Mr. Imperfect(26)

His face became expressionless. "Don likes to exaggerate, you know that."

Kezia got up and took off her sunglasses. "You beat the crap out of your father for beating the crap out of you."

Christian winced. "We had an altercation. Yes."

She came closer until only inches separated them. "Tell me the truth  about your childhood right now or I swear I'll make us this evening's  entertainment."                       
       
           



       

He shrugged. "My father was a mean drunk and my mother's death made him  meaner. The farm suffered; his health suffered, we had no money."  Christian's tone was measured, almost indifferent, but Kezia watched his  breathing change until it seemed he couldn't get enough air. "I started  stealing what I needed because I knew if the state got involved I'd be  taken into care."

"Oh, Christian." She watched the shields come up as he reacted to her pity.

"Actually, I kind of liked the reputation I got as a bad boy. It beat being sad and pathetic."

The same damned pride that stopped him from telling her. "I can't understand how you kept it secret so long."

"My father was careful where he hit me, so I could go to school and stay  under the radar." A half smile touched his lips. "Until Muriel caught  me stealing eggs from her henhouse."

"But she didn't know all the truth, did she?"

"About the violence? No. In hindsight, I know she wouldn't have turned me in. At the time, I didn't trust her."

Trust. "Why didn't you tell me that night?" she demanded. "You must have known it would have made a difference!"

"I wanted you to choose me for love, not pity." He made an impatient  gesture when she tried to interrupt. "And don't tell me pity doesn't  sway you. You spend your whole life following a kind heart."

If anything, the fact that he was so right and so very, very wrong  heaped fuel on Kezia's anger. "How dare you assume that responsibility. I  deserved to know the facts, all of them, so I could make a real  choice."

"What the hell do you want from me? An apology after fourteen years?  Okay, I apologize." His tone was bitterly sarcastic. "I'm sorry I  wouldn't allow my sordid past to cloud your judgment when I asked you to  leave with me. I'm sorry your decision wasn't in my favor but I learned  to live with it, like I learned to live with my lousy childhood. Stop  making such a big deal about a decision we both know you wouldn't  change. You told me so not two hours ago."

"I told you I looked for you the next day because I figured you had a right to the truth-"

"Very noble," he interrupted, but she talked over him.

"Like I had a right to the truth, Christian, because of what we were to each other."

For the first time vulnerability flickered across his face and she  realized she could destroy his peace of mind by telling him why she'd  refused him. Like he'd just destroyed hers.

The words trembled on her tongue. Did she love Christian enough to leave the truth unsaid?

Yes. She did. Instead she said, "You know what hurts? That I never  really knew you. You never trusted me enough to let me get that close."

He struck back with cool precision. "I always did have a good instinct for self-preservation."

Kezia buried her threatening tears under sarcasm. "Go back to the table  and act like everything's just fine-you're good at that." She bent to  pick up her shoes, but he didn't move. "Go!"

She pretended to inspect the damage to her shoes until he went inside,  then shoved them on, snatched up her bag and ran. At the entrance, she  asked the doorman to call her a cab.

"Where to, ma'am?"

"The Waterview Hotel." Only when the taxi was speeding away did she  collapse against the seat, fragile and utterly exhausted. She would  collect some clothes and drive back to Everton, hide out in a cheap  motel until he left.

She never wanted to see Christian again.



CHRISTIAN SPEARED A PIECE of fresh asparagus, lifted it to his mouth and  took a bite. It tasted like cardboard. Out of politeness he'd filled  his plate when Bernice May had filled hers; now roast pork lay  congealing in cold gravy while he toyed with the vegetables and made  polite rejoinders to whoever spoke to him. Kezia still hadn't come back  and frankly he didn't want her to. Enough already.

"Yes, delicious," he murmured to Bernice May who was cleansing her palate before dessert with a beer.

"Kezia will miss out on ham if she doesn't get a hurry on," she said. "Don, you find her while I go save her a slab."

Christian dropped his knife and fork and reached for his water, trying  to swallow past the tightness constricting his throat and chest. He  hated what had just happened. Hated it.

His father's threats hadn't driven him from Waterview that night-damn,  he'd been living with those for years. It had been Don's discovery of  his secret. Even one other person knowing made it unmanageable.                       
       
           



       

Seeing Kezia reel under the impact of the truth was worse than any  physical blow of his father's. It made him acknowledge his childhood  after his mother died for what it was. Sordid. Heartrending. Unbearable.  And maybe a childhood he deserved.

The only honorable thing he'd ever done was keep the truth from Kezia  that night. And he'd saved both of them a lot of grief. Clean, clear-cut  choices. He'd lived by them; they'd saved his sanity.

Feeling a tentative hand on his back, he swung around to see Don's  concerned face. More pity he couldn't bear. "Sorry, Don, I'm needed  urgently in Auckland," he lied. "Will you tell Kezia goodbye when she  shows?"

"She's already gone. Took a taxi fifteen minutes ago." Don hesitated. "Look, why don't you follow her and sort this out?"

So she had no desire to see him, either.

Inevitability washed over Christian. He and Kezia had come full circle.  Ignoring Don's suggestion, he pulled out his checkbook and wrote out an  amount that had enough zeros in it to ensure he never had to come back.  "Give this to Kez. Tell her to use it to finish the renovations properly  and to develop all the initiatives we discussed."

When Don hesitated to take the check, he forced it into the old man's  hand. "Some things aren't meant to be," he said by way of apology. "This  was one of them."

"I wish I hadn't kept your damn secret," grumbled Don, taking the check. "It only encouraged you to stay a loner."

Christian dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Give my farewells to the  appropriate people, will you?" he asked, and left before Don could  argue.

In contrast to the noisy celebration behind him, the reception hall was  dim and quiet. Christian strode through it and into the golden freedom  outside, wrenching off his tie. But he still felt suffocated.

To hell with it, once he was on the highway heading north he'd feel  better. If he dropped by the hotel to collect his belongings he might  run into Kezia and he couldn't handle another scene. She could forward  them later.

Children were playing tag around the ornamental garden; one of them peeled off and raced toward him. John Jason. "Hey!"

"Hey, yourself." Christian kept walking and the little boy trotted alongside.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to the city." It occurred to Christian he wouldn't see John Jason again and a sharp pang of regret stopped him.

"Are you coming back?"

Christian kept his answer deliberately vague. "Maybe one day." Sorry, kid, I'm just not made that way.

"You have to kiss me goodbye." John Jason lifted his arms to be picked  up. The boy smelled of talcum powder and strawberry shampoo but the  cheek he presented was sticky with gravy. Christian kissed it anyway,  then went to lower the child to the ground. Chubby arms wrapped around  his neck. "Mummy said I mustn't tell secrets, but I didn't, did I?"

"No, you didn't," Christian assured him. "I guessed, and then Auntie Kez told me."

Satisfied, the child allowed himself to be put down. "I 'spect she found  it." Christian, digging in his jacket pocket for the car keys, gave a  preoccupied shrug. "They cry a lot," John Jason insisted, "so it would  be easy to find."

"What would?" The boy was obviously looking for some sort of reassurance so Christian tempered his impatience.

"The baby," said John Jason. "The baby Auntie Kezia lost."





CHAPTER TWELVE




COUNTING TO SIXTY under her breath, Kezia swung the hose from the bean  plants and watched the strawberry leaves bow under the arc of water.  Shallow watering only encouraged roots to the surface. Damn Muriel's  indoctrination! She couldn't leave without watering the dry garden.