Secrets from the Past. Barbara Taylor Bradford

that the original eighteenth-century décor had been carefully preserved; that Florian’s was one of the first places in Europe to serve coffee, when it was considered an exotic drink.’ I looked around. ‘It does have a special warmth. It’s very welcoming, sort of quaint.’

      ‘I loved your mother’s bits and pieces, as she called all that information she had tucked away at the back of her beautiful head,’ Zac remarked. ‘She was such a lot of fun.’

      I nodded, smiled at the memory of her. ‘She used to say she was a fountain of information nobody needed or cared about.’ I picked up my glass of water, took a swallow, gazed at him for a moment.

      I saw him clearly, as he was now, and there was something of the old Zac about him this afternoon. His colour was better, his eyes unexpectedly brighter, and the sharp angles of his face had softened. He was obviously relaxed, and it was visible in the way he held his body, as well as in his face.

      Suddenly, he said, ‘You’re staring at me, Pidge. Is something wrong?’

      ‘No, something is good,’ I responded quickly. ‘I think you’re much less uptight, and it shows. Ever since I arrived in Venice you’ve had strict control of yourself, as if you were afraid to be you, to be who you really are.’

      ‘I know, and I’m still in control.’

      ‘But you’re not so rigid this afternoon.’ I eyed him carefully, and a smile broke through when I added, ‘It’s as if you have loosened the tight rein you’ve had on yourself, and decided to trust me.’

      ‘If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have asked Harry to persuade you to come!’ he exclaimed, giving me an odd look.

      ‘He didn’t have to do much persuading.’

      ‘I would’ve been in a mess if you hadn’t agreed,’ he said after a moment, now gazing at me intently. ‘I’d have been lost. Your presence is very soothing to me, Pidge, even healing. I really believe I need you to help me get through this difficult period.’

      ‘I think so too,’ I agreed, and went on carefully. ‘How did you know you had to get out? Did something happen? Go wrong? Or did Harry decide to pull you out? He’s not discussed it with me, nor has Geoff. They sort of left me in the dark, actually. Are you able to talk about it? Or would you prefer not to? Is it too hard?’ I asked, the questions tumbling out of me. Questions I’d wanted to ask for days.

      ‘I can talk. I want to talk about it, and about other troubling things. That’s what I told Harry – that you’re the only person who would have a clue, would be able to properly discuss the front line and war reporting. Because you’d been there, seen it all, been as heartsick and as numb as me at different times.’

      He paused, shifted slightly in his chair, and continued speaking in such a low voice I could hardly hear him. I leaned closer, not wanting to miss a word.

      ‘I feel so rotten at times, Serena, so devastated I can hardly stand myself. There’s a remorselessness about war that is chilling. And it kills the soul. Yet I’ve gone back time after time, and I don’t know why.’

      ‘Because you had to, Zac,’ I answered. ‘Because of your honesty and humanity, and the need you have to tell the world the truth about brutal regimes oppressing people, and to expose the terrible suffering in war zones. You’re a photojournalist, as I am, and that’s what we do.’

      I reached out, took hold of his hand. ‘Except that there comes a time when we can’t do it any more, because we’re too battered, exhausted and disillusioned. Those are the reasons I stopped, and they’re yours.’

      He nodded, squeezed my hand tightly. ‘Something happened one day, and I just couldn’t stand it any more …’ Unexpectedly, tears filled his eyes, and he blinked, cleared his throat. ‘I can’t discuss it, go into details, not at this moment, mostly because we’re here at Florian’s. I know I’ll cry …’

      I continued to hold his hand. ‘I understand. You don’t want to weep in public. So we’ll save it for later. Whenever you want. Anyway, from what I gather, you told Harry you wanted out. Am I correct?’

      ‘Yes. I had to leave the front; I knew it was the time I had to go. I didn’t feel well, physically or mentally, and I realized I needed help. Harry said he’d come in and get me, and I told him not to. He suggested Geoff, and I agreed at once. And fortunately for me, so did Geoff. He came in within twenty-four hours, and he never flinched.’

      ‘He’s a good guy. You seemed startled earlier, when he said he wasn’t going back to Pakistan.’

      ‘I was for a split second, and then I knew he felt like I did, burnt out. And also mentally bludgeoned by what he’d witnessed.’

      ‘You asked him what he was going to do, once he’d left war photography, and he didn’t really have an answer for you. But it troubles you, doesn’t it? You’re facing the same dilemma,’ I suggested.

      A small sigh escaped. Zac nodded. ‘Yep. I am. We’re in the same boat, he and I. Totally at a loss, I guess.’

      ‘I think you can only deal with that when you are feeling better, Zac, when you’re back on your feet. I know you have a lot of troubling stuff to deal with, to get out of the way first. When the time comes, you’ll understand what you want to photograph, what kind of life you want to lead.’

      ‘I guess so. But sometimes I wish I had a hobby, something I could throw myself into …’ He let his voice trail off, his eyes sad.

      ‘You need a release from war coverage, something that takes your mind off the conflict, the blood and bullets, dead troops, maimed civilians caught in the crossfire. We all do, actually. All that destruction is mind boggling.’

      ‘Do you have a hobby these days, Serena?’ he asked, sounding interested.

      ‘There’s the biography I’m writing about Dad; that’s not exactly a hobby, but I am enjoying it.’ I laughed a little hollowly, ‘Well, most of the time. The thing is, I really do want to continue writing. But to be honest, I wish I could find another occupation, or a hobby, something to throw myself into. Jessica loves sailing, mucking around on boats, and she always has.’

      ‘That’s what Marie Colvin does; that’s her passion when she’s not covering wars,’ Zac told me, referring to the famous war correspondent we both knew. ‘I love being on boats myself – maybe that’s something I could try eventually … as a pastime.’

      ‘You once told me that you used to go sailing with your father, in Upstate New York, and—’

      ‘That’s right!’ he exclaimed, cutting across me. ‘We had a log cabin near the Finger Lakes. In fact, Dad still has it. Anyway, we all used to go up there for weekends, but I was the only one who went fishing with Dad.’

      I smiled, pleased to see that fleeting glimpse of pleasure crossing his face as he said this. It was obvious he had good memories about those days of his youth.

      We lingered at Florian’s, enjoying the friendly and familiar surroundings; escaping, in a sense, into the past, when we had been happy together. We both ordered tea, and went on talking about all kinds of things. This was the first time in the five days that I had been here that he had been as normal as this, and it pleased me. It was a good sign.

      All I wanted was for Zac to get better. In my own way, I loved him. We had once been so close it was hard not to have feelings for him. But at the same time I realized I could never become romantically involved with him again. I had grown wary, cautious and self-protective over this past year.

      There was no viable future for us together, despite our attraction for each other. That was still there, I was very well aware of this, and it wasn’t just me. Zac felt it too, I was sure, and he had swiftly moved out of my parents’ bedroom in the bolthole, which we had shared for the first couple of nights. He had not said a word, and neither had I. And I understood why he had gone back to one of the other bedrooms. Close proximity was unnerving.