Yesterday's Sins (26 page)

Alex sat silent, betraying no emotion.

"No. You stretched out an arrogant hand and took my life and ruined it." Shaking like a leaf she stood in the middle of the room and yelled at him. "What did I ever do to you, Alex? What did I do to deserve such treatment?"

Without warning, her legs gave out and she sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Masculine hands on her shoulders made her jerk her head up.

"Don't touch me," she said through bared teeth. "Don't you dare touch me."

He moved away and lifted his hands. "Okay, okay. No touching."

Kate heard his footsteps and watched him through the veil of her lashes. He went to the side board and she heard the chink of glass and then the splash of whisky. He crossed to where she was sitting and crouched, holding out a glass to her.

"Here Kate, you need this."

She looked at his hand and the glass.

Reluctantly, she took it, but was shaking so badly, the whisky sloshed and almost spilled. Alex's hand was warm over hers as he helped guide the glass to her lips. "Sip it slowly."

The bite of whisky settled in her stomach and gradually her shaking eased, so did her rage.

"Do you need me to help you stand up?"

Kate glanced at him and then looked away shaking her head.

She didn't want to face him after that outburst.

Where did all that rage spring from?

Alex walked back to the sideboard, poured a whisky for himself and downed it in one swallow and then he poured another.

He turned and watched Kate, sipping the whisky.

Guilt seared worse than the raw whisky in his gut, each furious word a lash to his hide. His whole relationship with this woman had been one colossal mistake after another.

"Have I made a mistake moving to Clevedon?"

Kate looked at him and then away, shrugging her shoulders.
 

He took another swig of whisky.

He'd been a fool to think his remorse and his daughter's need would be sufficient to repair the damage he'd done. He had no right to even entertain the hope that she would forgive him.

With bleak and grim resignation he knew that such deep wounds could never be easily healed, much less forgotten or forgiven.

The clock chimed twice making him conscious of the hour.

There were already too many whispers in the village. For himself he didn't care. But for Kate and Sarah, he needed to exercise care.

"Kate," he said quietly. "It's time I left. I can't leave my car outside your house all night."

"Who's stopping you?" She looked up at him.

"I can't leave you like this," he said grimly walking across and crouching beside her. "Let me help you into bed."

She shrank from him and helpless, his hands dropped to his side. He stood up and moved away and picked up his glass. "For heaven's sake, Kate, at least get up off the floor."

She looked at him. "Why have you suddenly decided to call me Kate?"

He stared at her, and downed the rest of his whisky. "I thought you preferred it."

She drained the whisky from the glass and then in one swift movement she stood up and walked to the kitchen and put the empty glass on the sink before she turned to face him.

"What I would prefer, Alexandros Korda, is to never have met you. But as that is impossible, then yes I prefer to be called Kate."

God, her words were a stab to heart with a blunt knife.

He swallowed an oath, stalked to the kitchen, put the glass on the sink and left.

It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to slam the door so hard it rocked off its hinges.

*****

When Kate woke, she stretched and yawned.

She felt lighter, different as if sometime while she slept, she'd relinquished a heavy burden.

As memory returned, a frown replaced the tentative smile.

She'd never known she was capable of such rage.

It had erupted from some dark place inside her. A rage so powerful it had left her depleted. After Alex left she'd stumbled into bed, exhausted.

Was that the infamous Highlander's rage my mother talked about.

Unable to bear lying there thinking, she sought refuge in the shower staying there until the water ran cold.

Why had Alex come here last night?

How many sides were there to him? He was a complex man, at times ruthless and remorseless, at others so caring, compassionate and understanding he stole her breath away. Last night he'd sat and listened to her tirade without so much as batting an eyelash.

Once before, she'd lashed out at him like that.

When Chris died.

And I was wrong then, remember. Was I also wrong last night?

In the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew, she was startled by the doorbell. As she walked toward it rang a second time.

Opening the door she found a courier bearing a flat parcel. "Delivery, Ms. Audley. I need you to sign here."

Kate took the parcel and scratched her signature on the electronic device he held. "Thank you."

