Читать книгу In His Eyes - Emmie Dark - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

HUGHHADBEENWATCHING proceedings from the sidelines. It had taken him a while to calm down his hot-tempered chef, furious that Hugh had sprung catering for a crowd of at least fifty on him with about ten minutes’ notice. And right before a fully booked dinner service, too. As the chef had railed about the insanity of the idea, Hugh had been on autopilot, placating him while at the same time he was internally agreeing with him.

He’d made up some rational-sounding reasons, but the whole thing was crazy. Why was he doing this? As a tactic to warm Zoe Waters to the idea of selling Waterford to him, it had already failed miserably—her reaction in the car had told him that as much as her forced smile from across the room did now. He couldn’t pinpoint why he’d thought it might work in the first place.

Mack Waters and he had certainly never been friends. The bitter enmity between Mack and Hugh’s father, Pete Lawson, hadn’t ended at his father’s death—it had simply been transferred to Hugh. And, if anything, Hugh had even more reason to dislike the stubborn old goat. The cantankerous-but-kind-at-heart-if-you-look-hard-enough man people were speaking of today was not someone Hugh had ever known. Mack Waters had been cranky, vengeful, rude and argumentative.

Hugh had gone out of his way to try to move on from the past, to offer assistance as it became clear that Waterford was foundering under Mack’s failing health. Mack hadn’t even pretended to listen.

It didn’t help that whenever he and Mack had tried to talk business they seemed to be stuck in a time warp. When they were forced to interact, Mack always treated Hugh as if he was still seventeen and Hugh found himself responding in kind. It frustrated him no end that no matter what he’d achieved in life—the money he’d made, the wine he’d created and sold around the world—as far as Mack was concerned, Hugh was still the boy who’d taken his granddaughter’s innocence.

Hugh had never bothered to correct him, but in truth it had very much been the other way around. Zoe Waters had been like a thrilling adventure park in comparison to Hugh’s sheltered upbringing and good-boy persona. She’d introduced him to sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll—not necessarily in that order. Mack Waters had made it clear that he blamed Hugh for Zoe’s troubles. How the old man didn’t see that those troubles had begun long before Hugh had come on the scene—and that Mack himself had had a significant role to play—Hugh would never know.

He gritted his teeth and surveyed the room of people cheerily drinking his wine, toasting the old man whose presence just across the fence line had cast a shadow over Hugh’s whole life. He wouldn’t be joining in the celebration. He’d get on with his life, just as he had all these years. And maybe now his long-held plans to possess the Waterford Estate would finally come to fruition.

There was just one fly in the ointment. She was sitting across the room from him right now, a strained smile on her face.

Watching Zoe, he was again struck by the difference between the wild child he’d known and the woman who appeared before him. A woman who, if she’d been anyone else, Hugh could admit he found attractive. Very attractive.

Her hair was its natural shiny brunette, none of the bright purple or fire-engine red she’d experimented with from time to time back at school. There were some lighter streaks in it now, probably the result of the California sunshine. Her makeup was restrained, no dark circles of kohl. She’d once liked to draw those on him, as well. She’d insisted it looked cool and that all the male rock stars wore makeup, but Hugh knew Tangawarra and knew that the town wasn’t ready for boys in eyeliner. He’d always washed it off before anyone else had seen.

A smattering of freckles had appeared across her nose—they were new. Otherwise, her skin was still the pale creamy porcelain that he remembered.

Very pale.

A surprising stab of sympathy for Zoe shot through him as Frank appealed to her to get up and speak. He knew she’d hate doing anything of the sort. When he looked across at her, the stark terror on her face sent an unexpected wave of protectiveness through him. Even as he told himself to stay out of it, he found himself stepping forward, about to take the microphone from Frank to save Zoe from the spotlight.

But then she stood up and the blood drained from her face. Hugh knew what was going to happen a moment before it did. It was just like that day right before she’d left town when she’d had fainted in the corridor—only this time he wouldn’t be carrying her to the school nurse.

