Читать книгу Hidden Legacy - Margaret Way - Страница 10

A BIG MAN, he filled the kitchen. He left Alyssa, who was above average height, feeling small. And it wasn’t only his height and breadth of shoulder that made him so powerful, but a kind of blazing energy. The two of them worked in fraught silence while they packed the provisions away. She took care of the things that went into the refrigerator. He’d brought her more fresh bread, butter and milk, and in addition a carton of cream, vanilla ice cream and some small tubs of fruit yogurt. From the excellent village delicatessen he’d thrown in some King Island Camembert, a chunk of Havarti, New Guinea coffee beans and a half-dozen little pastries. It was more than enough to keep her going.

She’d noticed him putting away a small bag of locally grown baby potatoes and some red and white onions, about the only things Zizi hadn’t grown herself. Alyssa hadn’t checked on the vegetable garden yet, but she had a feeling he would’ve given it some water as well as fed Cleo. He looked that sort of man.

“You seem to know your way around.” She couldn’t help the dryness creeping into her tone.

“Elizabeth showed me all over the house the first time I came here,” he explained as he emerged from the large pantry. “It’s a marvelous old place, incredible atmosphere. The widow’s walk is quite unique in this part of the world. I’d heard about it, of course.”

“From Julian?” She was having difficulty coming to terms with Zizi’s late-blossoming friendship with him, let alone a supposed romantic involvement with Julian Wainwright. “What is your relationship, by the way?”

“Ah, a woman who wants answers!” he jibed gently.

“Julian’s my great-uncle. Think back. Surely she mentioned their close friendship at some point? Perhaps you’ve forgotten?” There was an unmistakable note of challenge in his voice.

Alyssa stood staring at him. “I assure you I wouldn’t have forgotten.”

“So, what did she say about him?”

Alyssa felt ill at ease beneath that probing gaze. “She did speak of him, but only as a friend—a colleague—of her youth. There was never any hint of romance. Zizi never spoke of any romantic attachment to anyone. Don’t you find that extremely odd if what you say is true?”

His expression was reflective. “I do find it odd, but it would seem Elizabeth was a woman for secrets. She was beautiful at seventy. Imagine what she was like in her twenties. Very much like you, I’d imagine, except for the eyes.”

She bit her lip, feeling bewildered and upset. “That’s true. Zizi’s eyes were a definite green. No one else in the family has eyes like mine—with gold flecks. My mother’s more like Zizi than I am, but I see what you mean. Zizi was bound to have many admirers. So how far did this involvement with Julian go? Were they thinking of getting engaged?” She felt a flare of antipathy and it showed.

“Didn’t happen. Elizabeth lost her heart to someone else.”

“Another suitor?” she asked with a brittle laugh.

“Your great-uncle gave you all this information?”

“He can give it to you if you like.” He registered her every passing expression. He’d seen her portraits in the house and enough photographs of her in Elizabeth’s scrapbooks to know in advance that she was beautiful. None of them did her justice. One had to see her in the flesh to fully appreciate the exquisite complexion, the delicately sculpted bones of her face, that cascading hair, the lovely mouth and those distinctive eyes. The body matched the face, willowy and graceful. She was the kind of woman a certain type of man hungered for. The kind of woman that man could only dream about.

“That is, if you want to risk hearing what he has to say,” he added, dragging out a kitchen chair for her. “Why don’t you sit down? You’ve lost color.”

She obeyed him, waiting until the darkness at the edge of her vision receded. “Why have we never heard of Julian Wainwright in all these years?” Impatiently she pushed a long coil of hair over her shoulder.

He watched her do it, fascinated by the femininity of the movement. She was a natural ash-blonde, as her great-aunt had been. But whereas Elizabeth had worn her hair shorn like a small boy’s, she wore hers center-parted and falling in loose waves over her shoulders and down her back. He studied her; she was either a superb actress or what he was saying was a shock.

“Let me get you something to eat first,” he suggested briskly. “Then we can talk. What about a sandwich with the coffee?”

She waved a distracted hand. There was a firmness and strength about him, a masculinity that would turn any woman’s head. Wasn’t it a good thing hers was now firmly screwed on? “Would you mind answering the question?”

“Sure.” His handsome mouth compressed. “Let me grind the coffee beans first.”

“Please, don’t worry about the coffee.” She wanted to move forward with this.

“It’s no problem.”

