“I didn’t mean to startle you, my boy.”

Raoul shook his head and walked toward him. “Why on earth aren’t you in bed?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“So I gather. Philippe just got back from Paris this evening. We’ve been discussing a weekend climb of the Matterhorn’s North Face. I’m afraid we lost track of the time.”

In the moonlight, Henri Mertier’s gaze took in the handsome features of his only child, whose complexion had been darkened to teak by the elements on Everest.

He had nothing but praise for his devoted, hardworking, thirty-four-year-old son who not only was a brilliant banker and businessman in his own right, but possessed all the qualities a father could pray for in his offspring.

Temperate in most things, his son had a passion for climbing when he could get away, and he always handled his relationships with women in a discreet manner.

In truth, Henri was tremendously proud of Raoul. That was why a terrible sadness washed over him when he considered what had to be said now. He knew it was the last news his son wanted to hear.

Almost the same height as Raoul’s six-foot-two physique, he put a detaining hand on his shoulder. “Could we talk inside?”

Something important was on his father’s mind. “Of course.”

Raoul fell in step with his parent as they approached the main entrance to the château. He opened the heavy door, with the D’Arillac coat of arms emblazoned in stained glass, and ushered his father through the great hallway to the library.

“Let’s have a drink, shall we? I feel the need of one.”

The odd inflection in his tone caused Raoul to study his father’s sober expression which couldn’t be hidden by his trimmed brown mustache and beard. Only wings of silver at the temples indicated his seventy years of age.

The two men faced each other in front of the hearth with its ancient glazed tiles. Raoul stared at the wonderful man who’d always been his role model. The pale blue eyes held a mixture of sadness and anxiety.