In a few quick strides he was by her side, scooping her into his arms as her knees collapsed and she fell.

Hugh took no notice of the collective gasp or the mutterings of concern in the room. Heading straight for the side door, he carefully maneuvered them out onto the small walkway that led into the Lawson Estate homestead and to his personal suite of rooms at the back.

He was aware of footsteps following him, but he didn’t pause until he had carefully lowered Zoe onto the navy blue quilt of his bed.

“Is she all right?” Hugh turned and saw that Patricia was watching nervously from the doorway. She seemed to have adopted her neighbor for the time being.

“I think she’s just fainted,” Hugh said. “I’ll just get Morris to—”

“I’m here.” A burly man with a weathered face, Lawson Estate cap and graying beard appeared in the doorway clutching the estate’s sizable medical kit. Morris was Hugh’s foreman, in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Lawson Estate vineyards and had been for as long as Hugh could remember. He’d tended every kind of emergency Hugh could imagine, from tractor and machinery accidents to the scrapes and bumps of guests who’d overindulged and overbalanced. The man had also been witness to all the ins and outs of the Lawson family—from the minor to the traumatic—over the years.

Hugh stepped back to let Morris look over Zoe, while Patricia nattered on about Zoe not eating and having had a stressful day.

Hugh’s stomach churned with a concern he didn’t want to admit to. He sucked in a breath and blew it out, hating the faint nausea that had begun to stir in his gut.

He’d honestly thought he’d put everything to do with Zoe Waters and their tempestuous relationship behind him. The strength of his reaction to her was a surprise. Maybe he hadn’t been so successful at processing all that history as he’d thought.

On one level it was impossible to comprehend that Zoe was lying on his bed, her hair on his pillow, her skin against his sheets. She was no longer the sixteen-year-old girl he’d seen lying like this in the nurse’s office. She’d gained weight in the past ten years, but that wasn’t quite the right way of putting it. It was more like she’d filled out—the curves that her teenage body had hinted at were fully developed now. A lush, hourglass figure was outlined by her clingy top and tight skirt, cinched at the waist with a skinny, patent leather belt. The skirt had hitched up as he’d carried her and a set of stunning legs in black stockings were on display.

Part of him wished she was just another customer—someone who’d overindulged on chardonnay or stayed out in the sun too long. He could patch her up, get her on her feet again, then ask for her phone number. They could go on a date and have the kind of short-lived, intensely physical relationship he preferred.

He cursed under his breath. He shouldn’t have brought her to his bedroom—he wouldn’t have brought any other guest here.

“She’ll be all right,” Morris declared matter-of-factly, bringing Hugh back from his daydream. “I’d say her blood sugar’s a bit low. Just needs to eat and drink something when she comes ’round. I’ll get the kitchen to organize something.”

“Good,” Hugh said, feeling a genuine rush of relief at Morris’s words.

“You need me to hang around awhile?” Morris asked. There was a strange inflection in his words and Hugh looked at him sharply.

“Why?”

“No reason. Just askin’. You look like you—”

“Everything’s fine,” Hugh interrupted harshly. He had no desire to hear what Morris thought. Unusual, because Morris was one person whose opinion Hugh trusted implicitly.

Thankfully, Morris didn’t do more than twitch an eyebrow at Hugh’s imperious tone before giving a short nod acknowledging his boss’s bidding.

“You must be busy, Hugh. I’ll sit with her,” Patricia offered.

“No.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated to be once again losing his usual cool because of Zoe Waters. “I mean, it’s fine. Patricia, please go back and tell everyone that Zoe’s okay, but that it’s time for the party to come to an end.” He turned to his foreman. “Morris, once you’ve placed the order with the kitchen, show everyone out and then organize the staff to get the dining room cleared and reset before the dinner crowd arrives.” The world calmed a little as he gave orders and took control.

