Certain she was being played, but with no idea what for, Alesha gave in and followed, partly because she hated saying no, and partly because her interest had been piqued last night when Kristof talked briefly about his work here. ‘Tell me how the p
lace operates. Do some of the children stay long term?’
‘We have permanent children, though we’re always trying to find families to adopt those. Then there are others who are brought in by strangers or the police who’ve been abused, abandoned, or have run away from who knows what.’ The older woman’s voice darkened. ‘Some go home again, or to relatives; some into state care, and others become our temporary residents.’
‘That’s so unfair. How do you cope with this day in, day out?’ Alesha’s heart was breaking and she hadn’t met any of the children.
‘With dignity, love, and difficulty.’
Talk about honest. How many people would admit to a stranger that it was tough doing what she did? Alesha smiled. ‘You must be a very special lady.’
The smile she got back was soft. ‘Thank you, dear. I’m not alone. There are a lot of kind people out there, some of whom come here to help.’ Then she turned brisk. ‘Come and meet some of the children. This is the classroom.’ Judging by the racket when she opened the door, the teacher was as much in charge as a sheepdog rounding up a herd of cattle. ‘They might be a bit nervous but don’t let that stop you being at ease with them.’
This woman didn’t know her. ‘I won’t.’
Alesha stepped inside and smiled. There was nothing particularly unusual about the room or the children. They were all dressed in mismatched clothes, and their faces and hair shone. Most of them sat at desks with books open, books they were ignoring, until one by one they became aware of Antonija and quietened down.
Alesha bit down on the urge to laugh. Undoing Antonija’s effect wasn’t on if she wanted to get out of here in one piece. Because she had no doubt this woman could be fierce if needed, and when it came to disrupting the children fierce might be needed. She’d seen a similar determination to do what was right in Kristof’s eyes when they approached that burning house. And when he’d backed away from her advances. Heat filled her cheeks and her arms tightened against her sides. What an idiot she’d been.
Antonija spoke to the children in Croatian before explaining to Alesha, ‘I’ve told them your name and that you’re visiting from London.’
How much had Kristof talked about her that morning? And why? He’d been all too happy to finally say goodnight when he’d returned her to the apartment so she’d thought he’d have all but forgotten her by breakfast.
The kids were all staring at her, some giggling. All except one. A skinny child—the long hair suggested a girl—stood stock-still in the far corner, one leg tucked behind the other, one hand gripped tight at her side while the other arm was encased in a sling. But worse than that, more heart-rending, was the blank expression on her face, closely followed by the incomprehension in her eyes. No one so young should ever feel that lost and confused. Except they could, and often did. And it was the most hideous place to be.
Alesha’s heart heaved. She wanted to race across and bundle the child up into her arms and hold her until her eyes cleared—which would take months, if not years. She didn’t move. Frightening the girl further would be the worst thing possible. That girl was putting it out there, ‘don’t come near’. ‘The poor darling,’ she whispered.
‘Capeka is our latest visitor.
‘Visitor?’
‘For lack of a better word. I don’t like calling them waifs or strays. She was found under a bridge by strangers, who brought her to us yesterday.’
Alesha nodded. ‘Kristof operated on her.’
‘He mentioned that? To you?’ Surprise rippled off the woman. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t meant in an offensive way, but my son never talks about his patients. Especially not the ones he sees in here.’
‘Guess he thought it didn’t matter when we’re not going to see each other again.’
‘Really?’
Alesha had no idea what this lady was asking about. Kristof telling her about the girl? Or that she wouldn’t see him again? It didn’t matter, though disappointment rippled through her at the thought of not seeing him once more. Now that she was fully awake, not half naked and exhausted, nor feeling as let down as she probably should, Kristof would probably look like an everyday guy. One she’d not think about at unexpected moments. ‘Does Capeka stand in the corner all the time? She doesn’t join the other children?’
‘Not yet. It’s early days. Sometimes it takes for ever for a child who comes here to feel accepted. She’s watching you, though. Interesting. Still, we’ll leave her alone to make her own mind up about whether to join in or not. Come and see the rest of the centre.’
There went her sightseeing, but it didn’t matter. She was more than happy to take a look around the home.
Nearly an hour later Alesha found herself wandering into the classroom again. This time she was alone, and the children were quiet, working on an exercise the teacher had set. Capeka remained in the corner, her eyes averted, and yet Alesha would swear the malnourished girl was aware of every move, every word uttered, by the children and the teacher. Nodding to the teacher, she went to sit on a chair at the back of the room, not intruding on Capeka but close enough to be there for her. Not that she had anything other than life skills to help someone with this child’s problems, and that wouldn’t be enough, but she wanted, needed, to be there for her. Wanted to send warm vibes across the gap between them, to let her know she wasn’t alone, and was in good care now. That there were good people who’d never hurt her.
