Hugh gently placed his hand on Ana’s arm. She looked up, turned, and their eyes met. “Dear girl, we’ve all grown to like you very much, but at the beginning, as a result of the attacks on Ben, we had to explore every avenue to figure out what was going on.” Ana nodded in understanding and Hugh continued. “You were basically a stranger in our midst. I admit that all my years dealing with theft and violence has made me cynical—and, I’m sorry to say, rather suspicious.”
Ben jumped in and said, “Dad, what did you do?”
“I wasn’t aware at first, but Interpol had decided it was relevant to have Ana’s background investigated. Given the coincidence of your first meeting and the first attack, they had to verify her identity and be certain that she hadn’t led you into the dangerous situation you encountered in London. We had to be sure she wasn’t a part of some kind of larger scheme. At that time we didn’t know that Olivia was about to be kidnapped.”
“Dad, it was supposed to be me. You know that, don’t you?”
Hugh indicated in the affirmative and then returned his focus to Ana, who had been quiet throughout, and said, “With more time to observe you, and given the way you’ve supported Ben and the family, I would have concluded that no background check was necessary. I can only apologize with the excuse that Ben’s safety was our ultimate concern… until the situation escalated.”
Ana smiled at Ben’s father, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I understand, and it’s okay. I get it. And you probably saw my father having gone to prison as a red flag. Right?”
Ben frowned, looked at Ana, and said, “I didn’t know that. But why should I? It’s your business, not mine. But now I’m curious.”
Ana felt she should tell Ben the story of how her father had been framed, but later, in private. His parents already knew, and they could tell Olivia.
Paris soon decided that her daughter had had enough excitement for one day, so she urged her up from the table, excused them both and hurried Olivia to the elevators. She planned to escort her to her room and put her to bed. Hugh then begged off, citing fatigue as his reason. However, he felt that Ben and Ana should have time on their own. They went into the hotel bar and ordered snifters of brandy, which they took to one of the leather couches. Ana held the snifter to her lips, sipping slowly, and Ben was reminded of that first night, the warm brandy glistening on those lips. He imagined then how they would taste, how they would feel if he kissed her. Now he knew and wanted more. Returning to the present he asked if she had the energy to tell him about her father. She said yes, but only enough for a condensed version. Ana began to share the facts about her background, and once she had started, the words flowed freely.
“My father was in prison when I was born. I didn’t meet him until I was almost six years old. He had no idea he was working on the periphery of a group smuggling artifacts that had been altered to contain stolen gems. Holes were carefully drilled into the bottoms, the stones were dropped inside, and a master restorer patched the materials. My father was a courier for a legitimate collector and made trips to countries where desirable items were for sale, usually by another collector. It was a small community of interested parties. But nothing being purchased or sold was stolen or pilfered from governments; however, they did end up being defaced.”
Ben was quiet, waiting for her to continue. Ana sighed, obviously saddened by the recounting of what had happened, but she went on, explaining the course of events exactly as Hugh had related them to Paris.
“What did your mother do when he went to jail?”
“Well, she delivered me shortly after he went away. I can tell you, it had to have been a terrible time for her. She had no idea how to support me, or if she did find a job, how to arrange care for an infant.” Ben reached for her hand and held it while she told the rest of the story. “Mother had learned a lot from my Dad about antiquities and the like, and she was able to find a job in a curio shop. The owner was a family man and allowed her to have me with her in the shop—even when I was a tiny baby. He obviously felt sorry for her and took a chance.”
“She must have had a guardian angel—if one believes in such things.”
“Seems that way. Maybe it was the owner of the curio shop. I remember his kindness.”
“Could be,” said Ben, smiling at the thought.
“By way of my heritage, my father’s Irish. My mother’s Spanish. Her family came from Andalusia. I always loved my grandfather’s name: Javier Alonso de Falla. It has a certain ‘ring’ to it. I always wondered if we were related somehow to Manuel de Falla. Silly I suppose. Anyway, my grandfather was a carpenter, and they moved to Seville to find work before coming to the United States. My grandmother was Sofia Cristina Jurado. I have her middle name.”
“Any family left in Spain?”
“Oh yes— my uncle,
