“The bulk of Mr. McGregor’s assets were held in a family trust.” Jansen droned on. The legalese washed over Robbie: “intestate…tax efficient structures…trustees making provision…distinguishing between bequests and wishes…” A few words took root in his brain, among them charitable endowments. When Gabe wrote his will, he’d expected to be survived by his children. In the event that he was not, his wealth was to be divided among a select group of charities, including the Templeton/ Cozmici AIDS Foundation.

“Sorry. If I could just interrupt you for a moment.”

The lawyer looked at Robbie as if he were asking permission to deflower his daughter.

“How much, er…how much exactly would our foundation be in line for?”

Frederick Jansen’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Was this man a fool? Had he not read paragraph six, point d, subsection viii?

“The percentage of Mr. McGregor’s tax-deductible bequest-”

“Sorry again.” Robbie held up his hand, his heart hammering. “I’m not very good with percentages. If you could give me an overall number. You know. Ballpark.”

“Ballpark?” Frederick Jansen’s jowls quivered with distaste. He couldn’t imagine what had possessed his client to leave so much money to this vulgar, American queer. “Mr. Templeton, as is explicit in the document before you, your foundation stands to receive a lump sum in the region, the ballpark, if you will, of twenty-five million U.S. dollars. Now, if we could be allowed to move on with the reading?”

The lawyer repositioned his reading glasses and resumed his monologue, but Robbie was no longer listening. Twenty-five million! It was an astonishingly generous bequest from a man with his own charity to support. If there was a heaven, Gabe McGregor must undoubtedly be in it.

“Excuse me, Mr. Jansen.” A nervous, plain-looking mouse of a woman appeared in the doorway. Robbie thought: Poor thing. I wouldn’t be this fella’s secretary for all the tea in China. “There’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Frederick Jansen’s sour expression soured still further.

“Sarah. I made it perfectly clear I was not to be interrupted under any circumstances.”

“Yes, sir. But-”

“Any circumstances! Are you deaf?”

“No, sir. But the thing is, sir…”

She got no further. A man appeared in the doorway. Frederick Jansen’s mouth fell open. The papers slipped from his hands and fluttered slowly to the floor, like feathers.

“Hello, Fred.” Gabe smiled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Frederick Jansen knew Gabriel McGregor as a client. The other suits in the room had all dealt with him through their businesses or charities. Only Robbie knew Gabe as a friend. Jumping to his feet, he threw his arms around him.

“You sure know how to make an entrance! I suppose this means I won’t get my twenty-five mil?”

Robbie joked in order to break the tension and to hide his own shock. Gabe looked terrible. He’d always been so big, a great, friendly bear of a man. The man standing in front of Robbie now had visibly shrunk. He must have lost fifty pounds. His face looked sunken and aged. But the biggest shock of all was his hair. The thick blond mop of old was gone. Gabe’s hair had turned completely white.

“Let’s just say you won’t get it yet. Listen, Robbie, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I’m pretty sure some people in the lobby recognized me when I came in.”

Robbie thought, I wouldn’t bank on it.

“The press’ll be here in a minute. I can’t go home. Any chance I could hide out with you and Paolo for a while?”

“Of course. As long as…” Robbie hesitated, not sure how to put it. “You’re sure it wouldn’t bring back too many painful memories?”

Gabe and Tara had stayed at Robbie’s compound last summer with their children. It had been a magical vacation for all of them.

Gabe was touched by Robbie’s concern. “It’s okay. The memories aren’t painful. They’re all I have.”

“Fine, then. In that case, let’s get out of here.”

Robbie had a hundred and one questions he wanted to ask Gabe. Me and the rest of the world. But they could wait. The main thing was to get him home and fed, away from the prying eyes of the media.

He’s family now. He’s one of us. Paolo and I will protect him.

When Robbie walked through the door of the farmhouse arm in arm with Gabe, Lexi fainted. When she came to, tucked up in bed in one of the guest rooms, she had a lump on her head the size of a duck egg.

“Sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. “I think I must be more exhausted than I realized. I thought I saw Gabe. It was so real! As if he were standing right next to you. Do you think I need a psychiatrist?”

“Unquestionably.” Robbie grinned. “But not because you’re seeing things. It turns out our friend Gabriel isn’t quite as dead as we all thought he was.”

“Hi, Lex.”

An old-man version of Gabe appeared at Lexi’s bedside.

She promptly passed out again.

It was a full twenty-four hours before it sank in that Gabe was not only alive, but here, at Robbie’s house, with her. While Lexi came to terms with reality, Gabe washed, ate and slept for the first time in weeks. By nightfall, the story had leaked into the media that Gabriel McGregor was back from the dead. It took the press about a minute and a half to discover his whereabouts. Luckily, Robbie and Paolo’s estate was completely hidden from prying lenses, set back behind a long driveway and surrounded by an impenetrable wall of trees. Paolo persuaded the local police to place a ban on low-flying helicopters. Once they realized there was no picture to be had, the paparazzi reluctantly slunk back to Cape Town, pitching camp instead outside Phoenix’s offices. Gabe couldn’t hide out with Robbie Templeton forever. Eventually he’d have to surface, and when he did, they’d be waiting.

For the first week, Gabe slept eighteen hours of every twenty-four. At mealtimes he ate well but in silence, exchanging occasional grateful smiles with Robbie and Paolo. He barely looked at Lexi.

A doctor was called. He gave Gabe a clean bill of health. Not wanting to risk any more press leaks, Robbie contacted his godfather in New York, Barney Hunt, and asked him to fly out and examine Gabe.

“I’d say he’s in good shape mentally,” said Barney, “considering the magnitude of the trauma he’s just been through. He’s allowing himself to recover.”

“But he barely speaks,” Robbie protested. “He won’t say where he’s been all this time. He hasn’t mentioned Tara or his children once. If I get one ‘pass the pepper, please,’ that’s a good day.”

“He’ll talk when he’s ready. How about Lexi? How’s she doing?”

It seemed like an odd non sequitur. “Lexi? She’s okay, I guess. Mad as a box of frogs, obsessing about Kruger-Brent as always, but what’s new. She came out here to relax, which I took as a good sign.”

“And is she? Relaxing?”

“Gabe showing up kind of threw her. I don’t know. She’s been out of the house a lot. Riding. Do you think I should be worried?”

“No, no.” Barney Hunt smiled reassuringly. “I’m fond of your sister, that’s all. I care about you both. As does your father.”

Robbie stiffened. It had been years since he’d seen Peter. Their estrangement now was as wide and deep as it had ever been.

“I’ve got enough on my plate right now with Gabe and Lexi,” he said defensively.

“I understand,” said Barney. “Just remember, your father is not going to live forever. Gabe has years to work through what he’s feeling. So does Lexi. But you and Peter…”

“Thanks, Barney. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

The conversation was closed.

Lexi lay in bed, unable to sleep. In two days’ time, she would head back to New York. Back to reality. The vacation with Robbie was supposed to have cleared her head. But she felt more confused than ever.