CHAPTER 15

Nigel and Sydney followed the Dean of la Dame de Grace Academy across an ancient stone courtyard that had been host to thousands of thriving young ladies, since the early eighteen hundreds, and turned onto a small woodland trail that led to the mountain just beyond their gates.

“I expect she is up there, somewhere,” the refined older woman announced in heavily accented English, amusement sparkling in her dark eyes. “She is like Maria of the Mountain, always climbing to see what she can see, always out of doors.”

Sydney smiled. “Thank you, we promise not to keep her long.”

“We have dinner at six, so you may stay if you care to. Please see that she attends to eat something, she is far to thin, that one.”

“We’ll do our best.”

Sydney waited until the Dean wandered back towards the school, then she turned to Nigel, who was vibrating with anxiety. “You okay?” she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Not a bit,” he admitted, staring up the path. “She doesn’t know me from Adam.” He glanced down at the large manila envelope in his hands, the documents he had retrieved from Mason’s safe deposit box just a week ago.

It was hard to believe that it had been almost three months, since he’d decided to help Cate Hemphill on a case that would change his life forever. Just over two months since a lunatic, claiming to be his father, had held him and Sydney prisoner and that he’d discovered he had a half sister. The letter from Mason had shaken him, he wasn’t sure what to believe and at the time, when he had first read it, he’d been so angry at all that Mason had done, he couldn’t believe there was an ounce of truth or decency in the man.

He’d been relieved that Cate had found the Lancet at the motel, where she was supposed to meet Sydney, after Mason’s men had kidnapped the relic hunter. After they’d made sure that Maria would be okay, Sydney and Nigel returned to the States, with the Lancet and he returned the relic to the museum. Sydney had said they could keep his little escapade to themselves, but he confessed everything to Jean Luc, anyway. He didn’t want such a horrible secret hanging between them, so he came clean about all of it. He knew that he had made Sydney proud again, by confessing the truth, so it was worth the humiliation. Jean Luc was very understanding and held no hard feelings.

Nigel buried himself in work at the University, trying to let his physical and mental injuries heal, but long after his ankle was better, he was still suffering nightmares, doubts and regrets. There was a still a loose end and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Sydney recommended he spend some time in London, talk to Preston, research his past a little more, and maybe find the answers he needed. This time, she left him alone and trusted that he wouldn’t run off half-cocked without her. Nigel had learned his lesson, well. His attempt to keep her out of the loop had resulted in her disappointment in him, hurt feelings, and worst of all, Mason’s men capturing her.

Therefore, off he went, back home, to find the roots that were so tangled by now he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel right again. His first business was with Preston, to see what his brother knew or suspected of the life their parents had led. Preston was older than him by almost six years and surely would know more than he.

Preston had remembered that their father had a twin that had come by once or twice, while he was growing up. He was very young at the time, but he could sense the tension between the brothers. This was horrendous to Nigel, who had held out hope that it could all be a mistake, but Mason, or Roger Bailey had existed and so, everything that he said happened, could be true.

Preston claimed that he never knew the scenario of Nigel’s conception, he assumed it was natural for his parents to have another child, and he seemed genuinely shocked, but he admitted that things had always been different in the way their parents treated Nigel.

Their mother seemed unable to let her youngest child out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time. Sometimes, she would stand over Nigel’s bassinet and cry, for no reason. She would check on him several times a day, and even when Nigel grew old enough to walk and play on his own, she was desperate that he stayed where she could see him.

Nigel could remember his mother being slightly controlling. As a child, it had annoyed him to have her always calling to him, telling him not to climb to high, to stay out of the street, fussing over him when he’d gotten a cut or a bruise, usually due to something Preston had done. However, he swallowed his annoyance, because he knew that his mother’s devotion bothered Preston even more, and that was a bonus. Preston confessed that he was jealous of how devoted their mother was to her youngest child.

