Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2016 Books 1-4 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 24

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ANGELOS WATCHED AS Talia slowly closed the book and turned to him, her smile sliding off her face, her eyes shadowing, her shoulders starting to hunch. Guilt. That was what was written on her face, all over her body, in bold, stark letters. Guilt.

‘Well?’ he bit out. ‘Do you have an answer?’ He didn’t even know what to think, how to process what she had said. How could Talia possibly know about Xanthe’s precious book? And what on earth had she meant, he really did have it? Suspicions formed on the horizon of his mind, a boiling black cloud of fear and anger that was moving closer, drowning out all rational thought. ‘Why can’t you explain it to me?’

‘I can,’ she said. Her voice sounded small and she was clutching the book to her chest.

‘Put down the book,’ Angelos barked out, driven by a deep and overwhelming emotion he couldn’t name; he only felt himself trapped in its clutches. ‘Don’t you dare touch it.’

Talia’s gaze widened and carefully she returned the book to his bedside table. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I.’ Angelos rolled out of bed, swearing under his breath as he reached for his clothes.

‘Angelos, please. Don’t...’

‘Don’t what? Ask questions? Demand answers? Why do I feel like there is something you are not telling me? Something big?’

‘There is,’ she admitted, and her words were like a hammer blow to his fragile, taped-together heart. Everything inside him shattered. She leaned forward, kneading the sheet between her fingers, her golden-brown hair falling over her freckled shoulders, making him desire her even now, a realisation that sent disgust following hard after. ‘But, Angelos, please,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t have to be big.’

‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,’ he snapped, and yanked on his trousers.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘If you could just see...’

‘See what? That you lied to me?’ He grabbed his shirt and thrust his arms through the sleeves. ‘Because that’s what you did, isn’t it?’ He pointed to the book lying on the bedside table, the book his wife had cherished. ‘How did you know about that book?’

Talia swallowed hard, the muscles jerking in her slender throat. ‘My grandfather once owned it. It was a treasured possession of his.’

‘Another lie,’ Angelos dismissed. ‘That book has been in my wife’s family for generations.’ She paled at that and he gave a hard, derisive laugh. ‘So what is it really, Talia? Are you after the book because it’s valuable?’

She drew back in shock. ‘Valuable? You think I’m after your money?’

‘The book has been valued at fifty thousand pounds. It’s an extremely rare edition.’

‘I don’t want or need your money,’ she spat. ‘My grandfather is Giovanni Di Sione, of Di Sione Shipping—’

‘Impressive,’ Angelos cut across her, his voice a furious drawl. ‘Other things you didn’t feel you needed to tell me.’

‘You didn’t ask,’ Talia protested. ‘I mentioned my grandfather’s estate...’

Of course she had. And looking back, Angelos realised he’d known she was from money. The clues she’d dropped about the estate, her studio, the travelling she’d done. Of course she was rich.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he stated flatly. ‘I don’t care about your grandfather or his estate.’

‘But it’s because of my grandfather that I was looking for that book,’ Talia said quietly. She was clutching handfuls of sheet in her fists, her knuckles as blazing white against the dark silk. ‘It did belong to him, Angelos, a long time ago. It was very precious to him.’

‘The book belonged to my wife’s grandmother,’ Angelos told her. ‘She was a lady’s maid for a duchess on Isola d’Oro. The duchess gave it to her as a parting gift.’

Talia frowned, shaking her head slowly. ‘I don’t understand. My grandfather is from Italy. But I know it was his. He told me about the inscription on the front page.’

‘“Dearest Lucia, For ever in my heart, always. B.A.”’ Angelos turned away abruptly, not wanting Talia to see the expression on his face. Not wanting to feel the pain that rose up in him. He and Xanthe had said the same thing to each other. For ever in our hearts, always. ‘My wife loved that book,’ he said tonelessly. ‘It was her prized possession. She kept it on her bedside table. It was the only thing saved from the fire, and that only because I’d had it in the safe in my office. I’d just had it valued for insurance. I was going to return it to Xanthe that night.’ Talia made a small, abject sound, and feeling cold and emotionless now, Angelos turned around. ‘And you want to what? Buy it off me?’

‘My grandfather asked me to find it for him,’ Talia said in a small voice. ‘I didn’t realise how important it was to you...’

‘How did you trace it to me?’ Angelos asked. ‘Out of interest?’

‘I found a website dealing in finding rare books. Someone from Mena Consultancy had put a query forth about other books by the same poet.’

‘Ah, yes.’ His gut soured as he remembered. ‘I tried to find a second book for my wife’s birthday, years ago.’ He shook his head. ‘And you came all the way here for that.’

‘Yes...’

‘That’s why you were in my office in the first place,’ he surmised. Realisation after realisation thudded sickly through him. ‘Not to apply for the nanny position as I’d assumed.’

‘No, but—’

‘And you didn’t see fit to tell me? You could have cleared up my misunderstanding in minutes. In seconds.’