She gave up. So many chaotic emotions were running through her. Shock, pain, confusion and a sense of wonder that he was moving so authoritatively around her kitchen. Had he done this with Zizi? She had to admit he was very deft in all his movements. In no time at all, the percolator was on the hot plate and turkey-breast sandwiches, neatly cut into four triangles, were in front of her. “Surely you’re going to join me?” She was starting to feel quite…unreal.

“Delighted to,” he said, taking a chair opposite her.

“Elizabeth and Julian corresponded for years. You didn’t know?”

“Why do you continually doubt me?” He watched the sparks in her eyes flare brightly.

“Because it’s hard to believe Elizabeth kept all this from you.”

“It is,” she acknowledged, her tone bleak.

“He used to visit her often after Langford was lost at sea.”

She was forced to take two big steadying breaths before answering. “Are you about to tell me she was friends with Richard Langford, the yachtsman?”

There was a quick flash of impatience in his eyes. “You have to know about Langford.”

She struggled to control her temper. There was flat disbelief in his voice. “Look, just take my word for it, will you? All I know is what Zizi told me. She bought this house when it came on the market. This was after Richard Langford was lost at sea. As I understand it, he took his yacht out in very dangerous conditions. The locals thought the house was haunted, so Zizi got a bargain. It is haunted, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” he said without any trace of humor.

“I only have your word for all of this,” she reminded him. “Zizi and I were as close as we could be. I spent all my vacations with her since I was seven. We talked about everything and everyone.”

“Except Richard Langford and Julian Wainwright,” he retorted bluntly. “Both of whom were her lovers.”

She had to put a hand to her heart, it gave such a lunge. “Well, well, well! Why didn’t I see that coming?”

His features tightened. “You’re not going to say you didn’t know that, either?”

“It’s not possible.” This man was a stranger. Zizi was her much-loved great-aunt. Why should she believe one word he said? For all she knew, he could have a hidden agenda.

“But very easy to prove.” He spoke more gently this time. “Elizabeth and Julian were seriously involved. Then Langford came into her life.”

She sat there, speechless, almost in a trance.

“Alyssa?” he prompted.

She made a huge effort to respond. “This is a far cry from the encounter I expected to have with you.” She began to rub her temples, which ached.

“I know and I’m sorry. The fact is, Langford deeded this house to Elizabeth a year before he died. He also presented her with her little sailing yacht, the Cherub.”

All at once Alyssa felt a great surge of anger. She leaped up, unwilling to accept a word of it. “For pity’s sake, stop! Zizi bought this house. She bought the yacht. Either you’ve got your facts wrong, or you’re making it all up. Zizi would never have lied to me. She was a woman of integrity!”

He seemed unimpressed, although his tone was calm. “Please sit down again. I’m sorry to upset you. You may have been led to believe otherwise, but Richard Langford deeded the house to Elizabeth. The yacht, too, was a gift.”

The air thrummed with electricity. “That can easily be checked out.” She spoke sharply, but resumed her chair. “Why didn’t you tell my father any of this?”

“It wasn’t the time to talk to him about Elizabeth’s affairs. It was you Elizabeth was most focused on. She told me she was leaving you the house.”

“Do you have anything else to tell me?” she asked coldly, struggling with unfamiliar pangs of jealousy that Zizi could have been so drawn to him, confiding even that piece of information.

He seemed to realize it. “She spoke about you at length. How gifted you are, how much she loved you. How you both loved Flying Clouds. She was more than happy to speak freely about you, but it was extremely difficult to get her to talk about herself.”

“Why should she?” she asked angrily. Her heart was hammering away.

“Because of Julian,” he said, rising abruptly.

“Julian deserves some consideration. Julian is the issue for me. Here, let me pour the coffee.” The rich fragrance pervaded the kitchen. “There’s no question that was a very painful area of her life. She was loath to talk about it, although I think she accepted that she’d soon have to.”

An awful suspicion came into her mind. “You’re not a writer, are you? I shudder at the thought of some unauthorized biography of Elizabeth Jane Calvert, full of shocking disclosures.”

He didn’t answer until he’d placed her coffee before her. “It could happen,” he said with a shrug. “It’s quite a story, but it won’t be written by me. I’m an architect.”

Something clicked. “Hunt Hebron?” She referred to a Sydney-based firm, multi-award winners for many years.

He nodded, setting his own coffee down on the table. “My father, Philip Hunt, heads the firm since Uncle Julian retired.”

