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‘Why?’ She turned and Jaye shivered in her steady gaze. ‘What did he do?’
‘He was a campaigner against social injustice, at a time when no one thought about the sufferings of working people. He put his principles into practice, here on the estate.’
‘You’re very lucky, to have someone like that in your family.’
That was what his father had taught Jaye. When he’d been barely old enough to understand, his father had told him that this collection of paintings was a reminder of the choices that he could make in his own life.
‘We all have someone in our family we can look up to, don’t we?’
‘No. We don’t.’ Megan was shaking her head, quirking her mouth down.
If anything was possible, surely Jaye could ask her what made her so sure of that. But he didn’t dare.
‘I’m very lucky, then. My father’s always been someone I could look up to.’
‘Yes, you are.’ She puffed out a breath, as if whatever was on her mind didn’t matter so much after all, and she may as well say it. ‘Me and my father aren’t close, and that suits me fine. He had an affair with my mother—he was married and she was his secretary. I’m his awkward little secret.’
There was a weary defiance in her tone, as if she were challenging him to think whatever he liked. It occurred to Jaye that saying he was sorry to hear it would be quite the wrong thing to do.
‘Not so much of the little, I think...’
She stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly laughed. ‘Thank you. I don’t consider myself as little either, although I wouldn’t be surprised if my father did. He has a multi-million-pound business to run and much bigger fish to fry.’
It was one more piece in a puzzle that he was becoming compelled to complete. It really had been personal when Megan had walked out on him that first day. She’d thought he was like her own father, and that tough, personal experience had lent an edge to her anger.
‘And you don’t want any part of that?’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t like secrets, and this is his secret, not mine.’
Jaye called her bluff. ‘What’s his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him...’
Megan laughed, shaking her head. ‘Maybe you have, if you read the financial pages in the paper. And I’m not telling you, he has a wife and two sons. It wouldn’t be fair to them.’
He could respect that. All the same, it seemed that Megan was more burdened by the secret than she let on. But there was no chance to ask any more.
Voices sounded, growing louder as the group started to straggle back into the conference room, some still carrying their coffee with them. Megan sprang to her feet, looking around as if someone was going to appear out of nowhere and admonish her for sitting here, talking.
‘I’ve got to go...’
‘I’ll be along in a minute.’ Jaye suppressed the urge to tell her that this was his home, and she could sit here and talk with him for as long as she liked. She was already halfway down the stairs, clutching her laptop across her chest.
He watched through the bannisters as she joined the first of the group to appear in the hallway. Much as he had when he’d been a child, watching the guests arrive at one of his parents’ parties.
Jaye craned his neck, watching the top of Megan’s head disappear. He was no child now, and some possibilities were no longer a part of his future. He’d been scarred by love, and Megan was just making those scars ache a little.
* * *
Every time Megan caught a glimpse of the man behind Jaye’s façade it felt as if she were being swallowed up in the softness of his eyes. As if just talking to him was dangerous and exciting—something secret and delicious. And hadn’t she just been telling him how she abhorred secrets?
She had to get a grip. Talking was exactly what they were supposed to be doing. People were meant to swap experiences and ideas at this conference, that was the whole point of it.
But she still couldn’t resist looking for him, knowing where he was in the room and what he was doing. Even if she caught just a glimpse of him, it made the floor lurch under her feet, and gave her that sickening feeling that everything was spinning out of control.
It was almost a relief to find that he wasn’t joining in with the group discussions the following morning, as he was helping with the arrangements for the party that evening. But it was only a brief respite.
* * *
There was music swelling from one corner of the ballroom, where a string quartet was playing. Four young women in black dresses were clearly having some fun, inserting their own improvisations into some well-known classical pieces. Flickering candles highlighted the sheen of sumptuous fabric that hung at the high glazed doors leading out onto the terrace. Suddenly it all paled into insignificance.
