Chapter Eight
Anya
The man held my arm tightly as he marched me around the corner to where the car was waiting on a quiet street. There was nothing
I could do. He was built like an ox. And when I saw Magnus in the car, I realized he was my father’s driver.
I tried to thump Magnus. I wasn’t a violent person, but I was scared enough that the impulse to lash out overtook me. He caught
my arms easily, and it made me feel weak.
“You tried to run me over,” I said, and my voice shook with the accusation.
“No. That was a mistake. Another car, a different driver. I’m very sorry. There were a few of us looking for you. Diana said
you’d run off and were very distressed. Do you understand? We were looking for you for your own good. Frightening you was
a mistake.”
“You nearly killed me.”
“No. Not me. And he didn’t. He just frightened you.”
His grip on my wrists was strong and tightening.
“You’re hurting me.”
He dropped them. “I’m sorry.”
I lunged for the door handle and yanked it, but the door was locked. I yanked again and again until Magnus said, “That won’t work,” and I slumped into the corner where the seat met the door.
A woman sat in the front passenger seat. She had an earpiece in. “Did you come into the shop looking for me?” I asked her.
“Lying about me?” I added, but she didn’t answer. Nobody did. The indicator light ticked and the driver pulled the car out
smoothly into the moving traffic.
“How did you find me?” I asked. I poked her shoulder. “I’m talking to you!”
“Bloody footprints,” Magnus said. “You left a trail of them. We knew you were in the shop. It was a matter of waiting for
you to come out. I was worried about you.”
He made it sound so normal, to wait for someone and snatch them off the street. I could imagine him telling the police the
same thing and imagine them believing he was a concerned parent. A good man.
Your father is not the saint people think he is.
Magnus said, “Can I take you somewhere so we can talk? We could get lunch. My club is near here.”
I looked at the backs of the man and woman in the front of the car. How much of what they were hearing did they know already?
Were they paid enough to see nothing and hear nothing, whatever went on around them?
“We can talk here. You have five minutes, then you let me out.”
He said, “Diana betrayed us both this morning. Please believe me when I say I genuinely believed that you wanted to reconcile
with me, and the idea of it had brought me so much joy. Since the day you were born, your absence has been a gaping hole in
my life. A chasm.”
I bit my lip. I could hardly bear to look at him. Why hadn’t he approached me since I’d been an adult, then? Mum hadn’t been
able to gatekeep me for years.
He’s a liar.
But the child in me had always wanted to hear words like these, to know that I’d meant something to him, to believe that in his heart of hearts he’d wanted me then and wanted me now.
“I treated your mother very badly and hurt her deeply. I’m not surprised Rose turned away from me the way she did. I don’t
blame her.”
“You don’t get to talk about blame,” I shot back. “You lost that right when you told her we weren’t good enough for you.”
“I know.” He put his hands up. “Sorry! I’m so very sorry that I did that. I feel terrible about it, and I can’t imagine how
much it must have hurt you. All I can say is that I did it because I was immature enough to believe my family knew best. They
put enormous pressure on me, which was monstrous of them, but I was very young at the time. Your mother and I, we were both
just babies, really. I’m not trying to excuse myself for what I did, because it was heinous, but it might help you understand
the situation. If you care to.”
I did care to understand, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting through to me. Not yet. He hadn’t
convinced me that his intentions were good. But his words were getting through my emotional armor. I’d spent my life trying
to rewrite the stories about him that Mum had told, always hoping for a plausible reason for what he did, one that wasn’t
to do with me. Always dreaming of a happier ending. What child abandoned or mistreated by a parent doesn’t wish the same?
“I see myself in you, Anya,” he said. “I think you’re incredibly smart, so let me say this plainly. If we can put our emotions
aside for a moment, consider this: I need someone gifted, whom I can trust absolutely, to work on my manuscripts. Working
on my manuscripts could help your career immeasurably. If you can’t forgive me, then I’ll make sure I keep out of your way
entirely. But if you’re even a little bit interested in seeing if we can build a relationship, we can do that however you
want. I don’t put myself in other people’s hands very often, but I’ll make an exception for you, Anya. You are terribly important
to me.”
“How do you know you can trust me?” I asked. I wanted to turn the tables back on him a little.
