost a daughter.”
“She married well. She was very much in love with her husband. He was a fine man. Her daughter, my mother, was less lucky, though that seems to have changed.”
“Your mother. Shpresa?”
“Yes.”
“So, Alessia, tell me about yourself. How do you happen to be in England? Tell me all.”
* * *
“Honey, I’m home,” I call as I close the front door. It’s deathly quiet, and the unsettled anxiety I’ve felt since Alessia announced she was going out rears its ugly head. “Alessia!” I shout, just in case she’s deep in a wardrobe or one of the bathrooms. But the flat has a ringing emptiness that I never noticed until Alessia moved in.
Hell. We forgot to set the alarm.
And she said she’d text. Scowling, I take out my phone and call. But it rings through to voicemail. “Where are you?” I ask and hang up, blowing out a breath in frustration.
Alessia can look after herself.
Can’t she?
She handled my mother. She handled Grisha.
The apprehension that’s become familiar since Alessia was kidnapped flutters in my chest. I text her, keeping it light.
Where are you?
The flat is cold and lonely without you.
Mx
Also, I’m hungry. That isn’t helping my mood. Feeling miserable, I drift into the kitchen, where the fridge is stacked with goodies.
No. I change my mind, head into the bedroom, and put on my running gear. A run will clear my head, and she’ll be back when I’m done.
* * *
“I cannot believe that you were living across the river. That’s extraordinary,” Toby says.
“Yes. I was happy there,” Alessia replies.
“West is best, I think the saying goes.” He smiles kindly.
Alessia glances at the time. It’s after six! “The time. I must go. My husband will be anxious.”
“I’m sure he will. Maxim, you say?”
“Yes. That’s his name.” Alessia hasn’t told Toby about Maxim’s heritage. She’s going to save that for their next meeting. “I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’s a good man.” She stands and glances at the piano.
“Do you play?”
“Yes. I do. Nana taught my mother. Nana and my mother taught me. Do you?”
He chuckles. “Musicality runs in the family. Sadly, I don’t play as much as I used to.” He holds up his hands and waggles his fingers. “These aren’t what they were, but I’ve studied music all my life. It’s more a science to me now than an art, yet it started in a blaze of color for me.”
“You have synesthesia?”
“I do, my dear. I do.” He’s stunned. “But I call it chromesthesia.”
Alessia grins. “Chromesthesia. I have not heard this.”