Their father worked a lot, but he made time for both his children, telling them stories of adventure, filling their heads with fanciful dreams of what once was. When they were very young, Nigel could remember going to the summer cottage and having their father playing Blind Man’s Bluff with them in the yard, a handkerchief wrapped around his eyes as he searched for the two children that poked at him, laughed, and ran just out of his grasp.

Then, one day Preston recalled hearing a horrible argument between his parents. He confessed to Nigel that the argument had been about him, but he couldn’t remember what was said. The next day, their parents informed the boys that they would be going to boarding school. Nigel was only eight years old and had been devastated.

He’d never even spent a single night away from his mother, because she had been so overprotective. She had not even allowed him to attend a stay over at a friend’s house, and now she was shipping him off to boarding school, where he would be sleeping in a strange bed, all alone and away from her for weeks at a time. He couldn’t understand and he’d been convinced he’d done something to make his parents hate him. Worse, Preston blamed him for his going off to school too, and for taking him away from the friends he had at his old school.

His first months at boarding school had been horrible. All he could do was cry for his mother and he couldn’t sleep in a strange bed, with four other boys in the room. He was afraid of the dark, he’d always slept with a night-light and his mother or father always read him a story before bed. The children teased him mercilessly, and while Preston attended the same school, he did nothing to help Nigel adjust, if anything he instigated most of the torment.

Eventually, Nigel adapted. He started to read stories to himself to help him sleep. He made up fanciful realms of magic and intrigue that would welcome him when the darkness came. He stayed away from out door activities to avoid the teasing of the other boys, and threw himself into his schoolwork. His teachers seemed concerned that he never seemed to have any friends, but Nigel didn’t care what they thought. He was learning how to survive.

He developed a passion for learning and as the years flew by, he was no longer teased for being a mama’s boy, but instead they tormented him for being smart. Their words still seared him, their beatings still injured him, but he refused to show it. He consoled himself with the belief that he was above their mockery and childish games. He convinced himself that he was superior to their violence and hatred.

Eventually, they left him alone, their teasing having no affect on a boy with his nose always in a book. Even Preston paid him no mind, but seemed, at times, more brotherly than usual. Occasionally offering to share a meal with him, or trying to get his little brother to be more out going, to try and make friends. Nigel soon learned that Preston always had an ulterior motive, and whenever he let himself be led, it was only so that Preston could show how much better he was than Nigel, or to make Nigel the butt of his jokes. Eventually, he blocked out Preston as he had the other children, leaving him in a solemn state of seclusion that no normal child should bear.

However much he tried to convince himself that he was above the nonsense at his school, the torment he suffered there changed him from an outgoing, boisterous boy, eager to please, into a solemn, serious fellow who had no time for anything, but studying. Even when he was home, very few things made him smile anymore. He was intelligent and mannerly, but had no real social skills outside of a traditional English gathering. He was too shy and mistrustful of other’s intentions.

His mother had always seemed happy to see him, when they returned home for the holidays, but his bitterness about his life at school, had turned into a fierce resentment towards her for sending him there. He was still devoted to her, still loved her, but he wouldn’t accept her neediness anymore, he couldn’t open himself up to her affection and have to leave her to go back to school, where there was no warmth, no affection.

Instead, he drew closer to his father, listened to the stories Ross Bailey weaved with a new interest, soon deciding that he would be a historian, because of these stories. He spent most of his time in long discussions with his father, impressing him with his knowledge, and asking questions that were beyond what a boy, his age, should be asking. His father tried to answer these questions, and when he could not, Ross Bailey was not above helping Nigel find the answers somewhere else. He seemed pleased at his son’s intelligence, though somewhat bewildered by Nigel’s aloofness towards his mother.

When Nigel was sixteen, their parents died in an accident and he always regretted the closeness he had lost with his mother. As he matured into a man, he’d had the devil’s time getting really close to a woman, because of the sense of betrayal he’d felt towards his mother, and then the guilt that followed her death, for not allowing himself to get closer to her again.

