Seb grunted.
“Your father is Philip Stevenson?” Cold rushed through Martin. If Seb told Kenneth about Mount Garner, had he told other people? His family?
Seb glanced up from his breakfast with flat eyes. “You’ve heard of him, I suppose.”
“He was the AHI Chair on European Literature. Of course I know who he is.”
“I’m surprised you’ve never crossed paths,” Kenneth said.
They had. Sort of. Martin had gone to enough conferences in his career to have seen Philip Stevenson a few times. To say their paths crossed was generous. It was more like playing six degrees of Kevin Bacon, the university edition. Martin stuck close to his supervisors and immediate colleagues, while Philip Stevenson glided through the room on a cloud of impressive dignity and publication credits.
“You didn’t tell me.” Martin said again. He picked at his yogurt, but the flavor was sour.
“I know!” Kenneth’s eyes went wide. “You can’t stay locked away in witness protection forever. Sebastian, you should introduce Dr. Lindsey here to your father!”
