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He glanced at her. There was amusement in his eyes. ‘Am I to take it that you’ve been making enquiries about me in return?’ he asked.
Damn, she thought, I walked into that one!
‘One of my fellow models the other evening at the charity show mentioned it,’ she replied, making her voice as unconcerned as she could.
Did she, now? Rafael thought. And does that mean that you’d asked her? A ripple of satisfaction went through him. She was not as studiedly indifferent to him as she was trying to make out. How long, he wondered, before she finally admitted that? Before she finally started to lower her guard to him?
But whenever that happened—and it would happen; he had set his mind to it, and nothing in the intervening days since seeing her walk down that marble staircase, captivating him with her opalescent beauty, had changed his mind on that—it was not happening now.
Her guard was sky-high. A guard consisting of polite attentiveness and the kind of impersonal conversation she could have with anyone at all. Well, he reminded himself, it was better than her doing her disappearing act again, and he would make the most of it.
‘She was a little out,’ he answered. ‘My country of origin is Maragua, which is in Central America.’
He could see her give a little frown in the passing street lights as the car drew out into Park Lane.
‘I thought Managua was the capital of Nicaragua?’ she commented.
‘It is. Which is why my country, Maragua, is so often overlooked. It’s very small—hardly larger than El Salvador—and similarly has only a Pacific coastline.’
‘I don’t think I’ve really ever heard of it,’ Celeste said apologetically.
‘De nada—not many Europeans have,’ he said. ‘Which, overall, is probably a good thing.’ His voice was edged. ‘After all, the reason most developing countries are known about in the Western world is their wars and disasters! Fortunately we have few—though like all Pacific Rim countries we are subject to earthquakes.’
‘Because the Pacific Ocean’s floor is moving under the continental plates,’ she acknowledged. ‘Does that mean you have volcanoes, too?’
He nodded his head. ‘One or two—fortunately inactive.’ He paused. ‘Your geology is as good as your astronomy, it seems.’
His eyes rested on her expectantly. He felt another ripple of satisfaction. Beauty, even so notable as hers, was one thing, but it was inadequate on its own. Her stargazing had told him that she was informed and intelligent, and here was further proof.
‘I like plate tectonics,’ she answered. ‘It makes sense of so much.’
‘The whole planet earth is a living jigsaw—endlessly changing, endlessly renewing itself.’ Rafael paused. ‘I find that quite encouraging. If even the ground beneath our feet can change, then so can we. We can make ourselves anew.’
She looked at him. Her eyes flickered. His words echoed in her head. We can make ourselves anew.
For just a second she could feel something flare inside her—then it died. Crushed by the weight of the past. The past that was always her present. And her future...the only future possible for her.
Feeling a stone suddenly in her chest, she turned her head to look out of the car window. They had reached Hyde Park Corner and were turning into the park now.
Rafael indicated with his hand. ‘What is that enormous house there, do you know?’ he asked. He wanted her to keep talking to him—not slip away into that separate world she inhabited, shutting him out.
But she answered readily enough. ‘Oh, that’s Apsley House,’ she said. ‘It’s the London home of the Duke of Wellington—you know, the Battle of Waterloo. Well, his descendants anyway. It’s always known as Number One, London. I suppose it’s because it’s the premier private residence in London.’
