Nothing was too good for Grant’s little girl. He was never happier than when pushing the pram in rain, wind, or shine; he never missed a recital; he dutifully helped Rachel with homework even as the math got more complicated; and he was the first shoulder she’d cry on when an adolescent crush wasn’t reciprocated. Grant loved that she shared his passion for sixties rock—countless were the times when Allison walked away shaking her head as her husband and child sang along with Petula Clark and the Turtles.

Grant missed her terribly when she went to the States to study journalism. He knew that Rachel’s desire to become an investigative reporter stemmed from a fascination with Grant’s own profession and he was forever grateful she hadn’t signed up to risk life and limb at the Yard. When Rachel got her first job writing for a small paper in New England, Grant couldn’t have been prouder—knowing her determination to get to the bottom of a story came from watching her old man work case after case, year after year.

Her semiannual trips back to England (Christmas always and a holiday during the brutal New York summers) were cause for celebration. Despite her mother’s prodding as to when she was going to settle down and give them a grandchild or five, the trio were inseparable on these holidays.

So when things changed drastically two years ago, it had left him stunned.

It was like being thrust into a boxing ring and hit from both sides before he could even bring up his gloves. Allison’s cancer diagnosis had been a punch to the gut that doubled him over in blistering pain, and Grant knew he’d never recover. Then came the crushing blow—Rachel shutting him completely out of her life within days of the diagnosis for no apparent reason. Grant was reluctant to bring it up to Allison, who was deteriorating before his very eyes. The few times he’d tried, she didn’t want to talk about it.

Soon after, Grant found himself totally alone.

Now, standing in the middle of the Surrey dining room, Grant couldn’t believe this was the girl he had sung harmony with to Herman’s Hermits, read bedtime stories, then kissed and tucked in good night.

She was practically a stranger.

Rachel reached for the bag that she had strung over the back of her chair. Grant took a gingerly step forward and shook his head. “Please, Rachel. Stay.” He somehow managed a smile. “I hear they serve a lovely breakfast here.”

He watched as Rachel glanced around the room, noticed patrons looking their way, and finally sat back down. Grant took a silent deep breath of relief that he and Allison had raised a young woman who wasn’t one for making a public scene.