‘I know, but it was difficult. I was tired and overwhelmed by travelling all that way, and then when I realised I could help Sofia...’

‘And snoop around for the book as well, no doubt.’

Talia swallowed, a gulping motion. ‘Not snoop, but yes, I thought I’d be able to look...’

‘That’s why you asked me about poetry on the boat, isn’t it?’ Angelos said with a disgusted shake of his head. ‘I thought it an odd question, but I believed you were just trying to get to know me.’ The exposure that admission caused, the realisation that he’d wanted her to get to know him, had him turning away.

‘I was trying to get to know you,’ Talia whispered. ‘I wanted—’

‘Enough.’ Angelos slashed his hand through the air. ‘Enough. I can’t bear to hear any more of your pathetic excuses. Leave me.’ He turned around, watched as tears filled her eyes and her fingers trembled on the sheet.

‘Angelos, please. I know I should have said something earlier, but I was starting to care about Sofia, about you, and it seemed so difficult to admit—’

‘Go,’ Angelos roared, and he turned around, unable to face her. He heard her rise from the bed and scramble for her clothes, and then the soft, quick tread of her feet and the click of the door closing.

He let out a shuddering sigh and raked his hands through his hair, grief and guilt and deep, deep regret coursing through him in an unbearable torrent. He’d trusted her. He’d told her more than he’d told anyone, even Xanthe. Xanthe hadn’t wanted to know about his deprived childhood, the hard lessons he’d learned. Yet Talia had seemed interested, sympathetic, kind. All of it an act to get what she wanted.

A remote part of him insisted he was being unfair, judging Talia so harshly. He could understand why she’d be reluctant to speak up, and yet...

She’d lied. And she would be leaving anyway. The night they’d shared together, and so much more than a single, simple night, had been a mistake. That much Angelos knew with leaden certainty.

* * *

Talia crept into her bed and lay there shivering despite the sultry night air. She’d ruined everything by not coming clean to Angelos. Why hadn’t she told him about her grandfather and the wretched book earlier? The answer was depressingly obvious. Because she’d been afraid. Afraid of Angelos’s anger, of losing what they had together. And so she’d waited, and now she’d lost so much more.

But perhaps she’d never had it to begin with. She thought of the grief and pain she’d seen so nakedly on Angelos’s face. He’d loved his wife. Perhaps he still loved her. Perhaps she and Angelos had never had even a whisper of a chance of a future together.

Eventually Talia drifted into a restless doze, only to wake as dawn’s pale grey light filtered through the shutters. She listened to the birdsong and the gentle shooshing of the waves on the beach and knew she had only one choice. She’d have to leave. Better to leave than be fired, which Angelos surely intended to do, and she couldn’t endure another week of being with Angelos and having him hate her. Knowing she’d wrecked any hope of a future together.

Sofia’s new nanny would arrive in a matter of days, and Talia knew she would be leaving the girl in good hands. Perhaps Angelos could have a few days alone with his daughter, or Maria could manage. She wouldn’t be leaving anyone in the lurch if she went now, a thought that still managed to hurt her. She wasn’t needed, not really.

With a leaden heart she showered and dressed and then packed her few possessions. The lovely silk Angelos had bought on Naxos she left, still in its paper wrappings. Perhaps he could have a dress made for Sofia.

Downstairs she went directly to Angelos’s study and knocked on the door. His terse, ‘Enter,’ had her insides trembling but she lifted her chin, opened the door and walked in.

‘Yes?’ Angelos’s cold stare was unwelcoming, his lips compressed into a hard line. It seemed incredible to Talia that last night he’d held her in his arms, she’d drawn him into her body. She’d been happier than she’d ever been before.

She blinked the images away and forced herself to speak. ‘I thought it best if I leave. Your new nanny is coming soon anyway, and I’m sure Maria can manage on her own for a little while, or perhaps you and Sofia can spend some more time together. But I think I’ll just be...in the way.’

Angelos didn’t answer and Talia forced herself not to look away from the cold, assessing stare that reminded her so painfully of the man she’d first met, back in Athens.

‘Very well,’ he finally answered tonelessly. ‘I will arrange for the helicopter to pick you up this afternoon.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

‘You will manage?’ Angelos asked. ‘In the helicopter?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ Tears sprang to her eyes at the realisation that even now Angelos was concerned for her. It almost made her want to stay, to try... ‘Angelos...’ she began, and he looked up from his laptop screen.

‘There is nothing more to say.’ He cut her off in a clipped voice. ‘You may say your goodbyes to Sofia.’

Swallowing hard she nodded and turned from the room.

Her farewell to Sofia was awful, worse than anything Talia could have imagined.

‘But you stay,’ Sofia exclaimed as tears started in her eyes. ‘Stay. Parakalo.’ Not having the English to say more, the little girl simply stared at Talia, imploring her with her eyes just as she had back in Athens. This time Talia had to refuse.

