J. RoBB - The Lost

Once again they’d forsaken the banquet-sized table in favor of a small round one set in a corner of the room near a bank of windows overlooking the gardens. For the past hour they’d talked about books and music, discovering that each of them loved the same authors, and they even described the same scenes from several of their favorite operas.

While Cullen seemed to revel in each new discovery, for Aidan it was an eerie feeling to have such an intimate connection to a stranger. Except that the more time she spent with Cullen Glin, the less a stranger he seemed to be.

“Why don’t we take our coffee and dessert in the library?”

She nodded. “But just coffee. I’m afraid I don’t have room for dessert after that wonderful meal.”

He turned to Bridget with a smile. “Just coffee, Bridget. We’ll be in the library.”

Once there, Cullen watched as Aidan studied the photographs arranged on a side table.

“Your mother?” She pointed to the plump woman with her arm around a young Cullen.

“Yes.” He walked over to stand beside her. “You’d have loved her.”

Aidan heard the affection in his voice.

“Is this Ross?” She lifted a framed photo for a better look.

“Indeed. That was taken when he first came to live with me.”

“So young?” She glanced up in surprise. “I mean… I thought he was merely your lawyer.”

“He is. Considered one of the finest in the country now. After university here he studied at Oxford, and then in your country, at Harvard.”

She peered at the photograph. “But here he’s…”

“Sixteen.” Cullen chuckled. “You’d be hard-pressed to discern that rough-and-tumble youth as the same polished man who’s persuaded judges and juries across Ireland in his clients’ favor.”

They both looked up as Bridget carried in a silver coffee service and filled two cups before taking her leave.

Aidan and Cullen settled into chairs pulled in front of the fire.

Cullen stirred sugar into his coffee. “What do you think of Ross?”

Aidan shrugged, wishing she could evade the question. “He’s charming and smart and funny. And, without question, devoted to you.”

Cullen nodded absently. “No more than I am to him.”

“And yet you’re not related?”

He glanced up. “Not in any legal sense. But without Ross Delaney, I doubt I’d be sitting here.”

“What does that mean?”

“Many years ago, Ross saved my life. I was in Dublin on business, and met an old friend at a pub. We drank a bit too much, and when I left, I made a wrong turn and found myself in an unfamiliar neighborhood. I was a perfect target for punks, and a couple of them attacked me.” He shook his head. “I fancied myself a pretty good fighter, but I was no match for those street toughs. I was having my hide kicked when suddenly one punk fell, another let out a cry and the lot of them ran screeching like banshees into the night.”

“Ross?”

He nodded. “He came out of nowhere and fought them off like a man possessed. I was bloody from head to toe, and this wiry lad, who looked as though he couldn’t lift a sack of potatoes, carried me to my hotel, hauled me to my room and cleaned me up before putting me to bed and phoning for a house doctor.” He frowned, remembering. “In the morning I was alone. I walked that same street, giving his description to everyone I could find. Nobody claimed to know who the lad was. But finally a girl who plied her trade on the streets said it had to be Ross Delaney. She showed me where he stayed most nights, and sure enough, there he was, asleep in the doorway of an abandoned factory, my blood still on his clothes.”

“He was sleeping on the streets?”

“He was, yes.”

She thought about what Ross had told her. His mother had left before he could talk. “Where was his family? Who raised him?”

“From what I learned, he pretty much raised himself. He lived with his father until around the age of eight, when, after being beaten nearly senseless in a drunken rage, Ross left.”

Aidan thought about the fact that she’d never seen Ross take a drink of alcohol. Now she understood why.

“He just left? At eight? Where could a boy of that age possibly go? How could he survive?”

“He hid out on the streets of Dublin. Learned from other lads where the best scraps of food could be found and where it was safe to sleep.”

“What about school?”

“He’d had little schooling when I first met him. I offered him money for saving my life. He refused my money, even though I could see that he was in desperate need of it.” Cullen stared down into his coffee. “There was something so noble about the lad, I found myself drawn to him. By then I’d acquired a great deal of wealth, and nobody to share it with. My search for Moira was going badly, and I needed something or someone on whom to focus. Getting the lad out of that miserable existence became my mission.”

“How did you persuade him to trust you?”

Cullen smiled. “It took a while, but I can be very persuasive when I’ve a mind to be. I brought him here and hired tutors to see just what he could do. To their amazement, and mine, we discovered that he had a fine mind and an inquisitive nature, and because he’d been on his own for so long, was far superior to most lads his age. He was soon excelling at academics, and I realized that he could do anything he set his mind to.”

“What about his family? Did he ever try to contact them?”

Cullen gave a quick shake of his head. “They’d abused and abandoned him long before he abandoned them. Why should he ever look back?”

Why, indeed? She mulled all she’d just been told about the fascinating Ross Delaney.

“And so, by some strange twist of fate, a street fight brought me the son I’d never had. And like a true son, he now shares my life.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“Not at all. He actually saved a drowning man. I’d been drowning in self-pity. Even though I’d already amassed a fortune, I was drinking heavily, and my life had no direction. At first I thought I was doing this poor down-and-out lad a favor. But in the end it was Ross who was helping me, teaching me. After hearing about his father’s abuse, I stopped drinking. Now, on the few occasions that I indulge, I need only think about what some have gone through because of another’s drunkenness, and it sobers me instantly. It was Ross who pointed out the poverty of the town of Glinkilly, and how my fortune could be used to make a change. I was too self-centered to think beyond my own pain until Ross showed me the way. So you see, my dear, his love and loyalty have rewarded me many times over. And it was Ross who, because he refused to give up on my search, finally located your mother, and through her death, you.”

“What an amazing turn of events…”

They both looked up when Ross, accompanied by Meath and Mayo, stepped into the room. His hair was wind-tossed; his cheeks ruddy from the night air. He looked rough and dangerous, and his eyes, when he looked at Aidan, were stormy.

“Bridget said I’d find you here.”

“Ah, Ross.” Cullen indicated the chair beside Aidan. “Come warm yourself by the fire. Why don’t you take that chair next to Aidan.”

Was it her imagination, or did the sly old man appear to be pushing the two of them together whenever he could?

“The lass and I have been having a lovely chat. I’m sure you won’t be surprised by this, but we’ve discovered we have much in common.”

Including strong feelings for a certain mysterious man.

The thought startled Aidan and she found herself looking from the old man to the younger one.

She was drawn to Ross Delaney. And, she believed, he was equally drawn to her, or as much as a man like him could be.