Page 179 of Oleander

I nodded, grim.

“He never visits either, you know,” said Jasper. “Caspien.”

The sound of his name felt like a scar being prodded at. An echo, a phantom pain. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took a sip of coffee.

Jasper continued. “He calls. I’ve spoken to him on the phone a few times, asks a lot of details about his treatment and condition, but I’ve never seen him in person.”

This could mean everything or nothing: I’d never understood Gideon and Cas’s relationship then and I wasn’t going to attempt to understand what it was now.

“Does anyone else visit him?” I asked.

“Um, his old housekeeper, Elspeth. And Luke. Shit, that’s your uncle, isn’t it?”

I nodded. Luke was how I’d first heard about the cancer. Because I’d ignored Gideon’s emails, deleting them without reading, which had come suddenly again at the beginning of the year. Then Luke had confirmed it. The handwritten letter had come via my agent a few weeks ago. On Deveraux House stationery, in a gorgeously swishing hand.

“Nice guy, Luke,” said Jasper.

“The best.”

We sat drinking our coffee in easy silence, but I could feel Jasper’s eyes straying to me every now and again.

Finally, he said. “Was it about him then?”

I looked at him.

“The Sacrifice. I read it. Was it about Gideon?”

I took another sip of my coffee and considered how to answer that.

“It was about a soldier who went to war for someone he loved. Gideon’s never loved anyone.”

I could tell it wasn’t the answer he expected. Or wanted.

“Sounds like he never knew love. How would he have been able to give it?” Jasper said almost defensively. “Maybe he’d have liked to have been loved. Imagine dying without knowing what it feels like to be loved or to love someone. He’s just a sad old man who’s going to die alone.”

“He’s not alone. He has you.”

Jasper smiled a sad smile. “I don’t love him.”

I hated how his words made me feel. Pity again. Pity for Gideon. I didn’t come here for this. I stood and dumped my plate and cup in the sink. I came here for what he promised me: answers.

And I was going to get them.

Then I was going to leave him to die alone and unloved just like he deserved.

He was sitting up in bed watching something on TV. He brightened when he saw me, but the look on my face gave something away, and he reached for the remote and switched the thing off.

“Jude, good morning; how did you sleep?”

“Fine,” I said as I took a seat on the same chair I’d sat on last night. “Now, why am I here, Gideon? What is it you have to say to me?”

His expression faltered as he moved to sit up a little. As he shifted, one of his pillows slipped out and tumbled to the floor. I moved to pick it up, and helped him rearrange himself into a more comfortable position. I could feel him staring at me as I did this. From here, he smelled like rotting flowers.

“Thank you,” he whispered gratefully.

I sat back down. Waited.

“You never answered me last night when I asked when was the last time you’d seen him,” Gideon asked carefully.