After all the things that he had learned from Mason, he knew why his mother had been how she was, why they had sent him away, and he had one more thing to blame Mason for. One more thing to regret. It also explained some of Preston’s behaviour, because the older boy was obviously jealous of Nigel from a very early age, for things that were beyond Nigel’s control.

When he brought up Rosita, Preston went from a caring, understanding brother, to his usual assine self. He claimed that they were brothers and he would feel no differently about that, but he suggested that Nigel put that seedier side of his life behind him, forget Mason and all that came with him. Any off spring of such a monster had no place in their family.

Nigel reminded his brother that as the off spring of that monster, he should want nothing more to do with him, either, but Preston insisted that it wasn’t the same. Nigel had been unaware of such a dark linage, he had been raised to be a Bailey, and no DNA report or past affair would change that. While such conviction and acceptance from his brother warmed Nigel, he should have known that Preston would say something to ruin it, and he wasn’t disappointed.

Preston pointed out that as Mason raised his daughter, she couldn’t be of any good and that Nigel was better off to let dead dogs die. Nigel became annoyed, reminding Preston they weren’t talking about an animal, but of a human being, a young girl who was innocent in all of this. He reminded Preston of family duty and responsibility, something their father had taken very seriously.

Preston insisted that Rosita would bring down the family name, that there would be a scandal and he would have no part of it. Nigel, angry that Preston was, as usual, only concerned about his own pride and appearance in the face of others, insisted that like it or not, Rosita was his family. Preston relented that Nigel had to do whatever he felt was right, but he would never accept Rosita as his sister, or anything else. Nigel became fed up with their arguing and walked out, no closer to a decision than when he had arrived.

“Nigel?” Sydney asked, bringing him back to the present.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, Preston’s words flowing back. What if he was right? What if meeting with Rosita only caused more problems, or opened up fresh wounds for both of them? This girl had no idea she had another brother, who was he to ruin her ignorance?

Sydney turned him to face her, adjusted the lapels of his suit and straightened his tie. “ You should be here,” she insisted. He’d wanted to look nice for the meeting and he’d chosen a dark suit, with a royal blue, silk shirt and a black and silver tie. He looked quite debonair, in Sydney’s opinion. “She’s your sister and she will love you.”

“How do I explain? I…I mean…it’s awful, hideous really, what Mason did to my family. I hate him. How…how do I tell her that? How do I destroy her perception of her own father?”

“You don’t have to tell her all the gory details, Nigel. Just be as honest as you can without hurting her.”

“What if she hates me for causing her father to go away?”

“You didn’t cause Mason to run, he did that on his own, and you said that she isn’t even aware of what he really is, right?”

“I don’t want to start a relationship by lying to her, Syd! There’s been enough told already.”

Sydney caught his hands as they nervously brushed over his jacket for the fourth time. “Nigel, we’ve been over this. The decision is yours. You can walk away and appoint an executor to take care of her estate.” She smiled, concerned. “No one would blame you if you wanted to put all this behind you.”

“You sound like Preston.”

Sydney grimaced. “I’ll ignore that. Look, you have to do what you feel is right. No one else can tell you what to do.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Syd. I…I’m not sure that I want it.”

“Life isn’t always about getting what you ask for. It’s always throwing you curve balls. Sometimes, your only choice is to catch them, let them hit you, or duck and get out of the way.”

He sighed. “I know.” He glanced up the hill again. “If I walk away, I’ll be as bad as him.”

“No you won’t, but your decision has to be based on what you want, Nigel, not out of any sick comparison to Mason.”

“It’s my duty…”

“Nigel, don’t do this for any reason than because you want a relationship with that young woman up there. This isn’t about duty or responsibility. If you go into this thinking like that, you’ll both end up filled with resentment and regret.” Sydney shook her head. “This has to be about what you want. Do you want to meet Rosita?”

