Their New-Found Family. Rebecca Winters

      “Is this the Marsden residence?” The deep male voice on the other end spoke with only the slightest trace of accent, yet it sounded vaguely familiar.

      She stirred uneasily. “Yes?”

      “I’m looking for a Rachel Marsden. Do I have the right number?”

      “W-who is this?” she cried softly.

      After an extended silence, “Does the name Tris mean anything to you?”

      Suddenly Rachel’s legs grew weak. She started to tremble as memories came flooding back.

      It was Tris.

      People could age, but that was his voice, his fingerprint. Its unique timbre resonated in every particle of her body, overwhelming her. He was actually alive, speaking to her from the other end of the phone line.

      “H-hello, Tris.” Trying to control her panic she said, “I guess it was too much to expect that your nephew would be able to keep his promise.”

      There was another pause. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

      “Please don’t pretend you didn’t realize Alain already called me two weeks ago. H-he told me about your amnesia,” she stammered, mortified by her loss of composure.

      “I’ve been away on army maneuvers. Though I’ve phoned him every night, he never mentioned that he’d been in contact with you.”

      She drew in a shaky breath, trying to recover her equilibrium. “Are you saying you made the decision to call me all on your own?”

      “Bien sur,” he drawled with quiet irony. When he spoke in French, it was like she’d gone back in time where everything sounded so much more intimate.

      “While I was preparing for my trip, Alain rummaged through an old backpack of mine and came across a note you’d written to me on board the QE2.

      “I intended to track you down, but I couldn’t do anything about it until my military stint was over for the year.”

      “And now it is?” Rachel’s voice shook despite her efforts to keep it steady.

      “Yes. I’m on my way back to Montreux right now and will be getting off the train in a few minutes. Alain will be waiting for me. Be assured I will have a frank discussion with him about why it was wrong to take matters into his own hands.”

      “No—” she cried out.

      “No, what?” he demanded with a ring of authority in his voice reminiscent of the younger Tris who’d exhibited a powerful personality even back then.

      She moistened her lips nervously. “I asked him not to tell you. He promised it would be our secret. Since he kept his end of the bargain, please don’t say anything to him about it.”

      “Why did you feel you had to swear him to silence?”

      Her heart jammed into her ribs. “I was very touched that he loves you so much, he wanted me to help you fill in the blanks of your memory. But I told him that it should have been you who called me if you felt the need. Since you hadn’t done that, I thought it best to forget the whole thing.”

      “You did an effective job of getting through to him,” he murmured, increasing her guilt. “Aside from the fact that I don’t approve of what he did, I find your reaction even more curious.”

      Her eyes closed tightly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “If we were simply two college students who enjoyed each other’s company aboard ship, I’m interested to find out why you’re so frightened, you couldn’t be open about it with my nephew.”

      “Frightened?” Perspiration beaded her hairline.

      “Yes. Shall I tell you about my conversation with Madame Soulis, the directrice of your school in Geneve? According to her you became ill and had to leave Grand-Chene after only a few months.”

      He knew.

      Rachel almost collapsed.

      Tris was no ordinary man. His genius was apparent whether he was captain of his hockey team, or head of a multimillion dollar family business.

      The Monbrisson name was renowned throughout Europe, all because of his instincts which made him a force to contend with in the corporate world. He would never let this go now.

      “Tris? You’ve caught me as I was walking out the door to work. I’m afraid this isn’t a good time for the kind of discussion you want to have. If you cou—”

      “Don’t let me keep you,” he interrupted her. “The next time we talk, it’ll be in person,” he declared, sending a frisson of alarm through her body.

      “No—please—” she cried, needing space to think, but he wasn’t giving her any.

      “That’s the second time I’ve heard pure terror in your voice.”

      Ignoring his astute observation she said, “No one deserves closure more than you do. I’m so sorry about your terrible accident, and I would be happy to meet you somewhere to answer any questions you have.”

      “I’ll make this easy for you and see you at your house tonight.”

      She groaned inwardly. There was no stopping him. “I-I have plans for this evening. If you could wait until tomorrow, I’ll take time off from work.”

      “Bien. I’ll be in Concord this evening and will call you to make final arrangements. A bientot, Rachel.”

      “Uncle Tris!”

      As Tris stepped off the train, his nephew came flying. They gave each other a bear hug.

      “Where are your grandparents?”

      “In the car at the back of the station.”

      “Good. Why don’t we get a drink before we join them? I’m thirsty.”

      “So am I. It’s been hot for the last few days.”

      “It was warm where I was, too.”

      They made their way inside the gare to the food counter. Tris bought them two sodas. They wandered over by the windows away from everyone else to drink them.

      “I’m glad you’re back.”

      “So am I, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave again for a few more days. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

      A pained expression broke out on Alain’s face. “When do you have to go?”

      “As soon as I can change clothes and pack a bag.”

      “Did Guy say there’s an emergency at one of the hotels?”

      “No. I’m flying to New Hampshire to meet Rachel Marsden.”

      The bottle almost fell out of his nephew’s hand. “You are?”

      “Yes. I phoned her a little while ago. She’s expecting me tonight.”

      His nephew suddenly averted his eyes, the telltale sign of his guilt. “Did she tell you I called her?” Alain asked, working the toe of his sandal against the floor.

      Tris drained his bottle and put it in the receptacle. Alain followed suit. “Not exactly. She thought I was phoning because you’d broken your promise to her.”

      Alain’s head reared. His eyes looked suspiciously bright. “I wouldn’t have.”

      He tousled his nephew’s hair. “I know that. What I don’t understand is why the directrice of the school didn’t tell me you’d phoned her wanting the same information?”

      A resigned sigh escaped Alain’s lips. “Guy got it for me from the school receptionist.”

      His nephew was not only determined, but