‘Your father thought otherwise?’ Jake asked.
‘Yes, until his dying day he was convinced that the boy was out there somewhere.’
They both paused to look at the portrait – Jake turning in his chair to look at that innocent, blond-haired child. It dawned on him that this child had his existing life cruelly stripped from him when his mother had been committed. He would have faced a monumental dilemma: if he returned to his home to claim what was rightfully his, he might have faced the possibility that it would happen to him. Perhaps because his father had told the trustees he was just like his mother – who knew? But what Jake did know was the day Ralph Delaney disappeared, Aubrey Jones was born.
‘My father speculated that he may have travelled abroad to make his fortune.’ He cut off the bandage on Jake’s left hand. ‘I often wonder what became of him.’
The bandaging was finished off in silence.
Jake’s lightly bandaged hands felt a lot less restricted than before and looked a lot less eye-catching.
‘Where’s his sister now?’ Jake asked. Aubrey had never mentioned another living relative, let alone that he had a sister.
‘In the other wing, in one of those apartments,’ Lawrence replied nonchalantly.
‘What!?’ said Jake with a start. Jake slapped his forehead. Of course she was Aubrey’s sister. The trouble was that Jake had had so much on his mind, he’d missed the obvious.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t guess,’ said Lawrence.
‘Jake – are you ok?’
Jake turned at the sound of Marcus’s voice, surprised to see his silhouette in the doorway. ‘Come over here,’ he said. He had something to show him.
‘You with him?’ Lawrence pointed at Marcus. I told him I didn’t know Mr and Mrs Wright. I looked it up on my computerscreen, just to be sure, and I can tell you that they most definitely are not patients here.’ A businesslike tone had replaced the friendly banter.
‘Never mind that,’ Jake waved that comment away. ‘Can I see Aub … Ralph’s sister?’
Marcus arrived at the counter. ‘What’s up?’
He eyed Jake warily. ‘You’re not from the press, are you?’
Jake shook his head vehemently.
‘It’s just we have had some instances of the local press snooping around for a story on the poor woman.’
Lawrence looked at Marcus.
‘Me? From the press?’ said Marcus, adopting an air of superiority that made Jake inwardly groan.
‘Do I look like a hack to you?’ He put his arm on the counter, flashing his Cartier watch. ‘For your information, I head a multi-million dollar …’
‘Shut it, will you.’ Jake had heard enough. ‘Nobody wants to hear you blowing your own trumpet – least of all me.’
Marcus – his mouth wide open – to Jake’s surprise, actually shut up without protest.
‘No – you carry on.’ Lawrence pointed at Marcus. ‘I want to hear this.’ He rested an elbow on the countertop and his chin in the cup of his hand in an attentive, thoughtful pose.
Marcus looked at Jake.
Jake sighed. ‘Well go on then, you’ve got your audience. What are you waiting for?’
Marcus, who had been on a self-congratulatory roll before, seemed to run out of steam. He turned to Jake. ‘Where was I?’
Jake said in a deadpan tone of voice, ‘I head a multi-million dollar …’
‘Construction company,’ Marcus nodded, taking over the story, ‘and we build business premises and private homes for some of the most powerful individuals and business players in…’
Jake zoned out as Marcus trumpeted on … and on …