“I daresay you’ve won a few awards of your own.” She allowed her eyes to rest on him, struggling to keep the slow burn of hostility and a perverse awareness out of her voice, although it must have been obvious. Brett had always told her she was hopeless at hiding her feelings.

“A few,” he answered, “with better to come, I hope. I’ve checked out your work, although I’ve never managed to get to Brisbane to a showing. It seems to me that you’re on your way to matching and—who knows?—one day surpassing Elizabeth.”

“I doubt it. Zizi was wonderful.”

“And you aren’t?” A smile curved his lips.

He’d shared that smile with Zizi. No wonder she’d softened toward him. Alyssa had no difficulty picturing the two of them sitting here in the kitchen as they were doing now, sharing a cup of coffee. She could see Zizi letting him make it.

Alyssa shook her head, trying not only to conceal her reaction to this man, but also to push it away. “Not yet,” she answered. She picked up another sandwich, scarcely aware of what she was doing. “Does your father know any of this? If it’s true.”

“Everyone in the family knows that Julian was madly in love with Elizabeth Jane Calvert when they were young. We also know it was serious between them. Everyone expected a wedding, but in the end nothing came of it. Julian never married.”

“Neither did Zizi. So what? Perhaps they were genuine loners. There are people like that. Zizi was reclusive. She was eccentric—I can’t deny that—but she was the most lovable woman in the world.”

“And one of the most secretive, it seems,” he said with quiet irony.

Alyssa shook her head once more. “Provided what you’re telling me is true,” she repeated. “We’ve only got your great-uncle’s word for it. Artists are highly imaginative people. Perhaps he dreamed up this epic love affair? Perhaps the love was all on his side? He wouldn’t be the first or the last to get it all wrong.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew him.” He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Besides, there’s more.”

Her laugh was slightly hysterical. “Of course there’s more! Next you’ll be telling me there was a child, in the true tradition of soap opera.”

“Which nevertheless manages to echo real life.” His voice was so grave it gave her a jolt of foreboding. “Why don’t you finish those sandwiches,” he urged.

Her skin flushed. “I must really look like I need reviving.”

“You do. More coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

He refilled her cup, topped up his own, then sat down again. “There’s no easy way to go about any of this, Alyssa. Not for you, not for me, certainly not for Elizabeth. Not for Uncle Julian. Or for that matter, the Langfords.”

Her tenuous control snapped. She set down her coffee cup so forcefully, it clattered against the saucer. “What on earth have they got to do with it?” she asked. “They’re ancient history. I assume you’re talking about the Langfords, as in LCL?”

He nodded, a glitter in his eyes. “Richard Langford had a great many shares in the family company, as you might imagine.”

“So? They would’ve passed to his heirs. Why have you really come here, Adam? To stir up trouble?”

“I told you.” Muscles bunched along his firm jawline.

“I came as my great-uncle’s emissary. He desperately wants to know before he dies if Elizabeth’s child was his or Langford’s.”

Shock flooded her. She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound emerged. For an instant she feared she might faint. Her brain seemed totally dislocated from her heart. Elizabeth’s child?

“Alyssa!” He was on his feet, shoving back his chair.

“Here, put your head down.” He placed his hand on her nape, his touch gentle but nonetheless compelling.

For a full minute she obeyed, then when she felt better, she shook off his hand. She was angry and afraid of his effect on her. She’d felt that touch of his hand not only on her neck, but in her breasts, the pit of her stomach, between her legs. If she put all those sensations together, what did she get? She fought to compose herself. “I’m fine.”

“Just sit quietly for a moment,” he advised, himself so affected by a moment so intimate he wished now he hadn’t touched her. Was it possible she truly didn’t know about Elizabeth’s baby?

I’ve got to stop this, Adam thought. Start again another time.

“This is a shocking conversation, isn’t it?” she lamented. “Zizi never had a child. I’m sorry to have to say it, but Julian Wainwright must be crazy. There’s a name for it, isn’t there? Erotomania, something like that. The poor man must be fantasizing, especially if he’s pumped full of drugs.”

He looked at her with compassion. “If Elizabeth told you so little—after all you were a child when she was already a middle-aged woman—surely someone else in your family knows. Her sister, Mariel, perhaps?”

“No way! Zizi never married. She never had a child. Do you seriously believe we wouldn’t know if she had?”

