impossible, I know…’
‘But you’re suggesting that it’s genetically unlikely?’
She was too calm.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why should you be sorry for pointing out the truth, Ivo? You’re absolutely right.’
He frowned. The fact that she was agreeing with him did not fill him with optimism.
‘But, then again, you’re completely wrong.’
‘Sweetheart…’ The rare endearment slipped out. For a moment he thought she’d got it, understood the danger…
‘Daisy is not my daughter, Ivo. She’s waif-thin, looks like a kid, but she’s only ten years younger than me. She’s my sister. Half-sister, anyway. We had different fathers. Mine died, hers deserted. Same result.’
And for a moment he was the one momentarily bereft of words.
Not?
Not her daughter?
He’d been so sure. And, without warning, there was a gap where some unrecognised emotion had briefly flared, lodged. An emptiness that had been briefly filled…
‘She’s your sister?’
‘You sound almost more shocked,’ she said.
‘No…’ He shook his head. It wasn’t shock. It was far worse than that. ‘No. I…’ The words died.
‘Don’t feel bad, Ivo. You have every right to be shocked. She was all I had and I turned my back on her.’
He’d been so sure; now he was struggling to get to grips with this unexpected twist. ‘But you were searching for her. I saw the adoption website.’
‘She was adopted. I wasn’t.’
‘What? They separated you?’
‘She was four. The perfect little girl. White-blonde curls, blue eyes. A smile that could light up a room. I was fourteen. An angry teenager who’d lived rough for the best part of three years, on the run from my mother’s demons, from Social Services. Scavenging to live, seeing things that no child…’ She shivered, did not resist when he pulled her back into his arms, rocking her as if she were the child. ‘Daisy was whisked off to a foster family. I was admitted to hospital with the same chest infection that killed my mother. A cough that a smoker would have been proud of. Hence the husky voice.’
He let slip a rare expletive as his imagination filled in the gaps. The reality of what she’d suffered.
‘How did Daisy escape? The infection?’
‘My mother gave what little food she had to us. I gave most of mine to Daisy. She was always warm. Always fed. Always came first.’
‘And you did what you thought was best for her.’ Not a question. More to himself than her. How could he doubt it? He’d seen the fervour with which she’d embraced her chance to do something for other children in that position. Understood now why the charity trip had been so important.
He’d always known that there was something in her past. It was too much of a blank; there were no links that went back beyond her time in television. No emotional ties. He’d thought that made them equal, but it didn’t. She’d been loved once. Had been part of a family who took care of each other, made sacrifices to keep each other from harm.
He’d lived with her for three years and didn’t know a thing about her, he realised, as the questions crowded into his head.
What had her mother been running from? Three years with two children, one little more than a baby. How on earth had they survived?
The only question he didn’t have to ask himself was why she’d never told him.
But all that would wait. Some things wouldn’t-not if he was going to find out if this girl was genuine. What had happened to her.
‘The authorities separated you when your mother died?’
‘Poor Mum. She was so afraid of Social Services. She knew that she’d lose us if they took us into care. Even when she was too sick to stand, she wouldn’t let me get help. Then one morning I couldn’t wake her. I knew she’d yell at me, tell me I was a fool, but I panicked, called an ambulance. I didn’t want her to die.’
‘You did the right thing.’
‘No, Ivo. I should have done it a week before, when there might have been a chance. I wouldn’t have cared how much she shouted at me. I would have run away from care to be with her.’
‘You blame yourself?’
She roused herself, turned on him. ‘Wouldn’t you?’ she demanded. Her lovely eyes, usually so full of warmth, life, were bleak with exhaustion. Something more.
He shook his head, unable to express what he was feeling, imagine what she’d been through. ‘They shouldn’t have separated you.’
‘Years ago they used to routinely split up entire families. Twins even. I’ve read some heart-rending stories, Ivo. Brothers, sisters reunited after half a century. It wouldn’t happen now,’ she said, reaching out as if to reassure him. As if he was the one who needed comfort. This was the warmth that her viewers responded to. She genuinely cared for people, even him, and he used that now, shamelessly, to draw her close, bring her back within the compass of his arms, as if he was the one in need of comfort. ‘It probably wouldn’t have happened then if there hadn’t been such an age gap,’ she said. ‘Daisy was young enough to forget, have the chance of a decent life, Ivo. A real family. It was already too late for me.’
‘It’s never too late,’ he said as another yawn caught her by surprise. She’d been on the go since before dawn and the warmth of the flat, the brandy-laced chocolate was seeping into her system, doing its job. She was both mentally and physically exhausted and soon she’d sleep, but she fought it, needing, he suspected, to get it all off her chest. ‘I was so angry,’ she said. Then shook her head, so that her short tawny hair, corkscrewed by the rain, brushed against his cheek. ‘No. That’s too clean a word. It wasn’t anger; it was jealousy. I was jealous of a little girl who still knew how to smile. Knew how to make people love her. I couldn’t forgive her for that so I walked away.’ She sighed. ‘Clever Ivo,’ she said. ‘You’re always right.’
‘No…’
‘Oh, yes. You said she wanted to punish me and tonight she did it in the only way she knew how, the way I taught her, by turning her back on me and walking away.’
‘She’ll come back.’
‘Will she?’ She looked up, seeking assurance. ‘She said she was looking for her father.’
‘You could help her. She knows that.’ She shook her head just once. ‘She had your address in her pocket, Belle. If she didn’t want to know you, why did she keep it?’
Belle didn’t answer, but closed her eyes as if to blot out a world of pain.
Ivo wanted to move mountains, change the world for her. Wanted to crush her to him, take that pain into himself, but he knew she would not, could not surrender it. That she was living in a world of guilt that only she could work through.
Power, wealth meant nothing here. For the moment all he could do was hold her, be there for her, no matter how many times she pushed him away.
Maybe, in the end, that was all anyone could do.
Maybe, for now, that was enough, he thought, as the tension finally melted from her limbs and, finally claimed by exhaustion, she softened into him, dropping away into sleep.
It had been weeks since she’d lain against him like this when, all passion spent, she’d fallen asleep in his arms. It was a moment he’d always treasured.
There was an almost unbearable sweetness in the way she surrendered consciousness to him and he felt a selfish joy in the moment-to be, if only for a moment, this close, this trusted.
‘It will be okay, my love,’ he said softly. Brushed his lips against her forehead. ‘I’ll make it okay.’
She didn’t stir. His arm went to sleep. A muscle in his back began to niggle. He welcomed the pain.