“Of course.” Patricia shuffled out with a pleased look on her face. Hugh knew she couldn’t wait to get back to the restaurant and have her little moment of fame as everyone hung on her news. Patricia meant well and did a lot for the town, but sometimes her tendency to gossip overwhelmed her common sense.

Morris gave a brusque nod and went off to carry out his orders.

Hugh pulled up a chair and sat heavily. He waited for a moment, watching Zoe’s breasts rise and fall, trying hard not to wonder whether they’d changed, too. He made his voice as unaffected as it could be. “It’s okay, they’re gone now.”

Zoe blinked, and after a moment shuffled on the bed a little, rearranging her skirt more modestly and propping her head up on the pillow. “How did you know?” she asked, not looking at him.

“You started holding on.” She’d been a dead weight until they’d reached the bedroom, then she’d stirred against him; the arm that had been thrown around his shoulders had gripped him tightly.

“Ah.” She didn’t sound surprised.

“It’s just like last time,” he said, not understanding the impulse.

She stiffened. “No, it’s not.”

One of his staff members appeared with a tray. “Mr. Lawson? Morris asked me to bring this up. Is the lady awake? He wanted to know if she was still unconscious.”

“I’m awake,” Zoe answered before Hugh could.

“Leave it and get out,” he ordered.

“Uh, fine.” The waiter looked startled at the harsh words from his usually friendly boss, put the tray at the end of the bed and beat a hasty retreat.

“Drink this.”

Hugh reached for the coffee mug on the tray and handed it to Zoe. She sat up and pushed a pillow behind her back, accepting the cup meekly.

She grimaced after taking a sip. “Ew, too sweet.”

“You need the sugar. Drink it.”

Zoe took another few sips and Hugh was relieved to see some color return to her cheeks. She reached for a plate of biscuits and nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie.

“I guess you’re right,” Hugh said, returning to the conversation that had been interrupted when the waiter had arrived.

Zoe’s forehead crinkled in a frown. Was she deliberately avoiding the topic?

“It’s not like school,” he said. “After all, we’re adults now. Grown up. Responsible for our own actions.”

Her frown deepened. Hugh himself wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say.

Zoe’s eyes dropped from his and she shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I’m fine, so I guess I’ll—” She threw her legs over the side of the bed and began to stand up, staggering almost as soon as she was on her feet.

Hugh jumped up and put a restraining arm around her shoulders. Now he knew exactly what he wanted to say. “Don’t be an idiot. You fainted a minute ago. Sit down.” He pushed her back down, but he didn’t need to use much force. She was trembling and as weak as a kitten. Once she was leaning against the pillows again, she drew a shaky breath.

Hugh tugged his chair closer to the bed and sat. Anxiety was still unsettling his gut, although he couldn’t put his finger on why.

She managed a weak, mocking laugh. “Don’t worry, Hugh, I’m not about to throw a tantrum or pull out a razor blade.”

He cursed himself for being so easy to read. But then, to her, he always had been. He’d just thought he’d learned to hide his inner thoughts better in the intervening years. “I want…I want you to be okay,” he finished lamely.

She smiled then, sad and sweet. “You always were too nice,” she said, almost to herself.

“Not really,” he said.

She studied him curiously for a while and Hugh couldn’t bring himself to look away. If it was possible for ten years of hurt to be conveyed in someone’s eyes, then Zoe had mastered it.

When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Hugh, it was all a long time ago. We’re both very different people now.”

He certainly hoped so. They were going to have to find a way to deal with each other without this massive lump of history coming between them. He wanted to buy Waterford—that meant discussions, negotiations, meetings. Interactions he intended to conduct as an adult, not an angry and broken-hearted seventeen-year-old.

But despite his best intentions, a flash of fury from back then revived itself somewhere deep inside him. It was wrong, so wrong, to be angry with someone for something they couldn’t control. Zoe had been sick. Mental illness was a disease just like cancer—intellectually he understood that. Emotionally, the idea that she’d tried to take her life again after she’d promised…

“Mack told me you were lucky to survive,” he said. So much for leaving the past in the past.

