‘Sit, Leila. You look tired.’
She sank into a chair with relief, while Raffa went to examine some of the old sepia prints on the wall. Just seeing him had exhausted her. Emotional overload, she reasoned, combined with pregnancy hormones on red alert.
‘We used to come here for holidays with our grandparents,’ she explained as he moved down the row of photographs, scrutinising each one in turn. ‘This was the first prospectors’ hut, but we’ve improved the cabin over the years—’
She stopped as Raffa flashed an amused glance at her. ‘So you have inside facilities now?’
‘Can you seriously imagine Britt using a bucket?’
They both laughed and the tension eased a little. Maybe this visit would turn out okay after all.
‘As the mine took off a lot of other people started to build cabins in the vicinity,’ she explained as Raffa peered out of the window.
‘Sorry—I’m expecting a van to turn up, and I don’t want to keep the men waiting outside in the cold.’
‘A van?’
‘With supplies.’
‘Oh...’
Her brain refused to compute this, but she must have frowned, because Raffa shrugged. ‘If you don’t want them, send them back. But there’s food too, so let’s have supper first.’
She smiled. ‘You’re hungry.’
‘No time to eat,’ he confirmed. ‘Long flight, long drive, but worth it.’
As Raffa fell silent she realised he was trying to see the newspaper she’d been so avidly reading with his photograph prominently displayed. She should have closed it up before she opened the door and heeled it under the seat now. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
‘Why? Do I make the place look untidy?’ he suggested, turning to shoot a wry smile at her.
No. You make it seem small.
Pulling back from the window, Raffa turned to face her, and, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, he smiled, the flash of strong white teeth showing in stark contrast to his burnished skin. ‘It’s good to see you again, Leila.’
‘You’ve been in the desert—’
Raffa waved an admonishing finger at her. ‘I told you no questions.’
‘Not where Tyr’s concerned,’ Leila agreed. ‘So have you two been working together?’
‘Tyr will tell you when he’s ready to tell you. So this is the original prospector?’ he said, changing the subject as he turned to examine one of the framed photographs on the wall. ‘This one here?’
Like Tyr, Raffa was expert at keeping a confidence, Leila realised. She’d get no more out of him. ‘That’s right. That’s my ancestor, the first Skavanga.’
‘You don’t look a bit like him.’
‘I decided in the end that a beard doesn’t suit me.’
His cheek creased in a smile. ‘You should have this shot hanging in the museum.’