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I’ve asked Oliver for a full rundown of the expenses my mother has made against the estate for the past year, which means I’ll be privy to my parents’ divorce settlement. And he’ll prepare a list of all the larger houses belonging to the estate, that are or will be coming available for lease shortly.
That’s on the agenda for tomorrow.
Throughout our discussions, I’ve ignored my phone. When I glance at the screen, I’m astonished to find it crowded with a ton of text messages and missed calls.
What the hell! You got married!!!!
When do we get to meet your WIFE?
What’s this I hear about you getting married?
You’re finally off the market. My heart is broke!
Maxim. You’re hitched!!!
WTF man? You wed!
Who’s the lucky girl?
Can I get an interview with you and your bride?
Shit! The last is from a journalist from one of the glossies. I fucked her back in the day.
How do all these people know?
“You were right about the world knowing about my nuptials,” I mutter to Oliver, who is gathering his papers together.
“It’s not too late to put out a press release,” he says.
I roll my eyes, refusing to contemplate any interaction with the press as I scroll through a flurry of texts Caroline sent a couple of hours ago.
Can we meet today?
You need to see what I’ve unearthed.
It may affect you.
What fresh hell is this?
Can it wait?
No.
There’s a knock on the office door as Oliver rises.
“Come in,” I call.
Lisa steps inside. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, my lord. Lady Trevethick is here.”
Alessia! My heart skips a beat, and I rise from the table, a broad smile plastered on my face ready to greet my wife. “Show her in.”
Lisa steps aside, and Caroline enters and pockets her phone.
Oh.
“Expecting someone else?” Caroline snipes. “Your face has fallen several floors, darling.”
“Hello, Caro.” Ignoring her jibe, I kiss her cheek. “What a lovely surprise.”
“Oliver,” she acknowledges him, and he gives her a quick nod before exiting. Caroline watches him leave, her face impassive, and then she turns to survey the room. “It’s been a while since I was in here.” She turns her attention to me, her eyes welling with her sadness.
“Funny, Oliver said that,” I whisper.
Her nose pinks charmingly, and she shakes her head, steeling herself. “I was in the area. I wondered if you might want lunch.”
“I’ve just got back and I’m busy, Caro.”
She laughs—a sad, sorry sound. “You would never have said that back in the day.”
“True. What can I help you with?”
“May I sit? I have something to show you.”
“Of course.” I gesture toward the Queen Anne table and pull out the chair I’ve just vacated for her to sit down. While I take a seat beside her, she places her handbag on her lap and ferrets through it, avoiding eye contact.
“You know I’ve been going through Kit’s belongings and his papers.”
“Yes.” Where is she going with this?
“Well, I found all sorts of things. It’s amazing what can turn up.” She sounds nervous.
“What is it, Caro?”
“Well.” She swallows. “This might concern both you and Maryanne.” She fishes a couple of letters out of her handbag and places them on the table in front of me.
I glance down at them, then back at her, cocking my head. “What are these?”
“I think you should read them.” The haunted look in her eyes sends a frisson down my spine, and I grasp both letters and scan them. Every hair on my body stands to attention.
“Genetic… what?” My mouth dries as I look at her. “Why would Kit be referred for genetic counseling?”
“Exactly,” she whispers.
“You don’t know?”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide and luminous with doubt. “No. These are a surprise for me too.”
What the hell is this?
Carefully, I reread both letters and check the dates. His GP referral was in October last year, and the genetic counseling service wrote back with an appointment in November.
“Have you found any other letters? Results?”
Caroline shakes his head.
“Dates in his diary?”
“No.” Caro looks as bemused as I am.
“If Kit’s been referred for genetic counseling, it’ll be for a reason.”
Oh shit.
I feel the blood drain from my face.
If Kit was facing a genetic medical issue, then… I am too, surely.
And Maryanne.
Hell.
Could there be something wrong with me?
I rack my brain, trying to remember if there are any documented medical conditions in my predecessors. Nothing comes to mind. “Maybe I should get tested too.”
“Tested for what? We don’t have a clue,” Caroline says.
This is true.
“Maybe it was just a precautionary investigation,” Caro says. “You know how thorough Dr. Renton can be. He’s always overzealous. It racks up the bill.”
“Was Kit ill?” I ask.
“Not as far as I know. He had headaches, which you know about.”
“He’s always had those.”
Hell. What could this be? I have no idea. “Did you call Renton’s office?”
“Yes. They wouldn’t divulge any information.” Caro sounds frustrated.
