Edward ran a hand over his face and stared into Alistair’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that anything had happened. I was only thinking that Sophia might...”
Alistair nodded his forgiveness. “It really doesn’t matter now, does it? Could you, please, show me what Sophia googled?”
He pointed to Sophia’s computer. “Sure, see for yourself. Her history is still on the screen.”
Alistair sat on Sophia’s chair and the first thing he noticed were two photos discreetly standing beside her iMac. He was startled. He didn’t know if he should be flattered or annoyed by the photos.
In the first one, Sophia, adorable in her wedding dress, looking enthralled at Gabriel’s face. Their body language spoke for them, shouting loudly, ‘Love! Love! Love!’.
In the other, Alistair saw his own smiling face, holding a lovely, laughing Gabriela in his arms. Sophia had taken that photo at Stonehenge.
He remembered that day clearly; the day she had asked him to slow things down. He should have known better. He should never have dragged Sophia into his darkness. His lips curled down and he shook his head sadly at the sequence of events that passed through his head.
“Jesus. Christ.” Alistair’s shocked mumble made Tavish look away from Dr. Kent’s face to stare at his brother.
Alistair had been going through Sophia’s searched websites for at least ten minutes. He was ashen, his green eyes glued to the screen. He was sitting stiff on her chair. When he turned to look at them, he seemed unsure of what to do.
Eventually, he exhaled, discomfited, and let his feet carry him to where the others were seated, and dropped heavily in one of the armchairs, “I never did anything like that.”
Edward just snorted.
“With her, I mean. She’s not the kind of woman-”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” Edward interrupted him. “I know Sophia better than you, MacCraig.”
Son of a bitch. Alistair narrowed his eyes at Edward, “But you’ll never know her as I do.” Steady, Alistair Connor, steady. You need to bring Davidoff to your side.
“I was friends with Gabriel for more than fifteen years. And with Sophia for almost a decade. I was at their wedding,” Edward thinned his lips with anger, stopping the hateful words he wanted to say. “And to think I’m the one responsible for your relationship. I encouraged her. She knew instinctively that you were trouble. Her damn instincts. I should have demanded a background check on you. But it was too late. She was already ensnared and didn’t let me. She wanted to build a relationship based in honor and trust.” He raised from his place on the sofa, disgusted with himself and walked to the window. “She was happy, damn you.”
“Edward,” Dr. Kent’s soft voice interrupted Edward’s train of thoughts, “we have to focus on Sophia. I’m quite worried about her state of mind.” She turned to Alistair and gently asked, “Mr. MacCraig, Sophia has undergone many harsh things during her life. Her mind works on a... precarious balance. Your brother was telling me that she remembered the events leading to her husband’s death. I wish you could explain it a bit better. How it happened and what she told you.”
12.45 p.m.
Alistair entered the car and faced Tavish, “I’m going home. I’m in no state to face anyone now. Can you cover for me this afternoon?”
“Of course. Don’t worry.”
Why wasn’t I careful enough to empty Ells Hall and Airgead of those things? Can I convince her of my new intentions? He leaned his head on the seat, closing his eyes. He felt hollow, as an enormous sense of loss took hold of his soul. What. Have. I. Done?
Chapter 22
Somewhere over the Atlantic. In Ethan Ashford’s G650.
1.05 p.m. GMT.
“Feeling better?” Ethan helped Sophia sit down on the sofa as she came out of the bathroom. He put his arm over her shoulders, nestling her on his large body. Sophia put her head on Ethan’s shoulder too weak to do anything else. She should have remembered that painkillers had a much stronger effect on a plane. She shouldn’t have taken another codeine tablet.
He put his hand over her forehead and looked down at her pale face and blueish lips, concerned. “You don’t look well, Sophia.” What did that bastard do to you?
“I’m okay, Ethan. I told you I’m not going to throw up. I never throw up. I’m just a bit nauseous, because of my low blood pressure. I need some salt.”
“Vanessa, please, bring to me some salt and a blanket,” he ordered from across the plane.
He turned to Sophia, “Lie down. I’m going to make a-”
She pulled him as he started to rise. “Stay with me.”
“All right.”
“Here, Mr. Ashford.” The attendant returned quickly, handing him a small china bowl with some salt and a blanket.
“Vanessa, please, bring an espresso for Ms. Leibowitz.” As he covered her, Ethan probed, “Tell me what MacCraig did to leave you in this state, baby.”
What Alistair did? He proposed. I couldn’t accept. Sophia’s eyes filled with tears again. “Nothing. It’s not him.”
Staring into her eyes, he said, “I don’t understand you, Sophia. MacCraig isn’t the kind of man you would be happy with. He’s not... Hm, how can I say this? Normal?”
I know this now. She closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her face. “Normal? What’s considered normal nowadays?”
His rage seethed. “Where’s your self-respect?” he asked, in a calm and measured tone. “How far has he degraded you?”
Ethan realized he’d made a mistake even before he finished his sentence, as Sophia’s face paled even more.
The shock of the unexpected blow was absolute. Sophia felt as if he’d punched her. “Ethan... He never, ever degraded me, as you put it,” she whispered. “It’s not like that. We just broke up. Simple as that.” Simple? She looked up into his azure eyes, “I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”
You don’t know how to lie, my love. I’m going to kill that bastard. “All right. Here. Drink the rest of your coffee. It’ll do you good. So, are you excited about the ball? I was thinking... We could go to India together when the new Leibowitz center opens there.”
The rest of the flight passed in relative calm as Sophia’s pressure normalized after they had a light lunch and talked about their plans for the charity.
Alistair MacCraig’s Apartment.
1.07 p.m.
If possible, Alistair’s stare would have melted his computer screen with its intensity as he contemplated what to do next.
“Baptist has a cunning ability to unearth secrets. If there is anyone who can tell me what the fuck is this crime she says she’s committed, it’s him. His reports are classy,” he told his brother on the phone.
“Aye.” Tavish snorted. “They can be a classy catastrophe for the person he’s investigating. Don’t do this, Alistair Connor,” Tavish admonished. “You may not like what you discover.”
“Tavish Uilleam. I have three words for you: Veritas vos liberavit.”
“Oh, man... You stubborn idiot,” he rubbed his hand on his forehead, wondering how a woman as gentle as Sophia could have possibly committed a crime.
Brazil, Rio de Janeiro, Copacabana, Avenida Atlântica.
The Gonçalves & Espírito Santo Families’ Penthouse.
3.33 p.m.
Sophia heard the sound of the door opening, but didn’t turn to look. The sea was glinting black and gray in the afternoon light of the rainy day, mirroring her feelings.