The Secretary's Secret

‘The papers got hold of the story, and to him appearances were everything.’ His lips twisted into the mockery of a smile that made a chil creep up her arms. ‘He had to at least be seen doing the right thing.’ He threw off his smile with a shrug. ‘I’d have been better off in a foster home.’

This was the man who’d raised Alex throughout his teenage years? More pieces of the puzzle fel into place. Kit wasn’t prepared for the surge of anger that shot through her on Alex’s behalf, though. The people who should’ve looked out for him, loved him

—his grandfather, his ex-wife—they’d betrayed him utterly.

She didn’t blame him for guarding his heart.

Her chest ached; her eyes ached. Did he have to keep guarding it against their baby, though?

‘I left when I was sixteen. I found work as a builder’s labourer.’

builder’s labourer.’

And he’d built an empire on his own. But that empire of his, it wouldn’t have made up for al he’d lost when his parents died. With an effort, she swal owed back the lump in her throat. She was glad he’d given her a glimpse into his past, but she wanted tonight to be about happy memories. ‘When they were alive, what did you like to do with your mum and dad?’

Enough light filtered into her garden for her to see that her question stumped him. She had a feeling that Alex had shut himself off from his past to protect himself from al the bad memories, but in the process he’d shut out al the good memories too.

‘I…’

She could see that he struggled. ‘Did your dad like to kick a bal around the garden with you? Did your mum make the best birthday cakes?’

One corner of his mouth kicked up. ‘Mum couldn’t bake to save her life.’ He sat higher in his chair and grinned. It made him look younger, wiped al the cares from his face for a moment. It stole her breath.

‘We used to play this strange cricket game with a tennis racquet and a bal .’

‘We used to play that game on the beach!’ She clapped her hands, absurdly pleased at this point of connection. ‘We cal ed it French cricket. Though I don’t know how French it was.’

‘On the weekends Dad would tinker with the car and he’d let me help. He taught me al the names of the tools.’

She could imagine a younger version of Alex—

dark-haired and scrawny—handing his father tools, studying engine components in that serious, steady way of his. If they had a son, would he look like Alex?

Share his mannerisms?

‘Mum’s favourite song was by the Bay City Rol ers and she’d sing it al the time. Sometimes Dad and I would join in and…’ he stil ed with his fork halfway to his mouth ‘…we’d end up on the ground laughing.

Mum would tickle me.’ His grin suddenly widened.

‘And Dad would always say that we were in for an early night.’ He glanced at Kit, his eyes dancing. ‘I now know what that was al about.’

‘They sound like fun.’ An ache stretched through her chest. ‘They sound as if they loved each other very much.’

‘I think they did.’

Don’t go fooling yourself into thinking you can get that kind of happy ever after with Alex. If it weren’t for the fact that she was pregnant, Alex would’ve left two weeks ago.

Without a backward glance.

He stil might yet.

The only happy ever after she could hope for was Alex realizing that he could be a good father, that he would be there for her child. Their child.

‘I did have a place!’ He swung to her. ‘A place like your rock. It was a tree in the back garden—a huge tree!’

She could tel he was talking about his garden in the western suburbs and not the one in Vaucluse.

‘There was a particular branch I always sat on. It was the best place. Mum would bring me out drinks and biscuits. You’re right, Kit, food out of doors does taste better.’ He set his now empty plate on the table and glanced around her garden. ‘You know, I like the idea of having a garden.’

Her breath caught. Enough to give up his penthouse apartment with its harbour views? She crossed her fingers. ‘Al kids should have a garden.’

She tried to keep her voice casual, which was nearly impossible when this al mattered so much.

‘Yeah.’ Physical y he was present, but she had a feeling he was a mil ion miles away.

‘Alex?’

‘Hmm?’

‘If you decided that you did want to be an active, involved father, what are the kinds of things you’d like to do with your child? Hypothetical y speaking, of course.’ She added the last in a rush. She didn’t want to scare him off. She didn’t want him clamming up again. She just wanted to plant the idea firmly—

very firmly—into his mind.

‘I…’ He dragged a hand back through his hair, shrugged. ‘The fishing this afternoon was fun.’

‘Nuh-uh, I bags the fishing. You come up with your own activities, buster.’