‘No, not because of that...’ He hesitated, a tremor moving across his face. ‘What I said yesterday—it was true. You’re all I think about and—’ The skin across his cheekbones was stretched taut; his shoulders rising and falling. ‘You’re right. I am upset.’
‘Because I said I didn’t like lying to Dunmore?’
‘Yes—no.’ His mouth twisted, his fingers curling around the towel. ‘It just seemed like you were worried about him and David and their feelings and not about me.’
‘That’s not true.’ She breathed out shakily. ‘I do care about you. But you don’t want me to.’
His hands stilled and for a moment he stared at her in silence. Then he said flatly, ‘You’re a good person.’
She stared at him uncertainly. ‘Not really. It’s easy to do the right thing for love.’
‘Love?’ He frowned, his gaze suddenly intent.
She felt her face grow warmer. ‘I meant for David. I love my brother.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’d do anything for him. For any of my family. That’s what matters to me.’
Not that Rollo would ever understand that, she thought wearily. Other than a few offhand remarks, he’d barely discussed his childhood, and his careless exploitation of her relationship with David suggested that family meant nothing to him.
But, glancing over at his face, she felt her heart start to pound. She had expected derision or incomprehension, coldness or anger. But instead he looked stricken.
And suddenly she understood.
‘It matters to you too.’
His head jerked up, his eyes widening like an animal’s, poised for fight or flight, and instinctively she lowered her voice.
‘That’s why you want that building, isn’t it?’
Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze fixed past her, at some unseen point in the distance. But she knew where he was looking. She’d seen the picture on his desk.
He nodded slowly but didn’t reply, and for a moment they stood in silence like actors in the wings, waiting for their cue.
Then finally, he nodded again. ‘I used to live there. A long time ago.’
It sounded like the beginning of a fairy tale. But she knew from the strain in his voice that his story would have no happy ending.
‘With your parents?’ she prompted gently.
He nodded. ‘My father wasn’t a practical man, but he had ideas. And passion. That’s how he met my mother. He was working at a country club as a groundsman and he saw her with her parents. And just like that he knew she was the one. So he cut all the roses he could find and when he gave them to her he asked her to marry him.’
He gave Daisy a small, tight smile.
‘He lost his job. But he didn’t care because she said yes.’
She nodded, wondering how a smile could be so sad. ‘That’s so romantic. They must have been very happy.’
His smile tightened. ‘He was.’ He paused, his eyes bleak. ‘My mother not so much. After they got married, they moved to the city. It was hard. My father didn’t earn much, and his “ideas” used up all her trust fund. She hated not having money—hated living from day to day. But then when I was about ten, and my sister Rosamund was four, he got a really good job.’
Daisy stared at him in shock. Sister! She had thought he was an only child. But now that he was finally talking so openly she dared not interrupt.
‘It was good money, and he rented an apartment for us. It wasn’t huge, or fancy. But for the first time my mother was happy. We all were. There was even a playground, with swings and slides, and I used to take Rosamund there all the time. My mom would cook and we’d have dinner as a family and then we’d play cards. It was perfect.’
Her heart contracted at the wonder in his voice. ‘What happened?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She’d be okay for maybe a month or two, and then she’d start coming home late. Missing meals. Then she’d pack her bags. Threaten to leave.’
Remembering his face when he’d found her with her suitcase, Daisy felt a pang of misery. No wonder he’d reacted so furiously. It must have reminded him of other times—other suitcases.
‘And did she?’ she said in a small voice.