He was looking at her strangely. ‘Because I realise how little I know about you, Ann.’
‘Why should you want to?’ she countered. Nikos Theakis knew all he considered he needed to know about her. Why should he suddenly want to know more? What for? He’d never evinced the slightest interest before—why now?
‘Because—’ Nikos began, then stopped. Why did he want to know? What was it to him what Ann Turner’s background was? What her childhood had been? It was irrelevant—she was the person she was. That was all. Desirable, hypocritical, venal. He had proof of all those three qualities. They were enough for any woman!
But was it enough for him to know? Was there more about her?
‘You said something about foster parents?’ The prompting came again.
‘Yes.’ It was a bald reply, and all he got.
‘Were they good to you?’ Why had he said that? Why did he care?
She gave a little shrug. ‘Some were better than others.’
He frowned. ‘You had more than one set?’
‘We were moved at least three times. The last—’ She broke off.
‘Yes?’
Unconsciously Ann reached for her wine and took a mouthful. She needed it.
‘The last placement was very good for me. I thrived. I was happiest there. The foster mother was kind, and I liked her. The foster father—’ She broke off again. Took another mouthful of wine.
‘The foster father…?’ Again Nikos was prompting her.
Something flashed in her eyes. Hard. Like a knife-blade. He wanted to know? OK, he could know. ‘The foster father was fine—with me.’ She took a constricted breath that razored in her throat. She breathed out harshly. ‘That was because I was too young for him. He liked young teenage girls—like Carla.’
Nikos’s expression had stilled. ‘Are you saying—?’ he said slowly.
‘Yes.’ It was all she said. All she had to say.
‘But surely there were social workers for you both, if you were in state care? Why didn’t your sister—?’
Ann’s gaze was unblinking. ‘Carla didn’t tell them. She knew I was happy in that placement. So for my sake she…put up with it. She didn’t want us moved again, unsettled. And the risk of separation was always there. It’s hard for fostered siblings to be kept together—there’s such a shortage of foster carers. She thought that at least we were together, and that—well, she could stick it out. So she did. For two years. Until she was old enough to leave at sixteen.’ A final breath exhaled from her. ‘Then she got out of there like a bat out of hell. But not before telling our foster father that she would be keeping a lookout for me like a hawk, and if he made the slightest move on me now that I was older she’d see him in jail. So he never touched me—and I never knew about what had happened to Carla until I was old enough to leave care. I found out when Carla called the social workers in, and the police, and got the man prosecuted. So he couldn’t prey on any other girls they took in.’
Nikos paused. ‘His wife colluded?’
Ann shook her head. ‘She didn’t know. She really, really didn’t know. When the case came to court, and Carla and I had to give our testimony, she looked as if her very soul had been destroyed. It was heartbreaking for her. She felt guilty because she’d failed to care for the children in her charge, because she’d been so blind to her husband’s nature.’
Nikos was silent. Silenced. Ann had resumed eating. Focussing only on her food, her face blank. Slowly, he spoke.
‘I didn’t know.’ The words seemed inadequate even as he said them.
Ann glanced at him. ‘Why should you? If you want to apply popular psychology you could say that because a man used Carla she decided that in future she’d use them. Which she did. Does it excuse her? I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Nikos slowly, as if his thoughts were rearranging themselves in his head, ‘it explains her.’
‘Maybe it does. But then maybe she just wanted the good things in life. We weren’t materially deprived in care, but we didn’t have anything of our own. Carla was always hungry for material goods. Maybe she wanted to taste luxury the easy way.’
His expression had changed. He was looking at her. Different thoughts were in his head now. Memory was suddenly vivid in his mind. Four years ago he’d st
ood in Ann Turner’s dingy flat and seen only a place utterly unfit in which to bring up his brother’s son. His only urge had been to get Ari out of there. Now, in his mind’s eye, he saw it differently. As the place Ann had had to live in. The rundown area, the shabby furniture, the primitive kitchen, worn carpets, peeling wallpaper—all the signs of poverty and squalor.
No wonder she had wanted out…
His eyes rested on her as she went on eating.