He sat back, staring at her. Her emotional upheaval appeared real. “It’s happened before,” he mused. “All families have secrets, even from one another. The thing is, secrets don’t always remain buried. My aim isn’t to shock or upset you, Alyssa. I see I have, but you must trust me on this. Elizabeth did have a child. What Julian’s desperate to know is who was the biological father. Julian’s a very rich man. He’s made his will, but it’s obvious to us all that he doesn’t feel he’s put his affairs in order. Over the years he begged Elizabeth for the truth. She always said the child died within twenty-four hours of its birth. We now know that’s not what happened.”

“We?” she cried. “Who’s we, your dying uncle and you? It’s all hearsay in your case. And it’s not true! None of it is true! I hate when people make up lies. I hate you. Zizi must have hated you.”

He gave a half smile. “I think Elizabeth braced herself the moment she laid eyes on me. I’m told I look very much like Julian as a young man. Elizabeth, for reasons of her own, appears to have led a life of deception. In doing so she turned her back on fame and fortune, a full life, a successful career. All the things most people would give anything to have. I think some part of her was greatly relieved it was all coming to an end.”

Every nerve in her body was jittering. “Was she going to rejoice that all the skeletons would come tumbling out of the closet?” She didn’t hide her outrage at the insult to Zizi’s memory.

“Can’t you see it as a release? Elizabeth didn’t bar me from the house. The truth is, she was comfortable with me. Unfortunately I’d barely begun my voyage of discovery before she had her fatal fall.”

“Are you sure you weren’t there at the time?” It simply stormed out of her before she could claw back control.

“I’ll forget you said that.” His expression went taut.

“I’m sorry.” She rested her aching head on her hand.

“I hardly know what I’m saying. But why should I sit here and listen to you destroying all my illusions about the Zizi I loved?”

“The closer the link, the more intense the pain,” he said. “Elizabeth Calvert was a riddle. Secrets were her way of life.”

“Secrets and secret lovers!” Alyssa laughed bitterly.

“I’m sorry, but it’s all too far-fetched for me. Sadly Zizi’s not here to defend herself. Julian Wainwright might well be delusional. It’s not uncommon. Even so, lovers are one thing, but saying Zizi was an unmarried mother not even sure of the identity of her child’s father is quite another. Zizi may have been different, but she was much loved by her family. They would’ve looked after her. They would have protected her. She had her sister, as you seem to know—my grandmother, Mariel. Do you really believe Mariel would have let Zizi go through a pregnancy by herself?”

“Very possibly Mariel didn’t know about it,” he suggested. “Based on the little I saw of Elizabeth, I’d say she would try to see it through by herself. Again, not uncommon.”

Alyssa found herself grinding her teeth. If all of this was true, nothing could restore her faith in Zizi. “There’s never been one word about any unwanted pregnancy.”

“Who said it was unwanted?” he asked.

Anger spurted again. Had Zizi really had such a tempestuous past? What was I really? she thought wretchedly, as doubts started to pour through her breached defenses. The perennial seven-year-old who implicitly accepted whatever Zizi told her? Of course she was.

“Elizabeth was only starting to open up,” Adam Hunt was saying. “She’d committed her youth to the deepest vault. I suspect that whatever happened to her so traumatized her, she withdrew from the world. The further tragedy was her accidental death.”

Alyssa lifted her hands helplessly. “Something I just don’t understand. Zizi didn’t use that bath, not since she had a near-accident some time back.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. There was no hint of anything untoward. It was a tragic accident. One that’s quite common in that age group.”

It was difficult to deny. “That must have been awful for you.” Her beautiful eyes welled with tears she blinked away.

“Devastating,” he said, still seared by the memory.

“When I first entered the bathroom, for some reason, suicide came to mind.”

Alyssa drew back obviously, astounded. “Suicide? I can’t consider that for a moment. Zizi wasn’t the type.”

“Is there a type?” he asked. “Might she have thought of it as a way out?”

“Out of what, damn it!” Alyssa exploded. “I think I’d like you to leave.”

“I don’t blame you.” There was a grim understanding in his voice. “In my own defense, please remember that I’m carrying around my own burden of shock and bitterness. Julian held fast to his secrets, too. Only his impending death has fully opened up the past.”

She had to concentrate. “You believe this story about a child?” she ventured.

“You’d better believe it, too,” he said, his voice oddly harsh. “Julian called in a private investigator. You would know that the Freedom of Information Act changed things overnight. Julian could never quite accept Elizabeth’s story. He now knows the child lived.”

