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‘It’s all right,’ Nico said, correctly reading her thoughts. ‘I wanted some privacy for our talk. Coffee? Or something stronger?’
‘Seeing as I’m driving, I’ll have coffee, thank you. Instant will be fine.’ She didn’t want to hang around while he faffed with the percolator. She wanted to get this conversation over with and return to the privacy of her hotel room and lick her wounds.
While he made their drinks she could not help but gaze at him. He turned his head and caught her staring.
Something intangible yet very real passed between them—something that pulled and tugged inside her. He had lost weight. She was certain of it.
‘How are you? I mean really?’ she asked softly.
His lips curved into a rueful smile. ‘Better now you’re here.’
Before she could react to that answer, he’d turned back and poured the boiling water into cups, giving both a vigorous stir.
He picked them up and walked past her. ‘Let’s go and sit in the living room.’
Rosa took her usual seat on the far sofa and waited for Nico to take his usual seat opposite, with the coffee table dividing them. Instead, after setting their drinks down, he took the armchair closest to her.
‘How did the funeral go?’ It was something she had wanted to ask for days, but as he had led all the conversations between them since and kept them on a strict work footing, the moment had never felt right. She half expected him to dismiss the question now and dive straight into their divorce talks.
‘It was very nice,’ he said, before adding heavily, ‘If a funeral can ever be described as nice. A lot of people came.’ His eyes lightened at the reminiscence. ‘The church was full of drunks. At one point I thought they would throw empty bottles instead of dirt onto the coffin.’
She snickered before she could stop herself, relieved he could still find some sunshine at such an awful time. ‘I really am sorry.’
‘I know you are. But he is happy now. He’s where he’s wanted to be for over three decades. With my mother.’ He sighed heavily and reached for his coffee. ‘When I was sorting through his stuff I discovered boxes he had kept that I did not know existed. They were full of love letters and mementoes, all between him and my mother.’
Resting his elbows on his knees, he took a sip of the scalding coffee.
‘I also found the diary he kept for the first few years after she died. It made illuminating reading. All my life I assumed he drank out of boredom. I knew he was an alcoholic, but I always thought the root cause of it...’ He shook his head. ‘He never got over her death. He drank to numb the pain. Raising me was the only thing that got him out of bed in the morning.’
Rosa sat ramrod-straight, hardly daring to breathe, afraid to utter a word. Despite their impending divorce, Nico was sharing confidences out of choice. A huge part of her yearned to wrap her arms around him, hold him close and soothe all his pain away.
He fixed his beautiful, tired green eyes on her and smiled. ‘Don’t be sad for him, or for me. He is with her now, and there is no other place he would rather be. He left this world happy his only son had settled. His only regret—my only regret—was that he never got to meet you.’
He must have seen the shock she was not quick enough to hide. ‘I told him all about you—about your intelligence and your sense of fair play and your refusal to judge people.’ His lips quirked. ‘Unless they look like supermodels.’ His features straightened, his eyes penetrating. ‘I never cared to think of the reasons why you shied away from women like that. I was so self-absorbed at the beginning of our marriage it never occurred to me there was an underlying reason for your insecurity.’
‘Other than being an unremarkable frump?’ she couldn’t resist retorting, thrown completely off-balance at this turn in the conversation.
Her equilibrium was knocked further off-kilter when he reached over and pressed a warm hand to her neck. ‘If it takes the rest of my life I swear one day you will look in the mirror and see the beauty my eyes see when they look at you.’
‘You don’t have to try and sweet-talk me,’ she said, edging away from him. ‘Not any more.’
‘I’m not trying to sweet-talk you.’
‘Then what are you doing?’
He closed his eyes, then placed his cup on the table and moved to the sofa next to her, his thigh brushing against hers. When he spoke, his voice was low. ‘I need to ask you something and I want you to promise to tell me the truth.’ He grabbed her hand and placed it on his lap. ‘Promise me the truth, Rosa.’
