The Keeper of Happy Endings(95)

“It wasn’t Anson’s fault,” Thia said abruptly. “When my father told him Soline left because she didn’t want him if he was going to be a cripple, it broke something in him. It’s why he opted to stay in Switzerland for his rehabilitation—and because my father persuaded him it was the best place for him. And he did learn to walk again, but he came home so broken and bitter I hardly recognized him.”

“But you told him the truth when he finally came home, didn’t you? About the baby and what your father had done?”

“How could I tell him? I didn’t know myself until my father died and I had to go through his papers.” She stood, crossing to a nearby closet, and threw open the door, revealing a stack of cardboard storage boxes. “This is what putting your father’s affairs in order looks like. Anson was out of the country when he died—naturally—so it fell to me. I had no idea the man was such a pack rat. I threw out tons. And then one day, I came across this.”

After a few moments of poking around, she produced a dark-red ledger book held closed with a pair of heavy rubber bands. “It was headed for the throwaway pile until I looked closely at the entries—and what else I found inside.”

“What is it?”

“The truth,” Thia replied as she pulled off the rubber bands and handed it to Rory. “It’s all there. All the payments and the paperwork, everything my father needed to erase Soline and the baby from our lives. I need you to look at it before I say more.”

The words felt vaguely ominous, hovering between them like a threat. Rory held her breath as she opened the book. The name D. Sheridan nearly leapt off the page. She remembered Soline mentioning her, but seeing it here, presumably in Owen’s handwriting, made her sick to her stomach. There were other names too: a Dr. Marcus Hartwell, an Elliot Mason, Esq. A doctor, a lawyer, and the Family Aid Society.

Thia hovered as Rory began turning the pages, scanning long lists of entries. Charitable contribution. Medical expenses. Charitable contribution. Charitable contribution. Court fees. Documents. Charitable contribution. The first entry had been made on October 24, 1943, the last on August 12, 1972. Dates. Dollar amounts. It was all so neat, so careful, as if the entries were mere business expenditures.

“Twenty-eight years,” Rory breathed, still staring at the book. “The entries become more sporadic over time, but some of these payments are five figures.”

“Hush money,” Thia said matter-of-factly. “At least that’s my guess. He would have been ruined if word got out that he’d paid to get rid of his own grandchild. And there was Anson to consider. He knew the Purcell dynasty would topple if Anson caught so much as a whiff of this. Not that it mattered. Anson never wanted it to begin with. I’m sure my father’s spinning in his grave as we speak, knowing I’m mistress of his house and running the family business.”

“Anson didn’t want it?”

Thia shook her head sadly. “My brother hasn’t spent a collective month under this roof since he came back from Switzerland. Not that I blame him. There was always so much unhappiness here after my mother died. My father was never a kind man, but he got worse when he lost her. You’d think the idea of a grandchild would have softened him.”

“How long have you known about all of this?”

“Four months, give or take.”

“And Anson still doesn’t know?”

“No.”

Rory struggled to keep her tone even. “You didn’t think your brother should know he and Soline had a daughter?”

“Of course I did.” Thia’s eyes pooled with tears. “I’ve thought of little else since I found that book. I had no idea what to do with what I’d learned. I tried to tell him once, when he called from London on my birthday, but he threatened to hang up and never call again if I so much as mentioned her name, and I believed him.” She shook her head, chin quivering. “Soline isn’t the only one left fragile by all of this. What happened during the war changed my brother. Coming home finished him.”

“But he knew her, Thia. He loved her. I don’t understand how he could believe your father’s lies about a woman he loved.”

“He didn’t at first. In fact, they fought like sailors over the things my father would say about her, that she’d always been after his money, but in the end, even that hadn’t been enough to make her stay if it meant pushing her husband around in a wheelchair. It was like he was punishing Anson for loving her. There were times when I was afraid they would come to blows over her.”

“So what changed?”

“I don’t know. One day it was as if someone flipped a switch. All of a sudden, Anson refused to even say her name. And he didn’t want anyone else saying it either. It’s still that way. Anytime I’ve tried to talk to him about it, he’s ended the conversation. It’s like she poisoned him.”

“That must have made your father happy.”

“I suspect it did. He got what he wanted. But then, he usually did. Even if it meant destroying the people he was supposed to love. He certainly destroyed Anson.”

“And the baby,” Rory replied. “He just gave her away. His own grandchild, and he had no idea where she was or what happened to her.”

“Oh, he knew.” Thia’s eyes slid away. Her voice had taken on that ominous quality again. “The woman who ran the Family Aid Society sent him a copy of the adoption decree, proof that his money had been well spent. That’s the kind of monster he was. No concern for the child, just his plans for Anson and the Purcell empire.”