Her eyes became glassy. Not with tears, but with a sadness that was beyond crying. “That’s not quite true. It took a few weeks to recover, but I was eventually okay—healthwise.”

He noted her modifier, didn’t know what to say about it. “Good. I’m, uh, glad to hear it.” Cringe. Hugh scrubbed a hand across his mouth. His business goals evaporated. Suddenly, more than anything, he needed to talk about it. Let her know how hard it had been on him—how doing the right thing had felt like the worst thing possible. He wasn’t sure if talking would make it any better, but it would be something.

“Zoe? I…” He blew out a breath. “Christ, this is hard.”

“Don’t say it.” She looked almost…frightened.

Of what? “What?”

She looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting together. “Don’t apologize. I couldn’t bear it. Not now.”

Apologize? No, that wasn’t what he’d been about to do. “But I—”

She didn’t let him finish. “It’s too late,” she said simply.

His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I know.” She was right. They should leave it alone.

A thick silence fell over the room.

“Why?” Her voice was barely more than a breath.

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you come for me? I called so many times, wrote letters when my emails to your account bounced…”

He ignored the email comment—he’d deactivated his account on instruction from his father and Mack. But letters? “I didn’t get any letters.”

“You didn’t…” She sighed heavily. “Your dad.”

Hugh nodded. Pete Lawson would have made sure that any mail from Zoe didn’t reach Hugh. He’d probably thought he was helping. “Yeah, I guess.”

“But I called.” Her voice held no accusation; it was a simple statement of fact.

“I know. But, Zoe, I was doing what I thought was best. They told me it would be better for your recovery if I didn’t speak to you. And…” Oh, this was hard. On a scale of one to ten, this sucked pole.

“You still believed what Jason told you.”

It sounded so juvenile now. Hell, it had been juvenile at the time, he’d just been too young to realize it.

“What is Jason up to these days?” Zoe asked mildly.

“Accountant. Married, with a kid, I think. Lives in Melbourne. I don’t see him much. He came out here a couple of years ago to visit the winery—that was probably the last time.”

“You guys were best friends.”

“Yeah.” The friendship hadn’t survived Zoe’s betrayal—fictional or otherwise. And it certainly hadn’t survived Hugh’s guilt. He and Jason had stopped being friends the day after Zoe’s collapse.

“I didn’t, you know. Not with him. Not with anyone else when we were together. Just in case you were still wondering.” She sounded so calm.

Hugh managed a tight smile. “I wasn’t.” Although, if he was honest he’d never been completely sure. Jason was full of shit, but Zoe had earned her bad-girl reputation. And she’d been the first—and only—girl Hugh had lost his heart to. Even the idea of her infidelity had been enough to send a blood haze over his vision. His teenage rage had been a scary thing—to both himself and Zoe, he was sure.

“But you were fine,” he said, deliberately not making it a question, ready for this conversation to end. Zoe’s still countenance and her calm, monotone voice were becoming unnerving.

She gave a strange, bleak laugh. “Oh, I don’t think I was ever fine again, actually. But I get by.”

Ah, shit. Had he intended this conversation to make him feel better? Because that hadn’t happened so far.

“Did you cut yourself again? Or was it something else?” The question blurted itself out without Hugh’s conscious permission. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

For the first time, her Stepford-wife-like composure seemed to slip. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Zoe sat up straighter in bed. “No, no. This is important. Why did you ask that?”

Hugh sighed what felt like his hundredth sigh for the day. He kicked himself yet again for starting down this path in the first place. “I guess…I guess I asked because it’s been bothering me, not knowing what you’d done.” That was part of it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the true source of his unease about Zoe’s disappearance. Let alone express it.

She swung her legs over the bed to sit up, her face a picture of the kind of deadly seriousness that had always made Hugh’s heart pound. She’d worn that expression when she’d talked about her plans to get away from Tangawarra, from her grandfather, when she’d talked about her first suicide attempt at thirteen, when she’d told him she loved him.

