Oh, shoot. That was so complicated, so mixed up, such an emotional reaction...
‘Why didn’t you just tear it up?’ he insisted, looking straight into her eyes. ‘Throw it in the trash with the teabags and potato peelings.’
She blew out her cheeks, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It was a beautiful drawing, Darius. There was no way I could have destroyed it.’
The truth, plain and simple.
‘You could have taken it to your friendly art dealer,’ he said.
‘Unsigned?’
‘With a letter from you as provenance, he would have snatched your hand off.’
‘No!’ Her protest was instinctive. She could never share such an intimate moment with Freddie, or any other art dealer.
‘You could have simply kept it,’ he persisted.
‘Something to shock the grandchildren?’
It was the second time she’d offered him a chance to smile at the memory of an earlier, happier moment. For the second time he did not take it, but simply waited, demanding total honesty, the exposure of feelings she’d been unwilling to even think because once you’d thought them...
‘You left me something of yourself, Darius. A memory to treasure.’ Explaining this was like tearing away layers of flesh. Total exposure of the inner depths he talked about. But infinitely safer than thoughts that even now were rushing in. ‘I lost the right to anything so precious when I destroyed that with my lack of trust.’
‘Trust is a two-way thing, Natasha.’
‘You took me on trust, no questions asked.’
‘That was business. This...’
She’d asked herself what it had taken to build that impenetrable façade. What it would take to shatter it. Suddenly, in that hesitation, she had a glimpse into the darkness. Trust. It was all about trust.
‘This?’
He shook his head. ‘You shared your past with me, Natasha, offered me the chance to open up to you, but I didn’t have your courage.’
‘No...’ She instinctively reached out a hand to him, grasped his fingers. ‘It’s hard. It wasn’t the moment. I understood.’
‘And I understand about the drawing. If it hadn’t mattered, you’d have either kept it as a souvenir of a hot night, or you’d have been checking out the value with Freddie Glover.’
‘If it hadn’t mattered,’ she replied, ‘you wouldn’t have been so angry.’
And for a moment they both just sat there, looking at each other, aware that they had just crossed some line. Then he turned his hand beneath hers so that their fingers were interlocked.
‘I’ve been walking away from people since I was seventeen years old,’ he said. ‘I keep trying to walk away from you.’
‘Why?’
‘Is there anything in the Land Rover that will spoil if it’s left for an hour or two?’ he asked, ignoring the question. She shook her head. He stood up, closed up her laptop and took it across to the bar. ‘Will you look after this, Peter?’