He tries to disempower everyone around him.
“You’re my flesh and blood. I know you.”
Boom. I had to hand it to him. He knew all the right things to say. I just had to decide whether I believed him. But it was
very tempting to.
“This is your birthright,” he added.
“What about your other children?” He had three. They were still school age. I’d stalked them on social media. “Do they know
about me?”
“They do, and they’d like to meet you.”
It changed the game, knowing that I might gain half siblings, that it wouldn’t just be him. Because he was damaged goods,
a page full of corrections, inkblots. Imperfect. But getting to know my half siblings might give me a chance to turn a pristine
new page.
“If I study the manuscripts, the ones that everyone believes were burned, can I publish my work?”
“Good question. The idea is to reveal that the manuscripts survived the fire at the same time as publishing your work on them.
We intend to make a big noise about both. Everybody will be talking about it.”
He’s never selfless. He always has an agenda.
The penny dropped. “This is about your library, isn’t it? You’ll do this to coincide with the opening of the library.”
“That is the plan,” he conceded.
It was clever. He would be able to open the library with a core of exceptional manuscripts and scholarship already attached
to them that would enhance the family name. It would be a terrific PR stunt. I would have bet he was also considering whether
he could get a good emotional story out of it, too: Magnus Beaufort, contrite and reconciled with his estranged daughter and
her mother.
“You want me to enhance your vanity project. Your library.”
Libraries had burnished the reputations of so many men throughout history, and guaranteed them a place in it: Bodley, Beinecke, Ashurbanipal, and all the others who’d dreamed that dream.
There was a reason that American presidents founded libraries after leaving office, even if they weren’t readers.
“My library is a gift to the nation. I believe I have a moral obligation to use my privilege for good, when and where I can.”
He sounded like a press release. I thought I knew better. “You’re afraid of dying.”
“I will die, like everyone else.”
“But your name will forever be attached to the library. That’s as close to immortal as a man can get.”
“Is it so terrible that a project appeals to a man’s vanity if that is far outweighed by its contribution to society?”
Was it terrible? Probably not. Wasn’t life a series of compromises? I felt very tired. The throbbing in my foot was insistent.
“Anya, I badly want you to be part of this because I want this to be our family’s legacy, not just mine. Please consider it.”
I looked out the window. I had no idea where we were. The streets outside looked smart.
I thought of Mum, just getting by from one medical appointment to the next, from one health crisis to the next, living in
desperate fear of her treatment options running out, or of being unable to access the right drugs, reliant on Viv, who was
great, but a huge cost herself.
I said, “I’ll do this on one condition.”
“Anything.”
“My mother has lymphoma. Stage IV. She’s one of the unlucky ones with a poor prognosis. I want you to help her. I want you
to get her the best treatment in the world. There’s a trial. In the US. A new drug that’s showing incredible results for her
type of the disease, but we have no hope of getting it here. I want you to get her put on the trial.”
“I would love to.” He didn’t sound surprised. He already knew she was ill. That cut me to the bone. “Will she let me help?”
I’d rather die than beg him for charity. Literally.
“No. That’s your challenge. Figure out how to help without her knowing.”
“I think I can do that,” he said.
“If you can, we have a deal.”
Diana
Diana watched London crawl by as she sat in the back of the town car. She wasn’t unhappy to be in traffic; it was a chance
to close her eyes for a few minutes, to catch her breath. This was starting to feel like the longest day of her life.
Charlotte rode ahead, in the same car as Bridget Farley and Bridget’s assistant. They were traveling in convoy from Bridget’s
office to the site in South London that the Institute was hoping to lease.
The visit had been Bridget’s idea, one that had occurred to her during their meeting. “There’s a wonderful young architect
I’d like you to meet. She’s up and coming. I think she’s a promising talent and a project like this could make her career.
Let me see if she can meet us at the site.”
Of course, Bridget’s engagement with the project was a good sign, and of course, Diana couldn’t refuse, even though she was
itching to check on Anya.
Diana considered whether to message her but decided against it. She would give her time and space for a little longer. She
hadn’t had a chance to discuss Anya with Charlotte yet. Charlotte would doubtless argue that they should scoop Anya up immediately