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It might also be nice to know how I’ve managed to plan my career so successfully but made such a monumental cock-up of my private life.
‘So that’s why you never told Aldo the guy’s name?’
She glanced over at Luke, a bit disorientated to realise he was still sitting there, listening patiently to her confession. Luke had never seemed all that priestly. But he’d always had that knack of letting her do all the talking. After their split, she’d come to the conclusion that was because he’d never actually been listening. All he’d really been doing was allowing her to fill the void, so he could avoid talking back. But now she wasn’t so sure. Could that interested crease on his forehead be so easily faked?
The warm spot grew.
She turned away. Enough already. Luke’s ability to be such a patient and attentive listener was simply because he was a good journalist.
‘Once Aldo started asking questions, it was easier to avoid giving him a straight answer than make the effort to contact Claudio again.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t want to see Aldo hurt.’
Or at least that’s what she’d always told herself.
‘Fair enough,’ Luke said evenly. ‘Why set him up to be smacked down?’
‘Except that …’ She appreciated Luke’s vote of confidence, more than he would ever realise. But now she wondered, had Claudio really been the only selfish one involved? ‘The truth is I didn’t want to contact Claudio.’ Yes, she’d been frightened of having her child rejected again, but had she ever really wanted Claudio to be a part of Aldo’s life?
‘I have no idea how Claudio feels about his son now. It’s been ten years. He might have had a change of heart. What if he wants a relationship with Aldo and I’m the one who’s stopping it from happening?’
She’d been wrong about Luke, about how deeply he cared for his daughter, because she’d stubbornly refused to talk to him. What if she’d made the same mistake with Claudio and denied Aldo a father just to protect herself?
‘If that were the case, what’s stopping the guy from contacting you? Or Aldo?’ Luke said, reasonably, neatly cutting the guilt down to size. ‘He won’t, though, because the guy’s definitely still an arsehole,’ he continued. ‘I interviewed Claudio Benedetti last year for a piece I was doing on the Delanyo Scandal and he came across as a selfish, self-aggrandising twat.’
Halle bolted upright at the offhand comment, her heart racing. ‘How do you know who he is? I never said his surname.’
What the hell had she done? Luke was a bloody journalist. What if he published the information? Then Aldo would know that …
‘Hal, chill the hell out,’ he said evenly. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a celebrity hack, or that much of an arsehole, frankly.’
‘But how did you figure out Claudio’s identity?’
‘Not from your comment about him
knowing his way round a clitoris, if that helps,’ he countered, a slight edge to his voice. ‘I’m a journalist. You gave me enough clues to make an educated guess. I do this stuff for a living, remember. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to exploit a ten-year-old boy. I do have a few scruples, you know.’ He began packing up the debris from their picnic. ‘Although, just for the record, I’m not sure you do. What made you fall for that wanker? Are clit skills really that high on your list of attributes?’
Interesting, he certainly seems to have gotten fairly hung up on that nugget of information.
She choked out a laugh, determined not to remember Luke was the one who had introduced her to the gold standard of clit skills.
‘I didn’t fall for him. I wasn’t in love with him.’ Not the way I thought I was with you. ‘I was lonely, I suppose, and he filled a need. Not getting any for six years can make you overlook a heck of a lot of personality flaws.’
He paused while packing the last of their lunch debris into the backpack. ‘Hang on a minute. He was your first? After me?’
‘Not all of us bounced back as quickly as you did,’ she declared, annoyed by the echo of bitterness.
Amelie Brouchard doesn’t matter to you any more. She’s just a French tart who probably can’t even make a decent tarte Tatin.
‘And I didn’t have a lot of spare time,’ she added. ‘I had a child to look after.’
Unlike you and Amelie the tart.
‘Well, shit.’ He relaxed back on his heels. ‘I never figured the three years it took me to get back in the game was particularly quick. I stand corrected.’
‘Don’t bullshit me, Luke.’ Annoyance flared, stirring the residual hurt. ‘I happen to know you shacked up with your photographer on that assignment, Amelie Brouchard, the day after you walked out on me and Lizzie.’
How could saying the woman’s name out loud still bring with it the sting of remembered pain?
‘Who told you that?’ he asked.