He stared at her. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

“Are you at least curious about her?”

“Yes, very.” He could admit that, at least. “But is that enough, Syd? I mean, she isn’t some freak in a circus side show to be gawked at and mused over.” He shook his head. “I’m just not sure this is the right thing to do. I do want to meet her, I’m insanely curious, but…Maybe Preston’s right. Maybe this should be a chapter in my life better closed and forgotten about.”

Sydney regarded him quietly. “Nigel, when have you ever listened to Preston?”

He smirked. “Almost never.”

“So why start now?”

He grew quiet and stared down at the envelope in his hands. “I’ve always wanted a sister,” he admitted, softly.

Sydney smiled, surprised. “Really?”

“Oh yes.” His smirk grew into a wistful smile. “Our next door neighbours had two little girls. They were always outside playing with their dolls, hosting tea parties and having the most wonderful time together. They were much younger than me, of course, but whenever I came home from school, I remember their faces would light up as I came up the path between our two houses.” His smile widened. “They always seemed so happy to see me, and they’d invite me to tea and I’d take them to the park and play with them on the push seats.”

Sydney watched him with wide-eyed amusement.

Nigel flushed at her gaze. “Not…not all the time, of course, but…well they were jut very nice, Syd. They liked having me around and…and I like being around them. Playing with them, protecting them, in a way.”

“Like a big brother?” Sydney asked, gently.

“Well, they were certainly better than the brother I had, Syd and…and I just…I wished sometimes that they could have been my sisters and I could be around them all the time, that’s all.”

“Now’s your chance, Nige.”

“I hardly think Rosita will want to go on the push seats, Syd.”

“She might enjoy a good tea party, though.”

Nigel groaned. “I’m hopeless with females, you know that. What if I say the wrong thing? I know nothing about taking care of a strange girl!”

She patted his shoulder. “You’ve taken care of me pretty well, so far.”

“Yes, well, I hardly had to do anything for you and you were raised when I met you.”

“It’s the things you do do for me that makes all the difference, Nigel,” she reminded. “Rosita isn’t a child, she’s seventeen and a young woman. You don’t have to raise her, just support her, help her and encourage her.” She ruffled his hair. “You’re very good at that.
“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He took a deep breath. “Right then, here I go.” He took two steps towards the path, and then turned back. “What if I hurt her, Syd? What if seeing me reminds her of Ian, he’d dead, you know?”

Sydney smirked. “Yeah, I was there, you know?”

“You know what I mean. What if she hates me? What if…”

Sydney turned him around and gave him a gentle push. “If ifs and ands were pots and pans, what would we do for tinkers?”

He glanced back, startled. “Sorry?”

“Just go!”

Nigel started up the path, and then once more turned back. “Sure you won’t come with me?”

“This is a private moment for the two of you. You don’t need some outsider as witness.”

“You’re hardly that, Syd. You’re more my family than anyone is. There is no one I am closer too, you know that.”

Sydney hid the flutter of pleasure his words caused and pointed to the trail. “Well…get going before I go all maternal on you and tan your hide for not listening.”

He grinned and quickened his pace. It was quite the hike, had he not been working with Sydney the last several years, and accustomed to such a trek, he would have been too winded to speak when he finally reached the top. The trail opened out to a grassy hillside, spotted with patches of colourful wildflowers, and it was there, amongst one of these patches, that he saw her.

Her back was too him as she stared out over at the magnificent view of Paris, lost in thought. A dark curtain of curly hair flowed freely over her shoulders and down her back, tickling the wildflowers at her waist. A long, full skirt blanketed the ground around her, hiding her legs and feet beneath its ample folds. It reminded Nigel of the story of Joseph, only instead of a coat, it was a skirt of many colours. She wore a simple white and green off the shoulder peasant blouse, with puffed sleeves and a snug bodice. She was almost exact top the picture that Mason had shown him.

