‘You’re still here,’ Andreas said as he came within a few yards of her. It was a statement, not a question, and there was no way of judging his mood from it, or from his tone, so she simply nodded in agreement.
‘I was waiting for you,’ she said in a low, uncertain voice.
‘Why?’
Why? There was an answer for that in her heart, but she had no idea whether she dared to risk giving it to him. But what else did she have?
Taking a deep breath, she forced the words out, fighting to control her voice so that she sounded so much braver than she felt.
‘Because I know that no matter what you think of me—or—’ her courage failed her at the thought of saying that provocative name ‘—or Daisy’s father, you won’t be able to turn your back on a child. You might hate me, but you won’t let an innocent baby die if you can help it.’
If her words had been a slap aimed at his face, his head wouldn’t have gone back any more sharply. Becca wished she could see his expression but the way he stood with his back to the sun threw his face into shadow and all she could spot was the way that he had closed his eyes just for a moment.
‘We need to talk,’ was all he said and he walked past her, into the house, not sparing her another glance but obviously expecting her to follow.
Which she did, of course. She had no other option.
In the sitting room, Andreas clicked on a single lamp but that was all. With some light still filling the room from the sinking sun, it was possible to move around, but not to see anything really clearly. But at the same time, the shifting shadows in the room were a sort of comfort, suiting Becca’s mood completely. She felt as if she was groping her way forward, hoping that somehow she would end up in the place she most wanted to be.
Though the truth was that right at this moment she had no idea where that might be.
‘I could do with a drink,’ Andreas said abruptly, making her start in surprise. ‘How about you?’
‘I—Some wine would be nice,’ Becca managed carefully. Perhaps the alcohol would relax her, ease her dry throat, help her handle what she felt was going to be one of the most difficult conversations of her life, second only to the appalling confrontation on the evening of her wedding day.
But that time she had been caught on edge, not knowing what was coming. This time she was desperately tense because she knew exactly what they had to talk about. Right at this moment she had no way of saying which situation was actually worse.
‘White or red?’
Did it matter? She knew that he was just preparing the ground, so to speak. He was being polite, offering a drink, settling her down before…
Before what?
That was the really important question. The one she needed answering now. But she didn’t dare to press the point, to risk pushing Andreas into saying anything he was not ready to say. And so she tried a small smile, almost managed it.
‘Red will be fine.’
‘I’ll get it. I will be back in a moment.’
He was gone much more than a moment. How long did it take to find a bottle, open it—pour? Becca paced around the room like a restless cat, unable to settle, too uneasy to sit still.
Was he ever coming back?
It was as she thought the words that the door opened again and Andreas came back into the room. And at once for Becca it was as if the world had suddenly righted itself again, in a way that had nothing at all to do with the reason why she was here, the question she was waiting for him to answer.
The truth was that she was so desperately in love with this man that simply to be with him, in the same room, so that she could see him, watch him, know he was there, was enough for her. She could see how the burning light from the sunset fell on the raven’s-wing darkness of his hair, burnishing it with glowing red tones, look into the blackness of his eyes and see their brilliance in spite of the shadows of the room. She could hear his soft breathing, the pad of his still bare feet on the wooden floor. And the ozone tang of the sea was still on his skin and hair from the time on the beach.
And from wanting things to hurry up, from needing an answer to her questions as quickly as possible, she suddenly knew an overwhelming desire to drag this confrontation out for as long as she could. She had just realised that this was probably going to be the very last conversation she ever had with Andreas. The last time she would be able to be with him and talk to him at all. After this, whatever his answer was, then they would go their separate ways. She would go home to England, to Macy and Daisy and some sort of life she would live there, and Andreas would stay here. And she would never, ever see him again.
The thought burned in her throat, closing it up so that she had to struggle to breathe, concentrating so fiercely that she didn’t hear Andreas speak even when he repeated the words more loudly.