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‘I think you’re rewriting history as much as the press do,’ she said.
Which brought them back to their current situation with an unwelcome thud. Ben jerked his gaze away from her blouse and those tempting little buttons. ‘I’m sorry for losing my temper and accusing you unfairly,’ Ben said. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. But we can’t have this,’ he continued, glancing down at the newspapers. ‘If the camp receives negative local press before it even starts, it could affect parents’ decisions to send their children, not to mention some of the camp’s endorsements.’ He glanced up, saw she looked serious now too, and maybe even a little sad. ‘I know you think I’m doing this as some sort of PR stunt—’
‘I don’t really,’ she said quietly.
‘The truth is,’ Ben said, the words sounding and feeling awkward, ‘I’m doing it for the children. Well, myself and the children. I—I used to love playing sport. It gave me a great sense of confidence and—and control when I needed it most, and I want to share that with others, with children who might never have an opportunity to kick a football or run around the pitch.’ He gave a small laugh, feeling oddly vulnerable at having shared so much. He knew to her it must sound like a small thing, but it felt like his very soul.
‘I understand,’ Natalia assured him with one of her lightning smiles. ‘The next time you ask me out for a drink, I’ll say no.’
He let out a little laugh. Natalia never let up, never admitted defeat. He liked that, he realised. Once again he wondered about the woman underneath the party-princess, publicity-seeking facade. Was she there? Was she real? And did he want her to be? ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘Fair enough. Now we really ought to do some proper work. I’m sure Francesca has some more photocopying or filing for you to do.’
‘Right,’ Natalia said. Her tone had turned brittle again, all traces of that odd moment of intimacy vanished. ‘I’m on the job,’ she said, giving him a mock salute, and left the room with Ben still staring after her, wondering if he’d ever understand her…and why he wanted to.
Frowning, he glanced at the papers again, and saw a few inches of print he hadn’t noticed before. Jackson’s Prodigal Daughter Parties with the Earl?
His frown deepened as he pulled the papers towards him and scanned the few lines. Apparently his stepsister Angel Tilson had left the engagement party last weekend with the Earl of Pemberton. Ben didn’t know him, but from the blurry photograph he looked dark, menacing, and rich. What could Angel possibly be up to this time?
Still frowning, he reached for his mobile and punched in his sister’s number. Although he wasn’t related by blood to Angel, his father’s second wife’s daughter from a previous relationship, he still felt responsible for her. Ben knew Angel had never really felt part of the boisterous Jackson clan. Tough and street-wise, she’d always been determined to make it on her own.
She answered the phone after several rings. ‘Big brother,’ she greeted him in a drawl, ‘what new worry has you ringing me?’
Ben smiled in spite of his concern. Angel knew him well. So did Natalia. Pushing that uncomfortable thought aside, he glanced at the paper in front of him. ‘What are you doing with the Earl of Pemberton, Angel?’
‘Having a blast,’ she told him, ‘of course. Had your daily dose of the tabloids, Ben? Why don’t you just stop reading those rags?’
‘Because I like to know what’s going on in my own family.’
‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘You know I do.’
She sighed, and the sad sound pulled at Ben’s heart. He knew many were quick to assume Angel was just like her mother, social-climbing or even money-grubbing. Few tried to see beneath her streetwise facade, but Ben thought he did. He tried to know the woman underneath all the wisecracks, because he sensed she was both courageous and vulnerable.