She looked so innocent, so refreshingly pure, that he hesitated against approaching her, once again wondering if he was doing the right thing. He really did want to forget the whole sordid mess of the past months, but he realized, upon seeing Rosita with his own eyes, that now he couldn’t walk away. The young senorita was his responsibility, and he was ready to accept that.

She didn’t have to accept him, but he could still look after her, run her estate and be sure she had what she needed. He would never touch any of the money for himself, despite Mason’s permission that he should. He would use only what Rosita needed.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Inez?” The papers that he had retrieved had mentioned that she used her mother’s name at the girl’s school, to further prevent any connection to Mason.

She turned, startled and her dark eyes captured his as she rose, freezing him in place and locking him in further doubt.

By God, she was exquisitely beautiful, her Mexican heritage obvious in her high cheekbones and golden skin, her poise graceful, but determined as she stood before him. He was not surprised to find her feet were bare, confirming that she truly was a creature of nature. He saw a canvas lying on the ground from where she had been sitting and a palate of paint beside it. She was an artist.

Would she be frightened that he looked like her brother? Would she blame him for Ian’s death, Mason had said the two were close. Would she even believe the story he needed to tell her, or would she call the Gendarmes to come and arrest him? He didn’t want to frighten her.

“Um…I…I’m sorry to bother you, but my name’s Nigel Bailey.”

She started at him.

“I…I know this may be a bit of a shock to you, but I…”

Suddenly, she was running towards him, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him as if he were her only lifeline in a torrent sea. “You came,” she whispered, her accent distinctly French, even though she spoke English to him.

Nigel had dropped the folder at her initial contact, and was too stunned to do more than just stand there, awed at how tightly she held him. Tentatively, he slid his arms loosely around her. “Um, yes,” he confirmed, confused.

She pulled away as suddenly as she had hugged him, and stepped back to put a respectable space between them. “I…forgive me. I am…surprised.”

Nigel bent to retrieve the envelope, thinking she couldn’t be as surprised as he was. He straightened. “Do…do you know who I am?” he asked.

“No. We have only just this moment met.” She smiled a little. “Papa told me that you might come. He said that I should not be disappointed if you stayed away.” She bent her head, shyly. “I confess, I did not listen. It has been weeks since he has called me, and I have waited all this time, wishing and wondering about you. I had almost given up hope.”

She had been eager to meet him? She’d been waiting for him? He felt horrible for leaving things as long as he did. “I…I’m sorry to have made you wait.”

“You are here now,” she decided, softly. “That is all that matters.”

Nigel didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected such a reaction and he was slightly alarmed that she had been in contact with Mason. His letter had entailed that he would not risk contacting his daughter for a long time. “You’ve spoken with your father?”

She nodded. “Our father, yes. He called me, six weeks ago. I remember the day, the very hour, because of what he had to tell me and…” That shyness appeared again and she dipped her head. “I have been counting the days from that time.”

Waiting for him to come. Mason must have called her right after fleeing the villa. Nigel felt horrible that he had allowed himself to linger and procrastinate over seeing her, but he’d honestly hadn’t expected Mason to tell his daughter about anything. How cruel would it have been to tell her, when he couldn’t be sure Nigel would ever show? She would have waited forever for someone that would never come. “I didn’t know he had told you, or I would have been here much sooner.”

She nodded. “I know.” She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Papa said I was to listen to you, that you would take care of me, and that he was going away for a long time.” Another pause. “He forgets that I am no longer a child and can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure he just wants what’s best for you.”

Rosita met Nigel’s gaze, directly. “He is in jail, yes?”

Nigel was torn between telling her the truth and protecting her innocence. Mason claimed she knew nothing of his criminal dealings, but she obviously wasn’t as naiveté as he believed. “I don’t know,” he admitted, honestly. “He wasn’t the last time that I saw him.”