“Hugh—we had a fight, right?”

“Yeah.” Ten years ago and he still remembered it in high definition. Jason had just dropped his bombshell. Then Zoe walked up, all urgent and panicked looking. I need to talk to you. Oh, he’d needed to talk to her, too. He’d needed to yell. The fight had been momentous. Zoe had denied everything so vehemently she’d worked herself into hysterics.

“And then you passed out.”

“You took me to the nurse.”

Hugh nodded. “And then, after Mack took you home, you…you did it again. He wouldn’t tell me how. But I guess I figured…” He gestured towards her wrists.

Zoe shook her head, eyes wide. “Oh, no.”

The ground shifted under Hugh’s feet at her expression. “What?” he asked nervously.

“Is that what Mack told you? That I tried to kill myself again?”

The weird anxiety in Hugh’s belly stepped into high gear. He had a feeling that whatever was coming, it wasn’t going to be good. “That’s what both Mack and my father told me.” He paused. “You didn’t?” he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Oh, Hugh. Mack sent me away because I was pregnant.”

* * *

SHOCKMADETHETRUTH come tumbling out before Zoe could reel it in. The full weight of the grief and distress of those twelve months after she’d been banished from Tangawarra crashed down on her all over again. And Hugh hadn’t even known?

“Pregnant?” Hugh blurted. He was gripping the seat of his chair as if he might fall off.

She couldn’t speak, so simply nodded. A hot tear spilled down her cheek. It surprised her so much she swiped at it and stared at the telltale moisture on her fingertip. Tears? Really? An edge of panic rose inside her. She couldn’t cry. Not now. Not ever. Because if she did, Zoe genuinely feared she might not be able to stop.

“What? But…what?” His eyes popped as his voice rose.

She struggled to calm her ragged breathing, blinked up at the ceiling to force the treacherous tears away. “You didn’t know.” It wasn’t a question.

If someone had told her that a five-minute conversation could shatter some of the foundations on which she’d built her life, Zoe would never have believed them. But here she was….

“Of course I didn’t know.” His anger began to surface again, knuckles white against the chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

“I tried!” she protested. “What do you think I needed to talk to you about that day? But you started in on me about cheating on you with Jason. You didn’t give me a chance and I…”

She threw her hands in the air at the futility of at all. Too late. It was all just far too late.

That last day was a blur. She’d fainted at school after working herself into a state arguing with Hugh. Hugh, ever proper, had carried her to the nurse’s office. After he’d gone back to class, the nurse—a stern, severe woman—had asked a lot of questions. Zoe’s confession prompted the scowling woman to make Zoe take a pregnancy test, confirming her own suspicions. Then her grandfather had been called in and she’d been taken home, the older man stony silent in the car beside her.

That night, Mack locked Zoe in her bedroom, the first time he’d ever resorted to such a measure, even though she’d given him plenty of reasons before then. She could have climbed out the window if she’d wanted, but fear kept her captive.

Instead she lay there, rigid with terror, listening to her grandfather make phone call after phone call. Then Hugh’s father arrived and the two men had spoken, too quietly for Zoe to overhear. Strange, because usually they yelled at each other, if they spoke at all.

The following morning Mack made her pack a bag as she sobbed her protest, and next thing she knew she was on the train to Sydney. Her great-aunt Maureen’s disgust and heavily worn martyrdom had been waiting on the platform for her when she arrived.

“Mack and my father told me you went to a…to somewhere to get psychiatric care,” Hugh muttered, almost to himself. “And then you were going to a girls’ school in Sydney that was designed to help girls like…” He trailed off. When he spoke again his voice was firmer. “They told me that after you recovered you ran away, overseas.”

“Well, that bit was true.” Why the lies? The sweet tea and chocolatey biscuit she’d consumed formed a solid ball in her stomach. “That must have been the story Mack and your dad agreed on. What on earth were they thinking?” She didn’t understand how Mack or Pete Lawson could think a suicide attempt less scandalous than a teenage pregnancy.

