The Purest of Diamonds(11)

                ‘I never saw you as a hoodlum, Leila.’

                So how did he see her? Raffa laughed as he set down his drink. A soft drink too, she noted.

                Raffa felt his heart stir as he thought about a little girl taking every day with her mother for granted, and a young mother enjoying special time with her youngest child. Those days must have felt as if they would go on for ever. Neither of them could have anticipated Leila’s father’s descent into drunken violence, or the tragic plane crash and loss of life.

                ‘What are you thinking about now?’ he prompted, though he guessed Leila had inadvertently uncovered memories she didn’t normally share with strangers, and was probably regretting being so open with him. Insanely, he wanted to hug her and tell her it would be all right, but they didn’t know each other well enough for that. They had a party to go to, where Leila would have to be bright and cheerful, or her sisters would want to know why. He didn’t want to leave her shakier than when she’d fallen into his arms outside the hotel. What had begun as basic attraction and curiosity had gained an edge of care. Not that he felt responsible for Leila, and she wouldn’t want that. She’d been doing pretty well on her own up to now.

                ‘More juice?’

                ‘Please. Sorry, Raffa, I was miles away.’

                Thinking about her mother’s letter, Leila realised as Raffa turned away to order more drinks. She’d been doing a lot of that recently, and she’d had plenty of time to memorise every word over the years.





                My darling Leila,

                I love you more than life itself, and want you to promise me that you will live your life to the full. You’re only a little girl now, but one day you’ll be a woman with choices to make and I want you to make the right choices.

                Don’t be afraid of life, Leila, as I have been. Be bold in all you do—





                It still haunted her to think her mother must have known she was in danger—maybe even that Leila’s father would go too far and kill them both. Leila had been too young to understand what had happened at the time of the crash, and it was only later when she was older that her sisters had explained that their father was most likely drunk at the controls of the plane. She’d done some investigating of her own at the local newspaper office and had got the picture of a violent alcoholic and a woman who had been the helpless victim of his rages.

                ‘Ice in your juice?’ Raffa broke into her thoughts.

                ‘No. It’s delicious as it is, thank you.’

                ‘Spanish oranges,’ he said, his dark face brightening with a smile. ‘The best.’

                ‘You’re partial.’

                ‘Yes, I am,’ he agreed, holding her gaze a beat too long.

                It was long enough for her heart to pound out of control. Raffa was so worldly, and it was almost funny, the two of them being here together, when Skavanga was just one stop on Raffa’s round-the-world tour of his international business interests, and she had never been outside the town except for university, and even then she’d only gone a few miles down the road to the local college. As soon as she had qualified, she’d scuttled back to the place she knew best, the place she felt safest, where she could hide away in the archive department of a mining museum where it was quiet, and where there was no chance of meeting a wife beater, or an alcoholic. Or anyone for that matter.

                ‘So you’ve stayed in Skavanga all your life, Leila? Leila?’ Raffa prompted, his voice shaking her round.