She nodded, sadly. “Then he is running again.” She didn’t allow herself to linger over her melancholy; instead, she sat back down, her skirt fanning out around her again. “Will you sit and talk with me, Nigel?”

Nigel slowly dropped to his knees, next to her. “I…I have documents here,” he began, offering her the envelope. “So you could verify what I…what I had to tell you.” What she already seemed to know, it seemed. “Um…how much did he tell you, Miss Inez? Your father, I mean…about…about me?”

“I will tell you, only if you do not call me Miss Inez, again,” she said, making a face.

Nigel allowed her a small smile and nodded. “Yes, of course. R…Rosita?”

“Rose, please, or Rosie.”

“Rose, then.”

“Papa told me that he only just learned of you recently, after…” Another moment of sadness shaded her expression. “After Ian died.”

Nigel automatically reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“It is not your fault,” she dismissed and continued. “He told me that you were raised by an English family and that they were very good to you. He told me that you were very intelligent and that you spoke many languages.” She smiled. “He sounded very proud of you.”

Nigel flushed and frowned. He did not want Mason’s approval, but he could hardly be angry with Rosita for relaying them. “I…I see.” So the rape of his mother, the kidnapping of her son, the threats against his and Sydney’s life had been left out. This was going to be so hard.

“He said I shouldn’t be frightened that you look like Ian, but I don’t think you do, not really. You seem…brighter, softer than he ever did. Your skin is paler and…and your eyes I think are just a shade lighter, too.”

That relieved him, but he had to ask about Mason. He had to be sure what he could tell her and what he couldn’t. “You…Rose, do you know…What do you know of your father?”

Again, she met his gaze without fear or shame. “I know that he loves me, and that he sometimes does things he should not do. I know he is…a powerful man and that Ian was just like him.” She shrugged. “I could not stop them from being what they are. Ian died for it, my father may as well, but he is my father and I am devoted to him. I will pretend ignorance and he will pretend to be a better man than he is, and we will love one another as we are meant to.”

Nigel stared at her, astounded by both her maturity and her easy acceptance of things she could not change. “I don’t know that I can be as…forgiving toward him as you, Rose,” he admitted, quietly. “I will tell you that now, so we will have no secrets between us.”

She nodded. “I am not concerned of that. Your relationship with papa is personal, I will not press you to feel more or less than you do for him.” She reached for his hand. “I will only press for myself, for I do wish to know more about you.” She smiled. “I like your suit, you look very wise. You must tell me everything. Do you run companies? Are you a businessman? Do you fly planes?”

Her enthusiasm was contagious. “No, no, nothing so grand. I’m a simple teaching assistant.”

She clapped her hands together. “A teacher! I will be a teacher, you know? I will teach children about their minds and their feelings.” She caught both of his hands in hers. “What do you teach? Science? Astrology?” She regarded him for a long moment and then brightened. “Languages! Papa said you spoke several.”

He almost laughed. “No, I…I don’t really teach classes, or anything. Well, sometimes I do, when my employer is busy with something else, but I started working with her to gain credit for my master’s degree.”

“Her? You work for a woman?”

“Yes, Sydney Fox. She’s a Professor of Ancient Studies.”

“What is that? History?”

“Of a sort, yes. She teaches history, past cultures, many things really.”

“What do you do for her?”

“Oh well…” Nigel paused. He wasn’t used to discussing his job for Sydney. Very few people seemed interested beyond him saying he was Sydney’s assistant. “Originally, I was hired to assist her, you know, grade test papers, schedule her appointments, travel arrangements and the like. Teach her classes when she wasn’t available.”

“You do teach then?”

“Occasionally, not very much lately. We’re both too busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes, well, Sydney is a relic hunter. She finds historic antiquities and restores them to the people they belong to, or to a museum where everyone can appreciate and learn about them.”

“Finds them?”

“Yes, she…we often get a lead, clues to where a relic might be. Sometimes, it’s an ancient map, or a medallion with hidden features. Sometimes, ancient parchments written in code that we have to decipher and track down what the clues mean.”

