‘And you’d prefer that I was the bad guy. I get your sister pregnant, but it’s you who have to be there to hold her hand while she’s dying and bring up my son when she’s gone. This record is not one to inspire confidence or trust, I can see that, but right now I am here and all I want is to get to know my son.’
‘I don’t blame you for what happened to Abby.’
‘Why the hell not? If the positions were reversed I would.’
Scarlet looked around for something else to dry; this was a subject she didn’t want to get into.
With an exasperated grunt Roman snatched the tea towel from her fingers and spun her around to face him.
‘Your friend might have nothing to do with this, but when I met her she seemed very interested in my relationship with Sam and you.’
‘I didn’t know you’d met her.’
‘The other day when I was arriving she just happened to be coming out her door and you said yourself that Isobel was hard up for cash. Hasn’t her husband lost his job?’
‘You’re saying she wasn’t my friend, she was just using me?’ Distress roughened her voice.
‘I’m sure she liked you too, but maybe she saw a way to make some money and the temptation was too great to resist. It’s incredible how flexible your principles can become when you’ve no money for the rent.’
‘You don’t even sound angry!’ she gasped, raising tear-filled eyes to his face.
‘Do you think nobody who said they were my friend has ever done the dirty on me?’ he asked.
‘It’s awful. No wonder you’re so horribly cynical,’ she observed. ‘Not,’ she added with a sniff, ‘that I’m going to condemn someone without proof.’
‘Quite right, I’m just pointing out a possibility.’
He scanned her ivory-pale face and walked over to the fridge and withdrew a half-open bottle of wine from the door. He filled a glass and wrapped her stiff fingers around it. ‘You’re in shock and it should be brandy, but I don’t suppose you keep any spirits.’#p#????#e#
‘I have no secrets from you,’ she bit back sardonically through chattering teeth.
‘Drink the lot,’ he insisted, standing over her to make sure she did as he ordered. ‘Feel any better?’
‘No, just dizzy.’ She lifted her eyes to his. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘We are going to do nothing. We are not going to respond when journalists ask us—’
‘But what if—?’
He shook his head. ‘We do not respond,’ he told her flatly. ‘Listen, I know you’re not used to handling the media, which is why I thought a few days of time out in Ireland might be a good idea.’
‘Don’t you mean hiding…running away?’
‘No, I don’t mean hiding or running away.’
‘But that’s what it amounts to,’ she objected with a frown.
‘You’d prefer to be here when the telephone starts ringing or you wake up to find them camping on your doorstep?’
A shudder of revulsion ran through Scarlet at the image his words conjured up. She was an intensely private person; the idea of having her face and name the object of speculation was abhorrent. ‘Is that going to happen?’ she asked fearfully.
‘You’ll have a camera lens trained on every window,’ he predicted. He looked around the tiny room. ‘And this flat could not offer less protection.’
‘My entire life can’t change because of a silly story in a newspaper,’ she protested, her voice rising shrilly. ‘Perhaps I should go and stay with a friend?’ she suggested.
‘You could, if you want to lay them open to the same intrusive media invasion,’ he agreed. ‘Or you could come with me to Ireland.’
‘You think they’ll have lost interest in the story by the time we get back?’ she suggested hopefully. ‘I mean, it’s bound to die a natural death really, isn’t it, if I go away for a while?’
There was a moment’s silence before his dark lashes lifted and he looked directly at her. ‘Anything is possible.’
His cagey response didn’t sound too comforting to Scarlet. ‘But if they want a story or pictures they could follow us to Ireland. Where do you register on the scale of newsworthy?’ she demanded. ‘Would they follow you to Ireland?’
‘Sorry they would, but it wouldn’t do them much good. The house is set in the middle of a couple of thousand acres, part of it heavily forested, which means even fly-overs by helicopter are unproductive.
‘It’s an added plus factor that the neighbours are as unfriendly to the press as the geography. Sometimes,’ he mused, ‘friends are more effective than a million pounds’ worth of security, not that we haven’t invested in some of that of late,’ he added drily.