‘Just because I don’t want a bunch of Old Masters cluttering up my walls, it doesn’t make me a philistine.’
He spoke flippantly, but there was an edge to his voice and she turned to face him.
‘I was joking. Truly. I know you’re not a philistine,’ she said slowly.
She watched his face grow taut.
‘Because of my grandfather?’ He shrugged. ‘That’s rather a simplistic point of view. I would have thought you’d be the first person to understand that blood can be no thicker than water.’
He looked away, and her cheeks burning, Prudence stared at his profile helplessly. There was something pushing to get out from behind his anger. Something that he’d wanted and failed to tell her yesterday and she needed to find some way—some words—to reach him.
Holding her breath, she followed his gaze. He was looking at the photograph of his parents.
‘What were they like?’
He was silent so long she thought he wasn’t going to reply, and then his shoulders rose and fell and he said quietly, ‘They were perfect.’
Her heart was suddenly pounding. It was an odd word to use, but it was the way he said it—so wearily, so unhappily—that made her feel as though she were breaking in two.
Her eyes fixed on the photograph.
‘You look a lot like your mother,’ she said carefully. ‘But your eyes are just like your father’s.’
Laszlo watched her glance anxiously from the photo back to him. ‘At least I inherited something from them.’
He hadn’t meant his remark to sound so sharp, and his neck tensed as she turned to look at him.
‘What does that mean?’
Instead of answering he gave a casual shrug and leant forward, intending to kiss her. Kiss away his pain and confusion.
But, stepping backwards, she stared at him confusedly. ‘I want to help—’
‘I don’t want your help!’
He spoke quickly—too quickly—and she lifted her head, her eyes suddenly darker than steel, her voice glacier-cold. ‘But you do want to have sex with me?’
As he met her gaze, he felt relief, for her anger was so much easier to respond to than her concern. ‘I don’t see a connection.’
‘I want you to stop pushing me away.’
‘I don’t push you away. I can barely keep my hands off you.’
‘I’m not talking about that. That’s just sex.’
She looked away. There was a pulsing silence. A muscle flickered in his jaw and he groped for something to take the pain from her eyes. And from his heart.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to.’ His face was suddenly stiff with tension. ‘I’m not trying to push you away—’ Prudence stared at him anxiously. She could almost feel the weight of misery in his heart.
‘But you are pushing something away. Or someone...?’
It was conjecture—nothing more than a feeling—but his face tightened.
‘Is it your mum and dad?’
He looked almost dazed, and then his eyes seemed to scramble away from hers. There was a silence, and then he said quietly, ‘I let them down. And not just them. My grandparents too.’
‘I don’t understand...’ she said slowly. And then suddenly—incredibly—she did. ‘Are you talking about our marriage?’