Picking up a children’s book from the table beside her, she slowly turned the pages, not able to read the words, but murmuring her own version of the story. Not hard to do when the pictures suggested it might be a classic from her own childhood. When she reached the end she started again. And again. Until she felt Capeka’s gaze on her. Then she read the story again. The child wouldn’t have a clue if she was telling the story correctly or making up a load of nonsense but hopefully she heard the genuine empathy in her voice. As long as Capeka watched her she’d continue telling the same story over and over.
* * *
Kristof stood in the classroom doorway, flabbergasted. Alesha. What was she doing at the refuge? And in this room at that? Strange how there were nine children in here yet only one was fully aware of her.
Capeka was fixated on the woman reading a story out loud. Staring, unafraid of Alesha. Though there was no way the kid understood a word she was saying she seemed to understand the light, carefree cadence, the soothing facial expressions, the gentleness, the slow way Alesha turned the pages and touched the pictures. If little Capeka was so taken with her that for the first time since her arrival she was actively watching an adult, then he’d go get a bed for Alesha immediately. She was needed around here.
There was still caution in the girl’s expression as she listened, watched, standing in that awkward position. What that was doing to her leg muscles was anyone’s guess. The tension was there in tight tendons, and that clenched fist. In the pain in her eyes. But those eyes were glued to Alesha. Interesting.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ his mother whispered.
He flicked her a look. ‘Bottle her.’ He’d forgotten his mother had been behind him, and he never forgot when she was around. Keeping his guard up was automatic since his marriage imploded back when he believed in happily ever after. Before his father finished off that belief once and for ever. Before the guilt over blaming his mother for everything that went wrong in their family landed on his shoulders. He had to admit it, Alesha had intrigued him from the get-go with those beautiful eyes and that wonderful figure. Then there was her laughter and willingness to enjoy herself despite everything.
It seemed that around Alesha Milligan he had to be doubly vigilant.
His mother said quietly, ‘I’m going to ask her if she’ll drop in every day to spend time doing this with Capeka until she goes home.’
‘London, not home,’ he countered automatically. Keeping things correct was another hab
it from the past.
‘London? That’s handy.’ His mother looked up at him with a curious look in her shrewd eyes.
A look that paralysed him. Trouble was brewing and he wasn’t going to like it. But forewarned gave him time to prepare—if only he knew what he was arming up for. Unless he was being precious and it wasn’t him she was targeting at all, but merely getting help for Capeka from any source available. That was his mother to a tee. But the sneaking suspicion going on in the back of his head that this was about him couldn’t be denied, not totally. He needed to stay prepared, ready for anything. ‘Don’t even bother,’ he retorted just in case he was right.
She was impaling him with a smug smile. ‘Fine.’
Stepping away from his mother, he carefully closed the door, effectively shutting her out, and leaned back against it. It was hard to ignore that chuckle from the other side of the door though. His eyes sought a diversion. Alesha. Without all that stress going on she was more beautiful than he remembered. Her skin was peaches and cream, English rather than the outdoorsy skin that the few New Zealand women he’d met at the hospital seemed to gain over years in the sun. The smattering of freckles on her cheeks was cute, and added to her intrigue, giving an air of innocence that the wariness in her eyes refuted. Her simple white shirt was the perfect contrast for her golden brown hair tied back loosely into a thick braid. No doubt the temperature was too high to wear it out, which was a shame. Last night her hair had been a mess, all over the show, and very compelling. It had taken strength not to run his fingers through those rampant curls.
Why did she do this to him? What was different about Alesha that fizzed his blood in a way other women didn’t? Whatever, he wasn’t going to waste time figuring it out. They weren’t going to be a ‘they’.
There was no denying the churning going on in his belly, though, while Alesha looked the epitome of calmness sitting on that uncomfortable chair making up a story for a sad little girl. Too much so for his comfort. Because he didn’t believe it. There was history in her face and expressions, last night and now, that spoke of knowledge of Capeka’s pain. Knowledge gained from experience. Someone had hurt her, and he didn’t believe it was just that man who dumped her unceremoniously before her holiday. That had hurt her, no doubt, but there’d been more anger than the deep, gutting pain that a broken heart would cause. He should know. He’d been there.