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He smiled. ‘Fabulous idea.’ He went to the bar and ordered their meals and a drink, the food was every bit as good as Katrina had expected, but by the time they’d finished eating and were back on the road, she had a huge knot in her stomach. ‘I think I’m beginning to realise how you felt, meeting my family,’ she admitted.
‘A bit overwhelmed, cariad?’ he asked softly. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t be that bad. Remember, it’s teamwork—we’re in this together.’
And then at last he parked outside a small cottage. ‘Ready?’
Katrina took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Ready.’
‘Then let’s do this.’ Rhys took a deep breath, got out of the car, and opened Katrina’s door for her. He was aware that his heart rate was speeding up with every step he took nearer to the door, and his stomach was churning. Llewellyn had sounded so guarded on the phone. So did he actually want to see his son, or had he only agreed to see Rhys out of some sense of duty?
There was only one way to find out.
He knocked on the door.
Moments later, it was opened by a man who could have been his double, only twenty-five years older and with iron-grey hair rather than dark.
‘Hello,’ Llewellyn Morgan said softly.
Diffidently, Rhys held out his hand. Llewellyn grasped it firmly, then shook his head and pulled Rhys into his arms. ‘My son,’ he said, holding Rhys close. His voice was cracked with emotion, and Rhys knew at that moment he’d spent a quarter of a century living a lie. Because the man who held him close, tears choking his voice, was a man who really did want to see his son. Duty had nothing to do with the reason why Llewellyn had agreed to see him today.
‘My manners.’ Llewellyn shook himself. ‘I shouldn’t leave you standing here on the doorstep. Come in.’
‘Thanks. This is Katrina,’ Rhys said.
‘It’s good to meet you, cariad,’ Llewellyn said, shaking Katrina’s hand.
‘You, too,’ Katrina said.
‘This is Dilys, my wife,’ Llewellyn said, beckoning the woman who sat quietly on the sofa, waiting.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Katrina said politely.
‘And you.’ Dilys placed a hand across her heart. ‘And Rhys. You’re the spit of your father when he was your age. When I first met him.’ She flapped her hand. ‘Oh, listen to me rabbiting on, and you’ve come all this way to see us. Can I get you a cup of tea? Coffee?’
‘Coffee for me, please. Black, no sugar,’ Rhys said. ‘Katrina?’
‘White, no sugar, please,’ she said. ‘And can I help you, Dilys?’
Rhys knew exactly what Katrina was doing. Giving him time with his father. And the smile she sent him as she followed Dilys made his heart swell.
‘I hoped against hope you’d see me one day,’ Llewellyn said when Dilys and Katrina had left the room. ‘Though I thought that was it when you stopped sending cards.’
‘When I stopped sending cards?’ Rhys asked. ‘Hang on. You forgot my thirteenth birthday.’
‘Never,’ Llewellyn said fiercely. ‘I sent a card every year. Even after you stopped sending them. Every birthday and every Christmas, until you were twenty-one. And then, I admit—yes, then I gave up.’
Rhys was still having trouble adjusting to the idea that his father hadn’t ignored his birthdays after all. Or Christmas. So did it mean that his mother had got rid of the cards without telling him? He couldn’t believe she’d do something so underhand. Yet Llewellyn’s tone told him that his father wasn’t lying. He really had sent the cards, and as Rhys and his mother had never moved, there was no way Llewellyn could have sent them to the wrong address.
‘I was thirteen,’ Rhys said. ‘I still had a lot of growing up to do. And I was stroppy with it. I thought, well, if you weren’t going to bother, neither was I.’ Well, if this was going to be a day of revelations, he thought, it was time to be completely honest and open. Get rid of all the misunderstandings—or maybe confirm them. Confront them and put them behind him. ‘I thought you’d got your new family, so weren’t interested in me any more.’
‘That’s not true,’ Llewellyn said. ‘Yes, I have the girls. But I always loved you, always wanted you.’ He sighed. ‘I tried to see you after your mam and I split up. But whenever I came to the house to pick you up or take you back, there was a fight with your mam and it ended in tears. In the end I thought it was better to stay away, so you didn’t get upset.’ He shook his head in seeming frustration. ‘I can see now it was the wrong thing to do, but I hated to see you cry. I sent cards, and I know it wasn’t nearly enough—but back then I didn’t know what else to do.’
