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I sigh and put my teacup down with a clatter. “Way to bring the mood down.”
“Sorry, but I’m curious. Where did you meet him?”
“At a teaching convention. He teaches Physical Education at a secondary school in Plymouth.”
“Those who can’t do, teach. And those who can’t teach, teach gym?”
I chuckle. “Who said that?”
“Woody Allen. Seems appropriate.”
“Yeah. He’s a wanker. Jason, I mean, not Woody Allen.”
He laughs. “How long did you go out with him?”
“About a year. The first six months were okay. I mean, he was a bit possessive when we started dating, like, he’d put his arm around me if any other guy came up to talk to me. But I didn’t mind that, I thought it was cute. But it turned unpleasant fast.”
He frowns. “He was jealous?”
“Yeah. I mean, possessiveness can sometimes be attractive or flattering, because it shows a partner wants you. But he was just nasty with it. He hated me going anywhere without him. If I went out with friends, or stayed late at work, I’d get a hundred questions when I got in about who I’d been with. And then he’d…” I trail off.
He studies me, his smile fading. “Did he… hurt you?”
He means did Jason force himself on me. I shake my head, although there were definitely times near the end when there wasn’t much pleasure in it for me, and it’s the main reason I broke up with him.
He must guess I’m lying though, because his eyes flare with anger. “Huxley wanted to form a posse, come over here, and deal with it. I wish I’d let him.”
Until now, I’ve struggled to match this gentle, funny, warm guy with the knowledge that he’s a well-known, incredibly intelligent businessman who owns and runs his own company, but all of a sudden I can imagine him speaking to a roomful of employees, lecturing at a conference, or giving a member of his staff a dressing down.
“Would you ever think about coming back to New Zealand?” he asks, tearing apart his second scone.
Is he suggesting that if I did, he might ask me out? Or is it a genuine question about where I see my future lying?
I look back at my cup and sip my tea. It doesn’t matter what lies behind his question. “Not at the moment,” I reply. “I love my job here, and I’m happy.”
“You don’t miss New Zealand?”
“Not really, because England is so beautiful. Sometimes I miss the weather. We have fewer sunshine hours here in the southwest. It’s often gray and cloudy, but I don’t mind it too much.”
“What about friends and family?”
“I miss Oliver and my sisters. And my mum.”
He takes a bite out of his second scone. “But not your father?”
I pick up some crumbs with a finger. “Has Oliver told you anything about my relationship with Dad?”
“He’s mentioned that he was controlling.”
I blow out a long breath. “Yeah. Very. I came here to get away from him.” The words burst out of me, still with a touch of venom I can’t eradicate. “I think maybe it was because I was his youngest daughter. I know he meant well. He wanted to protect me. But I found it stifling. When I was at university, he’d come down to visit, and he’d talk to all my friends, and quiz them about how I was doing, who I was seeing… It was awful. He’d give me lectures about boys, and say things he’d never say to my sisters. Even when I left university, he tried to talk me into getting a job in Auckland so he could ‘keep an eye on me.’” I put air quotes around the words. “I had to get away.”
“Is that why you cut your hair?” he asks.
I tuck a strand behind my ear. “Yes. He loved it. It was a symbol, I guess, of my childhood. The day I landed here, I took a pair of scissors to it and lopped it all off.”
His eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It looked awful, and I went to the hairdressers the next day. But that night, I lay in my hotel room feeling like a new person. It was the best thing I ever did.”
