Page 178 of Eternal Craving

“That monk, back at the house?” Jacob began.

“He won’t be coming back.”

“He knew that you were my father, though.”

“We had a disagreement.” I looked away. “But we came to a formal arrangement.” Namely his death, and my absorbing his power.

Jacob raised an eyebrow at the décor. “This is your house? It’s huge.”

“I hope you’ll consider living here.” Feeling unsteady on my feet, I gestured to Jacob to sit.

Jacob sat in the chair opposite me, and he seemed to be holding back tears.

I’m sorry I failed you.I couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t express my shame for not being there for him.

“So much to say, not sure where to start.” He shook his head.

I smiled. “You sound so English.”

He chuckled. “My Spanish father is now an English gentleman. Although I still detect a slight accent.”

“Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?” With those words came the realization that there would be little food in the house, though there may be something left over from the staff’s meals.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I could eat right now.” He gazed around the room. “Where has all this money come from?”

“Businesses and property dealings I’ve established in London.” I paused. “I came here several years ago to find you. I plan to take you home.”

“Back to Spain?” Jacob gave me an uneasy smile.

I nodded.

“London’s my home now.”

Did he not have any memories of his birthplace? I wanted to pursue the subject but decided it would be best to wait.

“Why were you visiting that home today?” I asked.

“I still make house calls to Dr. Potts’ old patients.” Jacob saw my wariness. “I’m careful.”

I wanted to pinch myself, amazed that my son was really sitting opposite me, a man in every respect, and a fine gentleman with a refined presence – even his thoughts reflected integrity. I had a sense that with him, through him, I might find some inner peace.

“My memories are a little hazy,” he said thoughtfully. “Can you tell me more about my mother?”

“Your temperament reminds me of her. Her name was Annabelle.”

“She died when I was very young?”

He was too young to recall the attack – his age had protected him from the atrocity.

“She was killed by soldiers,” I said.

“Why?”

“They were following the orders of a senator who hated me,” I explained. “He had murdered my brother years before. The fact that I knew this threatened his political career.”

“Why didn’t he kill you?”

He did.“He tried.”