She stared at him helplessly. 'You're not being fair—'
'Fair? What's fair?' It was quick and sharp, and told her the façade of lazy mockery was just that—a façade. 'When is life ever fair, Victoria? Was your being saddled with parents who should have been sterilised at birth fair? Or my mother dying before I was even in my teens? And was it fair to have to watch my father slowly killing himself with drink because he couldn't bear to be without her?' He stood upright, his face dark.
'Zac…' She stared at him, horrified by the revelations. 'You never told me; I didn't know.'
'There is a lot you don't know about me.' Funnily enough it was the same thought that had haunted her in the early days of their separation, but this put a different slant on it.
'How…how did your mother die?' she asked softly. He had mentioned his parents were both dead in the first whirlwind days of their courtship, but somehow the conversation had never gone deeper than that. They had lived in a rosy-coloured bubble, Victoria thought fleetingly. A bubble full of wonderful trips to the theatre, dances, expensive dinners out and such like, but they had never been alone much; they had hardly ever really talked.
'Giving birth to my sister.' Zac's voice was calm now, even expressionless, but he couldn't hide the pain in his eyes. 'There was a problem of some kind and she went into labour weeks early.'
'And?' Victoria pressed gently. 'What happened to her?'
'Not now, Tory. I'll tell you some other time.' For a moment she felt the rebuff like a slap across the face, and then, with lightning intuition, she understood. He didn't want to alarm her.
'It's all right, Zac, I'd prefer to hear now. It won't worry me,' she said firmly. 'This baby—' she touched her belly with a splayed hand '—is going to be fine, and so am I.'
He seemed about to refuse, and then he straightened away from her so his face was in profile as he looked towards the now silent river where the odd moored boat had lights within, faint laughter carrying on the soft night breeze now and again.
'She was beautiful, my mother,' he said softly. 'Beautiful and warm and loving, but she was never very strong. She was ill for months after my birth, apparently, and the doctors warned her it would be dangerous to have another child. But she was Italian—' his tone was rueful '—and to her big families were a way of life. I don't know if she persuaded my father to try for another child when I was ten, or if it was a genuine mistake, but, whatever, she paid with her life. The baby was stillborn, and despite all my father's wealth and the best doctors in England she followed some hours later. He went crazy, insane, he was like a man possessed, and my grandparents were so worried at the time, they took me away to live with them for a few weeks, until I insisted I go back.'
Victoria found the night was splintering with her tears and she blinked them away rapidly, her eyes focusing on the dark figure at the side of her as he continued to talk, his face hardening slightly as he said, 'The rage was gone from him but with it the will to live; he didn't know if I was there or not half the time. He began to drink—a bottle, two bottles of whisky a night and then some. The human body can't take that sort of systematic abuse. I remember I didn't cry at his funeral; I think I'd done all my crying in the years before.'
She couldn't bear the picture on the screen of her mind of a young ten-year-old Zac, just having lost the mother he clearly adored and then having to watch his father draw further and further away into a twilight world where no one could reach him.
'So…' The broad male shoulders shrugged, his voice steady with the evenness that spoke of rigid control. 'I became a very rich young man at the age of seventeen, which is not something I would recommend to anyone. I had a lot of anger in me, resentment, I suppose, and I behaved very badly for a time.'
'Oh, dear.' She managed a fairly wry response although her heart was bleeding for him. What a terrible tragedy.
'Quite.' The black eyes slanted at her as his mouth twisted in a wry smile. 'But I had one or two good friends and they weren't afraid to do some straight talking when it was necessary. Anyway, the wild young man bit finished, I took stock. My father's
business affairs were being run by a load of old women masquerading as financial wizards, but there wasn't one entrepreneur in the lot of them. There wasn't one guy who was prepared to take a risk or move out, and they'd lost my father tens of thousands over the years since my mother had died and he'd lost interest.'
'So you got rid of the lot of them,' Victoria stated evenly.
'How did you know?' he asked in surprise, his eyes narrowing.
'A wild guess.' She smiled slowly. 'Just a wild guess. So, I bet that went down wonderfully well?'
'How to win friends and influence people,' Zac agreed drily. 'But the clean sweep meant I started off with a bunch of people who did things my way, and I like that.' The narrowed gaze fastened on her face now, and the mocking note was back as he said, 'There are some who say I'm a megalomaniac.'
'Heaven forbid.' Her voice was equally mocking, and with an appreciative chuckle Zac opened the passenger door, settling her in before walking unhurriedly round the bonnet and sliding in himself whereupon he started the engine without another word.
They said very little on the drive back to Richmond, and Victoria wondered if Zac was regretting opening up the way he had. He was a very private man, she'd always known that, and strong, proud. He'd revealed a great deal today.
For her part, she had found the confidences about his childhood and turbulent youth had pierced that shell he had spoken of and left her feeling sad and confused with a burning desire to comfort him. Which was dangerous— very dangerous, especially as she wasn't at all sure that she wasn't being manipulated by a mind that was far more discerning—and ruthless—than hers.
It was quite dark by the time they reached Victoria's flat, and although the streets beyond were brightly lit and busy with Londoners enjoying the mellow summer evening the mews itself was quiet and still, the odd chink of light from curtained windows mingling with the old-fashioned street lamps the cobbled mews boasted.
The black velvet sky above dotted with hundreds of tiny twinkling stars, the faint scent of fresh flowers from the pretty little window boxes at every windowsill, and the overall quaint feel to the mews, was very romantic, Victoria thought warily as Zac walked with her to her front door. Had all his talk earlier been a softening-up process for this moment? Did he expect bed and breakfast to be on the cards? She wouldn't put it past him.
The thought was electrifying rather than alarming, causing her blood to surge hotly and a little humiliating ache at the core of her before she could gain control of herself.
'Goodnight, Victoria.' Zac's voice was cool and remote, his lips merely brushing hers as she looked up at him with wide, surprised eyes, and her goodbye was still hovering on her lips as he turned, walking back to the car parked at the far end of the little street with lazy, unhurried steps that were somehow an insult in themselves.
Well, that had put her in her place. She was still standing—mouth slightly agape—when the Jaguar roared off in a swirl of sleek metal, and it was another full minute more before she opened the front door and stepped into the muggy warmth of the flat, her skin warm and glowing from a day in the fresh air.
Her hunger, which was positively embarrassing these days and especially after the way she had stuffed herself at lunch and again on the boat, drove her into the kitchen in search of hot milk and chocolate biscuits, and she took them into the bathroom with her, too hungry to wait until she was in bed for the snack.