‘I can write,’ she said, miming the action. ‘Emails and letters.’ Although she wondered if Angelos would allow it. ‘Take care, Sofia. S’agapo.’

‘I love you too,’ Sofia answered in English, and then broke down into noisy tears.

Two hours later Talia walked alone from the villa, her suitcase in hand, to the waiting helicopter. She felt emotionless and empty now, and she clambered up into the helicopter without so much as a twinge of fear.

Heartbreak trumped claustrophobia perhaps, she acknowledged as she sat down and buckled herself in. The helicopter lifted off, and no one came to a window or door to say goodbye. Talia watched the island of Kallos grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear over the endless blue horizon.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later she was back on her grandfather’s estate, the muggy warmth of a mid-August afternoon oppressive after Kallos’s dry heat and sea breezes.

The house was quiet as she entered, the rooms seeming to echo with silence all around her. She let out a long sigh, feeling both emotional and physical exhaustion in every muscle and sinew.

‘Miss Talia!’ Alma, her grandfather’s housekeeper, came bustling towards her. ‘You’re back. You sent no word.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t have time.’

‘It’s all right, of course,’ Alma assured her. ‘Your grandfather will be so pleased to have you back home.’

‘How is he?’ Talia asked. She’d been in regular email contact with Giovanni, but she knew he would never mention any health concerns to her, especially when she was so far away.

‘Tired,’ Alma said with a small, sad smile. ‘But in good spirits. He’s upstairs in his usual room. He’s just woken up, if you’d like to see him. Dante and Willow are here as well.’

Talia knew she’d have to tell Giovanni that she had been unsuccessful in retrieving his book, and she decided it would be better to get it over with sooner rather than later, and so with a nod she headed upstairs.

Giovanni was in a small sitting room that adjoined his bedroom, a blanket over his legs despite the heat, frowning as he clicked the remote control of the TV.

He glanced over as she opened the door, his wrinkled face breaking into a huge smile as he caught sight of her. ‘Talia, cara! You have returned.’ He held out his arms and Talia went to him, kissing his withered cheek and embracing him lightly before she sat down across from his chair. ‘You do not look happy, cara,’ Giovanni said. ‘What has happened?’

‘I wasn’t able to get your book, Nonno. I’m sorry.’

Giovanni didn’t answer for a moment; he simply stared at her, his gaze almost as assessing as Angelos’s had been. ‘But you tried, yes?’ he finally said, and she nodded.

‘Yes. And I did find it. But the book is very special to its current owner. It belonged to his late wife.’

‘Did it?’ Giovanni nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair.

‘Apparently her grandmother was a lady’s maid to a duchess on some island. The duchess gave it to her as a parting gift.’

‘Ah. I see.’ Giovanni closed his eyes briefly, and Talia wondered what he wasn’t saying. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘It is no matter, Talia. But I don’t think this unhappiness I see in you comes simply from not being successful in the task I set you.’ He opened his eyes and gazed at her with kind shrewdness. ‘Does it?’

‘No,’ she confessed, and couldn’t manage any more. Her throat had gone tight and she blinked rapidly.

‘Ah, Talia. I wanted you to see more of the world, to kindle the spark I know still lives in you for adventure, for life. But I fear I quenched it instead.’

‘You didn’t, Nonno,’ Talia assured him. ‘It’s only...living is hard sometimes. Feeling everything so much. You know?’

‘Yes.’ He smiled at her sadly and then reached out to clasp her hand. ‘I know.’

* * *

Days passed by and Talia didn’t leave the estate. She walked its manicured grounds, reacquainting herself with its beauty even as she yearned for the rocky hills and white sand beaches of Kallos. She missed Angelos and Sofia with an intensity that was like a physical pain; it kept her from eating and sleeping, leaving her hollow-eyed and gaunt.

Alma scolded her and tried to ply her with food and Talia attempted a few meals to appease the concerned housekeeper, but she couldn’t stave off the sorrow that swamped her soul.

Finally, at the end of August, Giovanni confronted her. It had been two long weeks since she’d left Kallos, and she’d done no more than drag herself through each day.

‘Cara, I can tell you are hurting,’ Giovanni said without preamble. ‘And I recognise the hurt it is. You are heartbroken.’

Talia managed a wobbly smile at her grandfather’s astuteness. ‘Maybe. I’ve never known what that feels like before.’

‘I did not send you away to break your heart,’ Giovanni said sternly. ‘I sent you away to discover it again. This will not do, Talia. You must live—and love—once more.’

Talia nodded wearily. ‘I want to, Nonno, but...’

‘But nothing. I have arranged for a local gallery to showcase your work in two weeks’ time.’

Talia’s mouth dropped open. ‘What...’

‘I know you have resisted such public appearances before, but you know very well that many galleries have clamoured for your work. Every year they ask. It is time for you to appease them, Talia. It is time for you to show yourself to the world.’