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Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
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nickname.’
I smiled at him warmly. I liked Geoff, and he had been a good friend to me over the years. ‘Little girls like to have secrets, you know … and I’ve maintained the secret over the years.’
He smiled back, winked. ‘I get it, and your secret is safe with
moi
. But about Zac, he’s been better since you arrived. I think he might have relaxed because he feels safe with you here. I’m beginning to feel more optimistic about his recovery.’
I sat back in the chair, brought my hand to my mouth, reflecting on what he had just said. I knew Geoff was correct in one thing – Zac had relaxed as soon as he’d seen me, and he was talking, if only in short takes. But he wasn’t the same Zac. He
was
diminished and there was a fragility about him; immense sorrow was reflected in his eyes. He’d seen so much, far too much over the years, and he was drowning in pain. His behaviour was calm on the surface, but I recognized he was extremely stressed inside. Hence the bad dreams Geoff had referred to, and which hadn’t surprised me.
‘What’s worrying you, Serena?’ Geoff asked, breaking into my troubled thoughts.
I wanted to be honest with Geoff, so I told him the truth. ‘I’m pleased you’re optimistic, and that you see a change in him because I’m here. Still, I do think he’s very stressed out, on the edge, filled with anxiety.’
‘He is, but I feel easier about leaving you here alone with him.’
‘I’m comfortable being around Zac, Geoff. I’m not very big, but I can defend myself if he suddenly goes nuts.’ I realized how droll I sounded and, despite the seriousness of the matter, I couldn’t help laughing.
Geoff grinned, and shot back, ‘You could blow him over with a few puffs, he’s so weak.’
‘Not quite. But he does seem docile. I know he’s a bit grumpy, doesn’t want to bestir himself, but that’s exhaustion, isn’t it?’
‘It is, yes. As I told you, he hasn’t slept since I brought him out. Once he’s cleaned up, you might be able to get some food into him, some of your chicken-in-the-pot. And a bit of food in his belly will help him to sleep. Food and sleep, that’s what he needs right now.’
‘I’m going to start preparing my chicken-in-the-pot,’ I announced and stood up.
Geoff followed me out to the kitchen. ‘Let me show you where I dumped all the food.’
E LEVEN
W hen I’d brought Zac to the bolthole for the first time, we had used this bedroom; it was the one my parents had used, and my favourite. He had glanced around with interest, and made a remark about how much my parents were in love and yet slept in twin beds. He obviously thought this was strange.
There was a Stone rule: we didn’t discuss private family matters with outsiders. But I remembered now that I had been oddly embarrassed that day, had felt obliged to explain the reason to Zac. And so I confided that my mother had had a rare form of osteoporosis, which necessitated that she sleep in a single bed for her comfort.
He had been sensitive enough not to ask any further questions, and I had not volunteered any more information. I did not wish to go into personal details about my mother’s health. I felt that simple explanation was enough.
Ever since that first visit together, we had continued to use my late parents’ bedroom. In any case, the two others were also furnished with twin beds. Essentially, the bolthole was maintained for Global photographers and photojournalists, so that they could get a bit of much-needed R&R – it was not for romantic interludes.
Tonight the room was still, quiet, and nothing stirred except the flimsy white curtains flapping against the glass. I’d opened the window earlier to let in fresh air, and a breeze had blown up.
I was wide awake and listening attentively. I sensed Zac was awake as well. I was hoping he would eventually fall asleep, knowing I was here with him. Earlier this evening, I’d managed to get him to sip some of the soup and eat
I smiled at him warmly. I liked Geoff, and he had been a good friend to me over the years. ‘Little girls like to have secrets, you know … and I’ve maintained the secret over the years.’
He smiled back, winked. ‘I get it, and your secret is safe with
moi
. But about Zac, he’s been better since you arrived. I think he might have relaxed because he feels safe with you here. I’m beginning to feel more optimistic about his recovery.’
I sat back in the chair, brought my hand to my mouth, reflecting on what he had just said. I knew Geoff was correct in one thing – Zac had relaxed as soon as he’d seen me, and he was talking, if only in short takes. But he wasn’t the same Zac. He
was
diminished and there was a fragility about him; immense sorrow was reflected in his eyes. He’d seen so much, far too much over the years, and he was drowning in pain. His behaviour was calm on the surface, but I recognized he was extremely stressed inside. Hence the bad dreams Geoff had referred to, and which hadn’t surprised me.
‘What’s worrying you, Serena?’ Geoff asked, breaking into my troubled thoughts.
I wanted to be honest with Geoff, so I told him the truth. ‘I’m pleased you’re optimistic, and that you see a change in him because I’m here. Still, I do think he’s very stressed out, on the edge, filled with anxiety.’
‘He is, but I feel easier about leaving you here alone with him.’
‘I’m comfortable being around Zac, Geoff. I’m not very big, but I can defend myself if he suddenly goes nuts.’ I realized how droll I sounded and, despite the seriousness of the matter, I couldn’t help laughing.
Geoff grinned, and shot back, ‘You could blow him over with a few puffs, he’s so weak.’
‘Not quite. But he does seem docile. I know he’s a bit grumpy, doesn’t want to bestir himself, but that’s exhaustion, isn’t it?’
‘It is, yes. As I told you, he hasn’t slept since I brought him out. Once he’s cleaned up, you might be able to get some food into him, some of your chicken-in-the-pot. And a bit of food in his belly will help him to sleep. Food and sleep, that’s what he needs right now.’
‘I’m going to start preparing my chicken-in-the-pot,’ I announced and stood up.
Geoff followed me out to the kitchen. ‘Let me show you where I dumped all the food.’
E LEVEN
W hen I’d brought Zac to the bolthole for the first time, we had used this bedroom; it was the one my parents had used, and my favourite. He had glanced around with interest, and made a remark about how much my parents were in love and yet slept in twin beds. He obviously thought this was strange.
There was a Stone rule: we didn’t discuss private family matters with outsiders. But I remembered now that I had been oddly embarrassed that day, had felt obliged to explain the reason to Zac. And so I confided that my mother had had a rare form of osteoporosis, which necessitated that she sleep in a single bed for her comfort.
He had been sensitive enough not to ask any further questions, and I had not volunteered any more information. I did not wish to go into personal details about my mother’s health. I felt that simple explanation was enough.
Ever since that first visit together, we had continued to use my late parents’ bedroom. In any case, the two others were also furnished with twin beds. Essentially, the bolthole was maintained for Global photographers and photojournalists, so that they could get a bit of much-needed R&R – it was not for romantic interludes.
Tonight the room was still, quiet, and nothing stirred except the flimsy white curtains flapping against the glass. I’d opened the window earlier to let in fresh air, and a breeze had blown up.
I was wide awake and listening attentively. I sensed Zac was awake as well. I was hoping he would eventually fall asleep, knowing I was here with him. Earlier this evening, I’d managed to get him to sip some of the soup and eat
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