Hugh still looked stunned. “The suicide part of it was a secret—they told everyone else you went to a girls’ school in Sydney. But why would they tell me you tried to kill yourself?”

Zoe shrugged, just as baffled as he appeared, still too deeply in shock to reason out past motivations.

“Pregnant,” Hugh said again. His eyebrows drew together and he leaned forward. “Does this mean you…I…we have…” He broke off and swallowed hard. “Where’s the child?”

His voice was strangled and Zoe couldn’t interpret the look in his eyes. Panic? Longing? Fear?

Zoe’s mouth compressed in a tight line. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Hugh. There’s no illegitimate Lawson offspring running around out there, waiting to make a claim on your fortune.” It took every ounce of her dwindling strength to get the next words out without shattering into tiny pieces. “Our baby died.”

Hugh recoiled as if she’d slapped him, but just as quickly his face shuttered down into its usual mask of impenetrable cool.

Zoe battled against a rising tide of panic. Breaking down now—or ever—would be of no help, but this conversation had her feeling like she was on the edge of a very high precipice. What she had to do was get through the next few weeks then sell Waterford and get the hell out of town. She’d endeavor to do that with as little contact with anyone else as possible.

“I can’t believe they lied to me. I can’t believe they kept us apart,” he said under his breath.

Hugh stood and paced over to the French doors that led out to a small terrace and showcased the vines beyond. His impressive silhouette made something inside Zoe clench.

“I know why Mack and my father came up with that story,” he said bitterly. “They knew I’d go after you,” he added more quietly.

Why didn’t you? A tiny, traitorous voice inside Zoe wanted to wail. Why didn’t you come for me when I needed you most? You weren’t there when our beautiful daughter was born, when she was laid in my arms, not breathing, but exquisitely perfect.

When I was so alone.

The dangerous thoughts made her shudder, even as she shook her head in quiet denial. She’d known, by then—even not knowing what lies he’d been told—that he wouldn’t come. After her unanswered calls, after her desperate, unsuccessful attempts to reach him. If there was one thing she’d already learned, it was that even in her most desperate hour, the only person she could rely on was herself.

And by then, she’d reached a kind of peace with his silence. In a way, it was almost better that she’d never spoken to him—because at least then she could secretly cling to the hope that he might come—than to know he’d rejected her, just as her grandfather had told her he would.

Hugh stood ramrod straight. “Your disappearance was big gossip at school for a while, as you can imagine. I kept up the pretense, just said you were sent to a girls’ school in Sydney. Everyone was speculating on the reasons.” He barked a short, black laugh. “No one went with ‘pregnant,’ though.”

“No, I guess they didn’t. According to what I heard out there, most people were betting on jail.” She tried to sound as if it didn’t matter, but knew she failed. It was time to get out of here—away from this hellish reminiscing.

Zoe stood up gingerly, testing her weight, but the dizziness had passed.

Hugh didn’t so much as turn around to see if she was okay.

She swallowed hard and willed her voice not to waver. “Thank you for the first aid and thank you for the wake, although I know Mack is turning in his grave at the very idea.”

Hugh could have been carved from granite. He acknowledged her thanks with a grunt. Zoe wasn’t sure what to do. A silly, juvenile part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms and sob, to cry with him over the loss of their child, to have him hold her again, to be surrounded by his scent and cradled in his protective embrace. A stupid instinct—it wouldn’t change anything.

She stared for a moment at his frozen posture. What was going through his mind right now? She’d been living with the knowledge for ten years and the sharp edges were as jagged as ever. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have it dumped in one blow.

He deserved some comfort.

Pity she had none to give.

Zoe slipped her still-aching toes into her stilettos and made for the door. She wanted to get out before everyone left, beg someone to give her a lift back to Waterford. There was no way she could cope being in that little sports car with Hugh again.