Alyssa shut her eyes, appalled. “And no doubt his whereabouts. Are you going to share this big secret with me?”

“Certainly, but not today.” He stood up, pushing in his chair. “I can see the anguish on your face. We’ll talk again later.”

“I don’t think so,” she said coldly, rising to join him.

“I do!” He spoke as though it was a foregone conclusion. “I can’t leave here without the truth. I explained that to Elizabeth. Now I’m telling you. I look on it as a duty to my great-uncle, a good man, a dying man.”

“And you’re expecting to get this supposed truth out of me?” She laughed as if he’d made a bizarre joke. “I don’t know anything.”

“There must be letters, papers, documents,” he suggested. “Some sort of written confirmation. It would be a first step.”

“It’s a wonder you haven’t gone in search of them,” she snapped. “You would’ve had the run of the house before I arrived.”

Anger was apparent beneath the calm. “I doubt anyone but you could get away with talking to me like that. I’d been hoping we could work this out together, Alyssa. Time is running out for Julian.”

She released a breath. “If you know the identity of Zizi’s child, why don’t you just go and speak to him?”

“Her,” he corrected.

She looked at him sharply.

“Elizabeth had a daughter, not a son. DNA testing would confirm the identity of the biological father if certain people were prepared to cooperate. No one can be forced. As I said, the whole story was news to me until very recently. Julian had always clung to the idea that the child was his, not Langford’s. There was apparently some incident that made him think so.”

“Good God!” She was swamped by feelings of utter unreality. “I don’t know what to make of all this. I’d hate to have to live with the thought that Zizi kept such secrets from us. I’m certain my mother knows nothing. She’d be horrified. So would my grandmother.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” She made an effort to calm down. “My mother wouldn’t keep something like that to herself. As far as we all knew, Zizi had no all-important man in her life.” Even as she said it, she realized it sounded absolutely ludicrous. Zizi would have been a beautiful vibrant young woman. She was bound to have had some sort of sex life, even if things went drastically wrong.

“That’s unbelievable and you know it,” he said. “Elizabeth may have elected to live alone after Langford was lost at sea, but Julian told me she was brimming over with life when she was young. She was the honeypot for the bees. Men fell for her in droves, and why not? She was very beautiful and very gifted.”

“And she lied to us all?” Bombarded with information, she couldn’t figure it out. “Why? Zizi wouldn’t have been abandoned by her family. They loved her. Come to that, I have no proof that you’re who you say you are. I don’t know whether to see you as friend or foe. You could be a journalist poking your nose into an old story. You could be part of some art conspiracy. Maybe you know that I’ve wanted to arrange a showing of Zizi’s paintings. I’m positive it would be an enormous success even without publicity stunts. People play so many devious games.”

“No games,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re welcome to check me out. My license is in the car.”

“I’ll come out with you,” she said, walking toward the kitchen door. “What do I owe you for the groceries?”

“Nothing. Just a friendly gesture.”

“Except we’re not friends nor are we likely to be. I’d prefer to pay you.”

“As you wish. The bill’s in my wallet.”

“Where exactly are you living?” She turned to confront him, hating him for making so many allegations. She was being asked to take in so much information yet given no time for the information to settle. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t also drawn to him. Was the attraction real, or were her defenses down? Never for a moment had she pictured anything like this.

“I’ve rented the old Gambaro farm,” he said.

She nodded curtly. “I know it. How long have you rented it for?”

“I had to take it at the agent’s three-month minimum.”

“Well, you can’t squeeze blood from a stone,” she told him, moving out to the hallway. “I’ll be of absolutely no help to you. You might as well turn around and go back to Sydney.”

“I’m staying,” he said. “I had a break coming and I’m taking it. This is a glorious part of the world. But there’s a dying old man in Sydney who needs a few answers before he goes. When you’ve had time to process all this information you claim you don’t know, you may feel inclined to help.”

She shook her head grimly. “Not at this point.” Not ever!

They had reached the entrance hall before he spoke again. “Elizabeth told me you worked pro bono for a women’s refuge. That makes you a compassionate person. Unless Elizabeth was totally paranoid about her past, in all probability she kept letters and papers that would confirm the truth. She wouldn’t have had time to arrange a bonfire. She didn’t know she was going to die, after all.”

Would the grieving ever pass? “And what if these mystery documents open up a Pandora’s box? Have you thought of that?” Her lips were trembling. “Families stand to get desperately hurt. What good is the truth when there could be a huge scandal? I don’t think the Langfords would thank you.”

