‘Which might have a lot more to do with teaching methods and expectations than because they have scientifically superior brains.’
His eyes glittered. ‘I think we’ll have to differ on that.’
Carly could feel herself getting hot as he ran a speculative gaze over her and once again she was aware of that whispering feeling of danger. ‘As you wish,’ she said, wanting to change the subject and talk about something else, but it seemed he was having none of it.
‘Which science were you good at?’ he persisted.
‘All of them. Biology and chemistry. Maths, too. I loved them all.’
‘So why—?’
‘Did I flunk my exams?’ She abandoned all pretence of playing the game and put her own cards down on the table. She didn’t want to answer this, but she knew Luis well enough to recognise that he wouldn’t let up. And pain grew less over time, didn’t it? As the years went by you could talk about things which had happened and make them sound almost conversational. ‘Because my father was...well, he was very ill when I was younger and as a consequence I missed out on quite a bit of school work.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and Carly almost wished he hadn’t because it was harder to keep things in perspective when his voice had softened like that.
‘Oh, these things happen,’ she said.
‘What exactly happened?’ he probed, his dark eyes narrowed. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Carly? People have sick parents but still manage to pass exams.’
His persistence was as difficult to ignore as it was surprising, since he wasn’t known for taking an interest in the personal life of his staff. And suddenly Carly found herself telling him. It was, she realised, a long time since she’d told anyone because people didn’t want to hear hard-luck stories, did they? It was the modern trend to portray your life as if it were just one long, happy party; to act as if you were having fun all the time.
‘It was one of those long-term chronic things,’ she said, her voice growing quieter. ‘He couldn’t get out of the house much, so I used to come home from school, and sit and tell him about my day. Sometimes I’d read to him—he liked that. Then by the time I’d cooked supper and the nurse had come in t
o put him to bed, I’d be too tired to do my homework. Or maybe I was just too lazy,’ she added, her attempt to lighten the mood failing spectacularly, for not a flicker of a smile had touched his suddenly sombre face.
‘And did he recover?’
His voice was still doing that dangerous thing. That soft thing which was making her feel things she had no right to feel—certainly not about him. It was making her feel vulnerable, and she’d spent a lifetime trying not to feel like that. Carly pressed her lips together. She never cried about it these days, but the mind could still play funny tricks on you, couldn’t it? Sometimes an innocent question could make your eyes well up without warning and she didn’t want that happening now. Not in front of her boss. She shook her head. ‘No. I’m afraid he didn’t. He died when I was nineteen.’
His ebony gaze seemed to pierce right through her skin.
‘And what about your mother?’ he questioned. ‘Wasn’t she around to help?’
This bit was more difficult. It was hard to convey what had happened without making Mum sound like some kind of wicked witch, which she wasn’t—she was just someone who could occasionally be a bit misguided.
‘She wasn’t very...good with illness. Some people aren’t,’ said Carly, injecting that breezy note into her voice which she’d mastered so well. The one which implied that she totally supported her mother’s decision to live out her own failed dreams through her beautiful, younger daughter. She remembered the way her mum used to talk about Bella making it big through modelling, but saying that you needed to pump money in to get money out. And that had been what had driven her. What had made her bleed their dwindling bank account dry—a big gamble which had ultimately failed. And even if it had succeeded—so what? As if material success could ever cancel out all the sadness which had been playing out at home. ‘My mother was busy helping my sister launch her career. She’s a model,’ she added.
‘Oh?’ Luis’s eyebrows rose. ‘That’s a term which usually covers a multitude of sins. Would I have heard of her?’
‘You might have done,’ said Carly. ‘Though maybe not yet. She does lots of catalogue work. And last year she was hired for the opening of a new shopping complex in Dubai.’
‘I see.’
Carly heard the trace of sarcasm in his voice and she bristled. Because that was the thing about families, wasn’t it? You could criticise your own until the cows came home, but woe betide anyone else who attempted to do the same.
‘She’s doing a lot of swimwear shoots at the moment and lingerie modelling. She’s very beautiful.’
‘Is she?’
Carly could hear the doubt in his voice and all her own insecurities came rushing in to swamp her, like dark strands of seaweed pulling her down into the water so that she couldn’t breathe. Did he think that someone like her was incapable of having a beautiful sister, with hair like white gold and naturally plump lips, which made you think she’d had Botox? A sister whose ankles and wrists were so delicate that sometimes you worried that they might snap, like spun sugar. Because Bella was all those things—and more.
And didn’t she have to believe that her sister would one day achieve the success which she and her mother had yearned for? Otherwise it would make all those years of sacrifice and heartbreak count for nothing. It would make the memory of her father’s reedy voice as he’d called in vain for his wife all the harder to bear. It would make the debts and the loss of their house seem a complete waste. And it would stop Carly from shrugging and accepting fate the way she’d learned to. Because the last thing she wanted was to feel bitter, when she remembered screwing up her application form for medical school into a tight little ball and hurling it onto the fire.
‘Yes,’ she said fiercely. ‘She’s the most exquisite woman you could ever wish to meet.’
For a moment, Luis didn’t say anything. He thought her mother sounded shallow and uncaring, but he wasn’t particularly shocked by that. She was a woman, wasn’t she? And he had yet to meet a single one who could be trusted.
But it must have been hard on Miss Mouse. Even if she was trying to make it sound as if she was okay with it, he could see her struggling to contain her emotions. And for once he felt a certain empathy with her, even though dealing with a woman’s emotions was something he tended to steer clear of. Because this was different. This wasn’t someone who was breaking her heart just because she’d put on a couple of kilos, or because a man refused to buy her a diamond ring.