Rosita’s eyes widened. “It sounds dangerous.”

Nigel was quick to reassure her. “Oh no, well, it can be treacherous, but most of what we do is research. Without that, we wouldn’t get very far at all.”

“There is danger though, yes?”

“Only on occasion. You see, there are people who are usually after the relic we are pursing, not so nice people, who want to steel the relic and sell it on the black market to the highest bidder. We have to out think them to get to the relic first.” He didn’t want to mention that Ian had been one of the ‘not so nice’ people they had run into.

“So, now you do not assist, you…hunt?”

“Well, I’m still Sydney’s assistant, so whatever she needs me to do, I do.”

“Does she pay you well for your assistance?”

“I make a decent living,” he admitted. “But it isn’t about the money. Sydney is my very good friend. We’re a team, partners now. It isn’t the same that it was and I would still work with her, even if I were not getting paid.”

Rosita smiled. “You like her very much?”

“She’s my best friend.”

“She sounds very…heroic.”

Nigel smiled. “Syd is many things, most of all a warm and generous person. You’ll see that for yourself, when you meet her. I’m sure the two of you will get on quite well.”

“You will introduce me to your friends?”

“Of course I will.”

She smiled. “So…we are family, yes? I have a brother that I can talk to and who will protect me and you…you have a sister who will pester you with questions and ask to borrow money for shopping?”

He stared at her, amazed at how simple, how wonderful she made it sound. “Yes,” he agreed softly. “We’re family now, Rosita. If that is what you truly want.”

“You will come and visit me often, then?”

“Oh, well, actually.” Nigel scratched his neck, nervously. “I was rather hoping that wouldn’t be necessary.”

Rosita’s face fell. “You do not wish to see me again?”

“Oh no! I didn’t mean that, I…well, I spoke with your Dean and she said that you had graduated in May

“Yes, that is true.”

“What are your plans?”

“I…I do not know. I thought I may go to the university here.”

“Yes, you could do that,” Nigel agreed. “Or, and this is of course a big step so you must think about it, Trinity has one of the best psychology programs in the world.”

Rosita stared at him. “Trinity?”

“The university where I work, in the States.”

Her eyes widened. “”You…you wish to take me to America with you?”

“Only if you think you’d like it. I know it will be a big change and, well you hardly know me, so if you want to stay here in France, that’s understandable. Of course, I’ll come to see you as often as I can, but my schedule stays very busy once the school year starts and I only thought if you were closer, we could see each other more.”

Rosita continued to stare at him, stunned.

“You don’t have to make the decision this very moment. There is still time to decide and if you’re worried about getting into the University so late in the year, Syd and I have a lot of pull with the Dean there, so that wouldn’t be a problem. You could live at the dorms, they’re very nice, or…or if you prefer, you could live with me.”

“Live with you?” she squeaked.

“I’ll be gone a good deal of the time, so you’ll have the place to yourself, mostly and…and we could get a pet or something, if you like? Do you like animals? I do, I’ve just never had the time to take care of one. Anyway, you don’t have to decide now, it’s just something to think about and I know this is a lot to take in and…” His words were cut off as she threw herself into his arms.

“You would do all this for me?” she whispered, close to tears. “A stranger?”

“You’re not a stranger,” he assured, pulling back to stare into her eyes. “You’re my sister.” He shook his head. “This is going to take getting used to, and I won’t lie and tell you I didn’t have thoughts of not coming here, but I am here and…and I do want this. I want you, to be in my life Rose.”

“You are not just saying so because it is your job to care for me now, as Papa said?”

“Of course it’s my job to care for you, isn’t that what a brother does?”

She beamed at him and nodded.

“I’m very new at this, Rose. I will make many mistakes, but if you can forgive my clumsiness, I think I could be a good brother to you.”

She hugged him again. “You already are, mon ami.”

 

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