‘And if I had broken a vase or even crashed a car, I might see it your way. But I killed my mother and father. I deprived Evie of her parents. I destroyed our family. For years I wished I had died too. It was only Evie that kept me going. I couldn’t leave her.’
‘Oh, Thirio, don’t say that. You have so much to offer. You parents would want you to live your life.’ She hesitated, not sure if she was going to ruin everything, but judging that it was more important to help him than to preserve their status quo. ‘And not like this. They would want you to live your life properly and fully, to find a way to be happy. You cannot keep yourself in stasis for ever, and, what’s more, you don’t deserve that.’
‘I deserve to rot in hell,’ he muttered. ‘If you could only know the kind of person I was back then. Selfish, spoiled, entitled—’
‘And young,’ she said quietly. ‘You were still a boy, Thirio, in your early twenties.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing you say will change this. I killed my parents, and I will live with that knowledge for as long as I live.’
‘And you will stay here, away from people and fun and friends, hidden away, miserable, soaking in your grief?’
‘What would you suggest as an alternative? Draw a line in the sand under my parents’ deaths and kick up my heels as though it never happened?’
‘Don’t be facetious,’ she said softly, reproachfully, so his gaze slid sideways to hers. ‘I’m not saying you can ignore your pain, nor that you should. But you have to find a way to live with it, as a part of you, rather than shutting down completely.’
‘Thank you for the advice.’ There wasn’t a hint of gratitude in the words. ‘But this is the approach that’s working for me.’
‘Is it really working?’ She quietly reflected on that, pulling apart his sentiment. ‘And this is why you’ve pledged not to have sex?’
‘Why should I get to enjoy my life when I deprived them of theirs? When I deprived Evie of her beloved mother and father? Going without sex and companionship is a small price to pay, given what I did.’
‘Thirio,’ Lucinda groaned. ‘I’m so sorry you feel this way.’ She struggled to know what else to say. ‘You couldn’t have known that would happen.’
‘No,’ he agreed, voice grim. ‘But the way I used to behave, it was only a matter of time.’
She thought about the photos she’d seen of him on the Internet, the lifestyle he used to lead. ‘You aren’t the only twenty-something who’s enjoyed going out and partying, who’s then done something stupid because they were drunk, and young.’
‘It killed my parents.’ His eyes were haunted. ‘Would you forgive yourself?’
‘Listen to me.’ She put her hand on his cheek. ‘You have to, for one reason. Your parents would want you to. Do you think your mother and father would wish you to sacrifice your enjoyment in life as some kind of price for their deaths? Of course not. If they loved you at all, and I’m sure they did, they would want you to live your lifeforthem. You should be ringing every moment of delight, and feeling it on their behalf. Make your life a tribute, Thirio, not a torment.’
‘Beautiful words,’ he said, his tone showing that he had heard them without intending to listen. ‘But this is how it needs to be. It’s the only way I can live with myself.’
Sadness filled her chest. His grief was palpable, so too the tragedy of what had unfolded.
‘Would you tell me about them?’ she asked, nestling her head back on his wounded chest, knowing now that the outward scars were nothing compared to the marks he carried on the walls of his heart.
His chest rose with his intake of breath, then fell as he expelled slowly, a little unevenly. ‘What would you like to know?’
She put her arm over his chest, holding him tight, reassuring him and caring for him. ‘Anything you want to tell me.’
And as the dawn sky gradually permitted more light, Thirio spoke of his parents. He told stories of his childhood vacations, travelling, laughing, having fun. He spoke of his mother’s love of Christmas, and how she’d infused that time of year with so much magic, right up until that last year. He spoke about the runs he and his father would go on, miles and miles of silence and then how they’d stop, and talk about nothing in particular. How his dad always made him feel as though he could do anything he wanted, and his mother made him feel as though he wasn’t doing enough. He talked about how time had changed his perspective. He used to hate the way his mother hounded him but now he understood how frustrated she must have been by his choices, how desperately she was trying to shake him out of the lifestyle he had chosen. And he spoke of the arguments they’d had, in the last few years, when his life had been off track and he hadn’t wanted to go home and listen to his parents.
‘After they died, Evie and I inherited everything they owned, equally. Right down the middle. But Evie was still a legal minor, not to gain control of her share of the family’s companies for another four years. They were mine to run. I dedicated myself to that. My father had been so devoted to his work, and I’d always neglected that side of our life, not wanting to know anything about the corporate world. I immersed myself in it, so that I could understand and take over.’
‘All while you were recovering from your own injuries?’ she asked gently, as the sun pierced the forest with a single beam of golden light.
‘It was the perfect opportunity. I was bed-bound in hospital for over a month.’
She gasped softly. His injuries must have been very severe.
‘When I was released, work became my life. It has been ever since.’
The rest, she knew. Part of her research had told her that Thirio Skartos had taken the already magnificent family fortune and at least trebled it in the last few years. He regularly topped rich lists around the world. But he was also known for his social conscience. His investment in the infrastructure of developing countries had funded schools and highways, and their family foundation had contributed billions of dollars to refugee causes.
‘And your charitable work?’
‘I donate money.’ He brushed it aside.