turned to Anna, who’d watched his reunion with his sister with a solemn expression on her face. “Are you coming?”
“I think this should be just for the three of you. I’ll catch up with you all at dinner.”
Nicole made a sound of protest. “Don’t be silly, Anna. You know Dad will expect you there, too.”
Anna looked at him, as if waiting for his approval.
“Sure,” he said.
If the stiltedness between her and his sister was any indication, perhaps Nicole didn’t entirely approve of Anna and their father’s closeness.
Nicole hooked her arm in his. In her three-inch heels they were almost of a height and together they walked up the stairs and into the house that was shortly to become all his. One thing was clear to Judd—Charles hadn’t gotten any better about showing consideration to the women in his life. It was obvious Nicole wasn’t aware of the full extent of Charles’s plans for him. He doubted she’d be this friendly if she knew. That would have to be a bridge to cross at a later date. First, he had to go face-to-face with the man who’d cast him from his home and his country twenty-five years ago, and he had to do it with a civil tongue in his head.
Judd’s memories of his father had been of a vital man who exuded energy and bonhomie the moment he stepped in a room. The man who shakily rose to his feet as they entered a large salon was a mere shadow of whom he’d been. Despite Charles’s unmistakable frailty, Judd’s long-harbored anger at his father’s abandonment did not lessen.
“Here he is, Dad,” Nicole said.
“Judd—”
“Sir,” Judd said, stepping forward and offering his hand. He watched his father, searching for the man he remembered but seeing little of the vibrancy of his memories. Charles’s hair was now steel-gray instead of the black Judd remembered, and his posture was less erect, his figure more portly than fit. But even though his father was obviously unwell, there was a keen intelligence that still gleamed in his eyes as they stood face-to-face. Those blue eyes, very like his own, scoured his features as silence stretched out between them. Something in his appearance must have satisfied the older man, because he gave a short nod and gestured to Judd to sit down.
Anna crossed the room and took the seat on the sofa next to Charles, her hand on his forearm as she leaned closer to whisper something in his ear. A fierce wave of something not unlike jealousy rose from deep inside Judd. Her body language shouted a familiarity between Anna and Charles that screamed loud and clear. A familiarity that Judd silently promised would soon change.
“Don’t fuss, Anna. I’m fine,” Charles protested, taking her hand and holding it in his for a moment before releasing it. “Now, let’s not beat around the bush. You know I want proof you’re my son.”
Judd felt his hackles rise. “I know I’m your son. I couldn’t be anyone else’s.”
“I’m sure that’s what your mother told you,” Charles commented, “but you must understand I need to be one hundred percent certain.”
“I told you I’m prepared to be tested,” Judd said, holding on to his temper by the merest edge.
His mother was no angel, but he knew she told the truth when she said he was Charles Wilson’s son. She wouldn’t lie about something as vital as that. Not to him.
“Good, good. We can attend to that on Monday and courier the samples to the lab here in Auckland. They offer an express service and promise paternity results within forty-eight hours. It’s a shame Anna didn’t get you back earlier and that we have to wait out the weekend before we can complete the tests.”
He couldn’t help it. He had to ask. “Why the sudden urgency? You’ve waited twenty-five years, surely another two days won’t be a problem.”
Charles shot him a glance and then smiled proudly. “Well, you certainly sound like me. Straight to the point, hmm?”
“I find it doesn’t pay to beat around the bush in important matters.”
“No, it never does.”
Judd merely looked at him, waiting for him to stop hedging and get to the point. The air in the room became uncomfortable, and in his periphery Judd saw Nicole glance from him to their father.
“I’d like to know, too,” she blurted, a tremor in her voice. “Why now, Dad?”
Charles looked at his daughter, a frown of censure on his forehead. “Don’t go getting all emotional, Nicole. It’s no secret that I’m not getting any younger or any healthier. It’s time for me to get everything in order.”
“Why did you drag Anna into this? Why send her to do your dirty work?” Nicole persisted.
“That’s enough, young lady. I’m still the head of this household and I’m still the head of Wilson Wines. Don’t question me.”
Nicole slumped in her chair, all the fight gone out of her in a flash. Judd felt a momentary pang of regret for what she must be going through. He’d make it up to her somehow, he promised silently. She deserved something for having put up with the old man all these years without anyone to stand up for her. It was something he’d have done, if given half a chance.
A movement at the door caught everyone’s attention.
“Excuse me, sir, but dinner is served in the dining room,” a uniformed middle-aged woman said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Evans,” Charles said, dismissing the housekeeper and turning back to Judd. “We keep regular hours here for mealtimes—my diabetes, you know.”
Charles rose to his feet, refusing Anna’s offer of assistance, and led the way through to the dining room. Each room Judd set foot in gave him a weird sense of déjà vu. Although his memories of living here were faded and sketchy, the old photos of Masters’ Rise that had been passed on by friends after the fire were imprinted in his mind. This house truly was a complete replica of his mother’s old home. No wonder she was so bitter about being made to leave.
He made a silent promise—Cynthia would return to triumph over all this again.
They’d been back one day short of a week. Anna sat at her desk, finding it nearly impossible to concentrate on the work ahead of her. Judd had traveled into the office with Charles this morning, and the two of them had been closeted together for a couple of hours now. Every time Nicole had ventured out from her office, she’d sent a baleful glare toward her father’s closed door and the atmosphere had become so tense it was almost palpable.
The arrival of the junior receptionist from downstairs, bearing the morning’s mail and courier deliveries, was a welcome distraction. Anna swiftly sorted the mail and then turned to the courier packages. One in particular, slimmer than the rest, stood out. She lifted it and checked the return address. Her stomach instantly knotted. Marked Private and Confidential and addressed to Charles, it had come from the lab he’d engaged to conduct the DNA testing.
She dropped it on the stack of mail she’d already opened for him, as if it burned her fingers. While he’d authorized her, long ago, to attend to all his correspondence, both personal and relating to the business, she had no doubt he’d want to open this particular item himself.
The