She retreated inside and laid it on her dining table. She opened it, and discovered a large leather bound book, on top of it, a letter. Kate was almost afraid to pick it up. She knew it was from Alex. As she read the letter, tears welled and blurred the words.

Kate,

I can't give you back the years but I can give you this.

Alex.

With infinite care she lifted the album from the box and with an unsteady hand flipped it open. The tiny crinkled face of a baby lying naked, except for the white padding of a nappy, in an incubator stared back.

This is the image I've carried engraved on my heart.

Underneath the photo in fine copperplate writing,
Sarah Hélène Korda aged one day.

Kate's heart lurched in her chest and she sank into a chair, her legs unable to support her. How had she ever walked away from this baby and never once looked back?

What sort of woman can walk away from her baby not knowing if she'll live or die?
Alex's words returned to haunt her.

Kate buried her head in her hands as memories crashed over her in waves—

—
Alex's arm was strong around her shoulders as they stood beside Sarah's crib. The priest, a hand in a porthole, carefully anointed the tiny scrap of humanity with holy water.

"I christen thee, Sarah Hélène Korda, in the name of The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit—"

Catriona watched the baby's chest rise and fall with morbid fascination as the priest droned on. Alex's grip tightening on her shoulder jerked her back to attention.

"If you choose to reclaim this precious gift, Father, we commend this child into your keeping. Amen."

A shudder shook her.

This baby, this part of her soul was going to die?

She glanced at the doctor and NICU nurses and saw the answer written on their faces. This baby girl, named after both their mothers, was doomed.

Suddenly, her legs refused to hold her up. With a startled oath Alex swept her into his arms and carried her back to her bed. Once there, she turned her face away unable to even bear looking at him. After he'd gone, her lips quivered but her eyes remained stubbornly tearless.

Chris, Daddy and now her baby.

She knew where Alex would be—with the baby. Where else?

The baby was all that mattered. Not me, now I've given him what he demanded.

Suddenly, staying with him was no longer an option.

With stubborn determination, she dragged herself out of bed, ferreted in the cupboard and pulled out the clothes she'd worn to the hospital. She was dressed when a tap on the door made her heart jump in her chest.

The door opened and she stared at her visitor in shocked disbelief.

"You, what are you doing here?"

"More to the point Catriona, where are you going?" Nicolaides asked quietly.

Something in his manner gave her a glimmer of hope. Would he help her? She crossed the space and laid her hand on his arm.

"I have to leave," she was reduced to pleading. "Please Gregori, help me. I'm begging you. If I stay I will go crazy."

He nodded as sober as a judge and laid a hand on her shoulder. He delved in his pocket and produced an envelope.
 

"I've made arrangements so you can leave, if you choose to do so, if you really need time away from here, away from Alex."

"What about my baby?"

"It will be months before she can go anywhere, if she does survive," he said gravely. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I'm sure." Catriona had never been surer of anything in her life. Living with Alex one moment longer was intolerable.

What if my baby dies? Will staying or going change the outcome?

"In here," Gregori gave her the envelope, "are tickets and arrangements for you to stay at a sea side retreat, a place where you will be looked after until you can manage on your own again. There's also a card loaded with money for you and my business card. If you ever need help, you can call me any time night or day."

"Why are you doing this?"

He hesitated and then said quietly. "I never helped you on Maude Island when I should have. But I can help you now.
"

—Kate sucked in a shivering breath. She'd not gone to the retreat, nor had she ever sought out Gregori for his promised help.

Was it a payoff—or a genuine offer of help?

Looking back from this perspective, she could now see his help had been genuine. But this realization had come to her too late. It was years too late to second guess her decision.

Not until she'd discovered just how much money was on that card Gregori had given her, had it occurred to her that his willingness to help her was a payoff.
 

On Alex's orders?

Now, she believed Alex when he denied it—then she'd thought she had reason for her belief in his duplicity. And this mistaken belief had tainted her thinking for years.

With a hand against quivering lips, she turned the next page and then the next. This was a pictorial record of Sarah's life. Every week of every year was faithfully recorded. From the tiny baby so frail with tubes in her nose and navel, to the happy smiling girl Kate recognized now.