He took a deep breath, keeping his hands rigidly by his side. “Some things demand clarification,” he said. “Julian only wants to know if Elizabeth’s child is his, a child she led him to believe died soon after birth. If this person is shown to be his daughter, she’s going to inherit a great deal of money.”

She looked at him with scorn. “And how should she take that, like a rain of diamonds out of the sky? What’s Julian after, exactly? Does he want to set the record straight once and for all? Does he want revenge? And more to the point, what do you get out of this?” she challenged. “You, the favorite great-nephew? Won’t you come out of it second-best? Wouldn’t it benefit you to simply go away? Concoct some story for your dear Uncle Julian? What if this mystery daughter would rather not know? After all, she must’ve been put up for adoption. Zizi didn’t keep her. This daughter, if she exists, has lived her life thinking she was one person, now your uncle wants to tell her she’s someone completely different? Can’t you see that this could turn out to be a total mess? The safest course might be to keep quiet.” She felt tears well in her eyes again.

“I’m sorry, Alyssa.” He moved quickly to the front door, in case he did something crazy, like sweep her into his arms. He had never in his life felt such desire for a woman. “Life isn’t simple,” he mused. “If you were adopted, wouldn’t you want to find out who your biological parents were?”

“I’m actually familiar with two cases when the people involved were devastated to discover that the parents who’d reared them weren’t their biological parents at all. Both took the truth very, very badly. Better to live in your comfort zone than know the brutal truth.”

“I would need to know,” he said somberly.

She was terribly afraid she would, as well. “Coming here was a bad idea of yours.”

“Elizabeth didn’t think so.”

“Only she isn’t around to back that up.” She frowned at him with accusing eyes.

He smiled. “Why not try finding whatever documents Elizabeth might have put away? Apart from that, she had many paintings stored here. Maybe there are some portraits. Who knows? I’m sure you haven’t seen them all.”

“Perhaps not.” She had never felt free to delve into Zizi’s large body of work. Zizi had showed her only what she meant to show her, she now realized.

“Will you tell me if you find anything?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“Why don’t you look at me while you say that?”

It wasn’t a challenge. It was more an overt acknowledgment of their mutual attraction.

Betraying color came into her face. “I can’t make any promises.”

“I rely on your integrity, Alyssa.”

She nodded curtly. “Wait here. I’ll get the money I owe you.” She walked toward the staircase, desperate for him to leave, yet knowing if she never saw him again she’d always remember him.

“Do you feel safe here?” he asked abruptly.

In the act of mounting the staircase, she turned to look at him, one hand resting on the banister. He had taken up a position in the entrance hall beneath her, his aquamarine gaze keen as a laser. It seemed to go deep inside her; much deeper than she dared to go. “I’ve been coming here all my life,” she said in a deliberately offhand tone. “I’m rooted to the place. Besides, I’m not afraid of things that go bump in the night. No old house is without its resident ghost.”

He nodded, a vertical line between his brows. “Who, I haven’t the slightest doubt, is Richard Langford.”

Alyssa felt her throat dry up. She’d always accepted that, but now wondered if the original Captain Richard Langford who’d built the house was the only one who haunted it. Perhaps the more recent Richard Langford, the famous yachtsman, had joined his ancestor. “Did your uncle hate him?” she asked.

He continued to stare up at her. “Deep in his heart he did. He was madly in love with Elizabeth. Forget all the years in between. Talking to him now, the years were as nothing. He might have been talking about yesterday. She was the love of his life.” He shook his head. “I find it almost too much to grasp, but maybe there is such a thing as everlasting love. Julian blamed Langford for everything that went wrong in three lives. He even blamed Langford for his own death.”

She couldn’t have been more unnerved. “But…that makes no sense at all.”

“Langford was a married man with two small children,” he said tonelessly.

Something like shame burned in her cheeks. “Zizi would never have had an affair with a married man,” she protested, affronted by the very idea.

“Blame it on passion.”

Passion in the past. Passion in the present? Alyssa had a presentiment that life-changing emotion was waiting for her.

With a shiver she continued up the stairs. Richard Langford had been Zizi’s lover and possibly the father of her child? A married man, an adulterer? And Zizi had never told a soul? Had she been too ashamed? Zizi had supposedly let her child go, not knowing how that child grew up, if she was all right, no doubt praying she had love and security and all the things a child needed to be happy.