‘We are just grateful that you are willing to consider contributing.’
‘We?’
She flushed and refused to be put off by his sardonic tone. ‘This we...’ Kat pulled the folder from her bag and pointed to the logo on the cover. ‘The Hinsdale project and family refuge. Dame Laura...’ she put a gentle emphasis on the title; it was hard to tell sometimes but some people were impressed by such things, not that she had to pretend pride or enthusiasm as she told him ‘...began it back in the sixties when there was just the one house, a mid-terrace, a two-up two-down. It was all a bit basic.’
‘And now?’
‘We have extended into the houses both sides, the entire row, and can take thirty-five women at any one time, depending, obviously, on the number of children. In the eighties the chapel across the road came up for sale and we bought it. Now it houses the nursery and crèche, which is available for women when they have moved out. It also contains a drop-in centre, which provides legal help and so forth. Dame Laura was personally involved, right up to her death.’
Had her own mother found Hinsdale, or a similar place, both their lives might have been very different.
Zach watched the wave of sadness flicker across her expressive face. Letting this interview play out a little longer might be on shaky ground morally, but practically it would provide a swifter insight into this woman whom he was meant to be babysitting.
‘And what is your role?’ Zach was experiencing a strange reluctance to abandon his mental image of a person so damaged they never looked at anything other than their own self-interest—a person, in short, much like himself.
The frown that came with the unbidden flicker of self-awareness faded as he watched her beautiful face light up with a glow of conviction and resolution as she leaned forward in her seat, losing the nervousness as she answered proudly.
‘I run the refuge, along with a great team, many of whom are volunteers, as was I initially. I began by volunteering at the crèche when I was at school, and after I left I was offered a salaried position. I like to think Dame Laura would have been proud of what we have achieved.’ Kat had met the redoubtable lady once; she had been frail but as sharp as a tack and totally inspirational. ‘Her legacy lives on.’ Embarrassed, Kat swallowed the emotional lump in her throat and reminded herself that there was a fine line between enthusiasm and looking a little unhinged. ‘We have a dedicated staff and, as I said, so many volunteers. We are part of the community and don’t turn anyone away.’
‘That must make forward planning difficult.’
‘We build in flexibility—’
He felt a twinge of admiration that, despite the starry-eyed enthusiasm, she was not so naive that she didn’t know how to sidestep a difficult answer.
‘Is that possible fiscally?’
‘Obviously in the present financial climate—’
‘How much do you need?’
The hard note of cold cynicism in his interruption made her blink, then rush to reassure. ‘Oh, please, don’t think for one moment we are expecting you to cover the total shortfall.’
‘As negotiating tactics go, that, Kat...’the way he drawled her name made the fine hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end ‘...was not good—it was bad. It was abysmal.’
Her expression stiffened and grew defensive. ‘I came here under the impression that you wanted to contribute to the refuge.’ She struggled to contain the antagonism that sparkled in her eyes as she planted her hands on the table and leaned in. ‘Look, if this is about me... There are other people who could do my job. The important thing is the work.’
‘Do you think everything is about you?’
Kat felt her face flush. ‘Of course not, it just felt...feels as if you find me...’
‘So you are saying you’d sacrifice yourself to save this place?’
She swallowed, wondering if that was what it was going to take. Obviously it was a price she would be willing to pay, but only as a last resort. Crawl and grovel if that’s what he wants, Kat. She heaved a deep sigh and managed an almost smile.
‘You don’t like me, fine.’ Because I really don’t like you.
Zach watched the internal struggle reflected on her face. This was a woman who should never play poker. As a born risk-taker, he enjoyed that form of relaxation.
She left a space for him to deny the claim.
He didn’t.
‘But, please,’ she begged, ‘don’t allow that to influence your decision. I am one person easy to replace, but there is a dedicated staff who work incredibly hard.’ Breathing hard, she waited for a response, the slightest hint of softening, but there was none.
Her chin went up; she was in nothing-to-lose territory.
She flicked to the first page of the thin folder, except the first page was now somewhere in the middle so it took her a few moments to locate it. ‘I have the facts and figures; the average stay of a client is...’ With a sigh she turned the page of figures over. It wasn’t the right one. ‘The average doesn’t matter. Everyone who comes is different and we try to cater to their individual needs. The woman who is my deputy first arrived as a client. She was in an abusive relationship...’