‘Your poor mother,’ Lexi whispered, only inches away from him.
He turned his head slightly. Her eyes were scanning his face as if she was looking for something and not finding it.
‘That must have been so heartbreaking. I can’t imagine what it’s like to raise a child to manhood and then lose him.’
Her gaze slid down his face and focused on a family snap of his mother. Not a studio press release or a publicity shot. This was a photo he had taken with his pocket camera when his mother had been manning the cake stall at a local garden fête. She was wearing a simple floral tea dress with a white daisy from the garden stuck behind one ear. But what made her really beautiful was the totally natural expression of happiness she wore.
It was just as hard as he’d thought it might be, looking at the photograph and remembering her laughing and chatting and waving at him to put down the camera and enjoy himself.
Lexi ran a fingertip ever so gently across the surface of the print. He steeled himself, ready to answer her question about how the famous actress Crystal Leighton had come to be working behind the counter of a country village fête.
That was why, when she did ask a question, it knocked him slightly off-balance.
‘How old is your sister?
‘Cassie? Twenty-seven,’ he replied, puzzled. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I’m going to need to talk to her about Edmund. I know she’s a lot younger, but I’m sure she can remember her eldest brother very clearly.’
‘So can I,’ he retorted. ‘We were at school together—more like twins than brothers.’
‘And that’s the point. You’re too close. You can’t possibly be objective, and I wouldn’t expect you to be. He was your best friend and then you lost him—and that’s hard. I’m so sorry. You must miss him terribly,’ she whispered, and her teeth started to gnaw on her full lower lip in distress.
The deep shudder came from within his chest, and it must have been so loud that Lexi heard it. Because she smiled a half smile of understanding and regret and looked away. As though she was giving him a moment to compose himself.
Just the thought of that generous gesture flicked a switch inside his head that went from the calm controlled setting straight to the righteous anger mode.
This woman, this stranger who had walked into his life less than twenty-four hours earlier, was giving him a moment to bring his pain back under control.
Nothing she could have done would have made him more furious.
How dared she presume that he was unable to control himself?
That he was unable to do the job he had set himself because of the foolish, sensitive emotions in the gentle heart he had suppressed for all these years?
He’d learned the hard way that the Belmont men did not talk about Edmund and how his death had wrenched them apart. No. Instead they were expected to shoulder the extra responsibilities and obligations and carry on as though Edmund had never existed.
Lexi pressed both hands flat against the table, lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
And, to Mark’s horror, he saw the glint of moisture at the corners of her own eyes—which were not violet after all, he realised, but more of a grey colour in the diffused warm light coming in through the cream-lace curtains from the sunny garden outside. Her eyelashes were not black, like his, but dark brown, with a tint of copper. The same colour as her hair—well, most of it. The places that weren’t streaked with purple highlights.
But it was those amazing eyes that captivated him and dragged him helplessly into their depths. Multiple shades of grey and violet with blue speckles gazed back at him, with the black centres growing darker and wider as her eyes locked onto his and refused to let go. And he simply could not look away.
Those were the same eyes that had stared up at him in total horror that morning in the hospital. The same eyes that were now brimming with compassion and warmth and delight. And he had never seen anything like it before.
His mother had used to say that eyes were the windows to the heart.
And if that was true then Lexi Sloane had a remarkable heart.
But the fact remained—just looking into those eyes took him back to a place which shouted out, loud and clear, one single overpowering word.
Failure.
He had failed to protect his mother.
He had failed to replace Edmund.
He had let his parents down and was still letting them down.
And just the sight of his mother’s pretty face looking back at him from all these photographs was like a knife to the heart.
‘How do you do it?’ he demanded through clenched teeth. ‘How do you do this job for a living? Poring over the pain and suffering of other people’s lives? Do you get some sick pleasure out of it? Or do you use other people’s pain in order to make your own life feel better and safer in some way? Please tell me, because I don’t understand. I just don’t.’
He was trembling now, and so annoyed by his own lack of self-control that he brusquely slipped his hand out from under hers, turned away and strode downstairs to the patio doors, pulled them open sharply and stepped outside onto the cool shaded terrace.
Well, that was clever. Well done, Mark. Very slick. Taking your problems out on the nearest person, just like your dad would.
He closed his eyes and fought to control his breathing. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours until he heard the gentle tapping of Lexi’s light footsteps on the tile floor behind him.
She came and stood next to him at the railing, so that they were both looking out across the pool towards the cypress trees and olive groves in total silence.
‘I don’t do this job out of some sick pleasure or self-gratification. Well …’ she shrugged ‘… apart from the fact that I get paid, of course. No. I do it to help my clients record how they came through the traumas of their lives to become the person they are now. And that’s what other people want to read about.’ She half turned at the railing. ‘I was serious when I told you how much I loved reading about other people’s lives. I love meeting people. I love hearing their life stories.’
Her fingers tapped on the varnished wood. ‘Just in case you haven’t noticed, every family in this world suffers pain and loss, and every single person—every one—has to survive horrible trauma which changes their lives forever. That includes me, you and all our families and friends. There is no escape. It’s how we deal with it that makes us who we are. That’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ He shook his head. ‘When did you become an expert in sorting out other people’s lives and their histories for them? You’re hardly perfect yourself—not with your father.’
The temperature of the air dropped ten degrees, and the icy blast hit Mark hard on the forehead and woke him up.
He hadn’t meant to sound bitter or cruel, but suppressed emotion and tiredness swept over him like a wave and he needed a few moments before he could very, very slowly relax his manic hold on the railing and start to breathe again. He was only too aware that Lexi was watching his every move in silence.
‘I apologise for that outburst, Miss Sloane. It was uncalled for and unnecessary. I thought that we could get past what happened at the hospital but apparently I was mistaken. I can quite understand if you would prefer not to work with me after my rudeness. In fact, if you pack your bags now, you should be able to catch the ferry which leaves at four. I’ll make sure your hire car is picked up at the harbour, and that the agency pays your full fee. Thank you for your help this morning.’