‘Me?’ He laughed, the sound hard. ‘She resented me almost as much as she had resented her own daughter. She forgot I was there for the most part and left me to Dimitri. Dimitri was a weak man who blamed the world for anything that went wrong in his life, and, like many weak men who could not take responsibility for their own actions, he was a bully. He used me as a punching bag.’
Kat felt the tears press against the back of her eyelids. He remembered every blow, every curse. She knew it without him telling her.
‘I hate bullies!’
Her fierce declaration brought his eyes back to her face as she stood there, her hands clenched into fists, the empathy shining clear in her glorious eyes. He froze. What the hell had he just done?
What had begun as a lesson in caution had become some sort of soul-baring session. Feelings that he had put into cold storage had been resurrected. His jaw clenched. He had every intention of putting them safely back behind the mental ten-foot-high steel-reinforced walls that had taken him years of painstaking effort to construct.
‘I remembered...’ The housekeeper’s voice drifted up the deep stairwell and they both turned as she mounted the first few steps.
Kat tore her eyes off Zach’s curiously expressionless face.
The older woman, standing at the bottom step, was breathing hard as though she’d just run back.
‘You mentioned photos—I have some. They are mostly from a few summers. I will look them out for you,’ she promised. ‘There used to be lots about the place.’
‘Thank you,’ Kat called down, genuinely touched by the gesture.
‘This way,’ Zach said, indicating the corridor to the left. He sounded distant and cold. She was assuming he was regretting opening up to her. It was pretty obvious he was not a man who was into sharing his feelings.
‘So what happened to the photos of my mother?’
‘Before my time,’ he said abruptly, before adding, ‘I’m not sure, but your grandfather will know.’
Unless he’d destroyed them, Kat thought, imagining the angry man trying to wipe his daughter from his life. The thought left her feeling deflated as she walked beside a silent Zach down what seemed like several miles of corridors until Zach stopped at a door.
‘You’re here.’ As he spoke a maid emerged from the room. She seemed flustered when she saw them.
Zach said something in Greek that made her smile and tip her head towards the room and say something in her native tongue before moving away.
‘What did she say?’ Kat asked.
‘You’re not going to learn if I keep translating for you.’
Kat, who had turned to follow the girl’s progress down the wide corridor, turned back to Zach. He was a lot closer than she had anticipated. She took a hasty step backwards, nothing to do with retreat and a lot to do with self-preservation. His closeness had a disturbing effect on her nervous system.
‘So how am I going to learn? Or is that the idea—to make me feel like an outsider?’ She regretted the self-pitying addition the moment it left her lips, but in reality she felt as though she always would be an outsider here. It seemed impossible that she would ever fit in.
‘You could take lessons.’
She noticed he didn’t offer.
‘Though they say immersion’s the best way to learn a language.’
‘Who’s they?’ she jeered, unimpressed.
‘Experts.’
She snapped her fingers to express her opinion of experts. ‘I call it stupid, a bit like saying throwing someone in the deep end is the best way to learn to swim.’
‘But you can’t swim,’ he reminded her, picturing her in a very small bikini, emerging from waves. It was a very distracting image. ‘Well, this is your suite.’ He tipped his head and walked away. ‘Half an hour, then.’
She wanted to ask where he was sleeping but stopped herself. It sounded too needy. She thought of saying she wasn’t hungry but she realised she was actually starving. Nerves had meant she hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
Kat walked in the room and leaned against the door. The room she had entered was furnished in the style of a French chateau, the walls peachy gold in colour, the stunning fireplace with its top-heavy carving dominating the room.
She found the opulent luxuriousness of it all fascinating. The antiques, the drapes, the handmade wallpaper. This was the embodiment of money being no object. It was clear there had been an effort made to inject some personal touches. Kat was appreciative of the flowers and candles. The antique furniture, probably worth a fortune, was all a bit too ornate to ever feel comfortable; her tastes were simpler.