The Mckettrick Legend. Linda Lael Miller
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hand curled round his shoulder, squeezing tight as he stood up. ‘Absolutely. And your parents would have been proud—very, very proud, and with good reason. Many good reasons.’
‘Thank you,’ he said gruffly, unbearably touched. ‘I’m just glad they didn’t have to go through what you have done.’
‘Amen to that.’ He harrumphed and made a great production of clearing his throat. ‘Well, I think this calls for a drink,’ he said, retrieving a bottle of champagne from the fridge and putting three flutes on the table. He stripped off the foil and twisted the wire cage, just as Michael put his hand in his pocket.
‘There’s something else you should know,’ he said, and pulled out a photograph and slid it on to the table. ‘It seems I have a son.’
The cork popped loudly in the silence and, while the wine foamed unheeded over Malcolm’s hand, Peggy started to weep again.
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