“You never thought about seeing a therapist?” It was more a statement than a question. From her experience as a lawyer in Brazil and at her foundation, she knew that, in cases like Alistair’s, therapy was the best option. Some men needed psychiatric supervision, but she would bet that in his case therapy would do the trick.
He shook his head, “I didn’t have the courage.”
“You need to work out these feelings. Maybe now you could talk to Tavish Uilleam or Leonard.”
He gave a brisk, bitter laugh, “Do you know their nickname for me? The mighty Alistair Connor. I can’t tell them that the wife of the mighty Alistair Connor was cheating on him. They would lose all respect they still have for me.”
“Lose respect? Why? It wasn’t your fault,” she was astonished by his line of thought.
“It must have been...” he whispered, painfully. “I must have done something very wrong.”
“The only thing you did wrong was to enter into a relationship with her,” she affirmed. “That’s why you only had one-night stands, isn’t it? You were afraid to let anyone in.” He nodded. “Why is it so hard for you to see yourself as I see you? You hide everything that is good and worthy about you, because you are afraid. She was a monster. She was sick. She gave you nothing and took everything. You’re magnificent.”
A small hopeful light appeared in the forest green eyes. “Magnificent?”
Caught by the vulnerability he showed no one else, she’d whispered her answer in a kiss. “Utterly.” Sophia’s heart was bleeding for the younger Alistair and the present one. She touched his chest, “Inside here, Alistair Connor. She couldn’t see it, but you are.”
He sighed and after a few minutes in silence, he said, “Maybe, mo gràdh.”
“Mmm. I have absolutely no idea what you are calling me in this delicious language of yours.” She grinned. “I’m going to speak with you only in Portuguese from now on.”
He smiled back. “Leonard can always translate for me.”
“I doubt he would get everything. I could ask the same from Alice, but I want you to tell me.” Her nails caressed the wide expanse of his chest. “To start with, what does tha grudh gan thut means?”
He laughed at her pronunciation, “I have no idea, but tha gradh agam dhut means I love you.”
Sophia was silent for a long time. Then she raised her head to study his face with hooded eyes, an inscrutable emotion shimmering on her face.
“What?” He cocked his head to the side, studying her features.
What? You can’t even start to imagine... She asked then, her heart beating so fiercely that she was sure he could hear it, gaining a few seconds more to be sure of her next words, “And mo gràdh?”
“My love,” he explained, combing her hair with his fingers.
I lo- Don’t, Sophia. Too soon. You have to work out all your issues and problems before you declare yourself. If you can... Sophia shook her head at herself inwards. It was not time to think about those horrible things. “I won’t let you be hurt again, Alistair Connor. I promise you.”
“I love you, Sophia.”
Just as Alistair’s eyes closed in sleep, he remembered he hadn’t told her everything. Tomorrow. I will tell her tomorrow...
Chapter 8
Galewick Townhouse.
Friday, January 30th, 2009.
7.52 p.m.
“MacCraig.” Alistair answered his cell phone and felt cold sift through his bones as the bad premonition he had been feeling since he discovered Nathalie was not in Alice’s house confirmed itself. He froze in front of the hearth. He didn’t recognize his own voice when he spoke, “I’ll be there.”
He turned off the phone and without a word walked to the front door of Leonard and Alice’s house as if he was being chased by the devil.
Leonard’s hand yanked him back, “Alistair. What happened?” From Alistair’s ashen face, Leonard instantly knew it was something grave.
“Police. Nathalie. Car accident,” he rasped. “They are taking her to St. Mary’s hospital.”
“I’ll drive you.”
Alistair was grateful for Leonard’s help because there was a thick fog in his head.
He entered the car and, resting his head on the headrest, he closed his eyes and prayed.
Prayed for his daughter’s life.
Paddington. St. Mary’s Hospital.
8.16 p.m.
Alistair flung the car door open before Leonard could stop it fully and ran inside the hospital.
His heart speeded up in his chest as he saw a gurney surrounded by doctors, being pushed quickly down a corridor.
The blonde hair of the child was matted with blood, but he would recognize his daughter anyway, anywhere.
Thanks Christ! My dear angel. “Nathalie,” he shouted and ran after the gurney that was being rushed into a room.
Alistair stopped outside the room and looked through the glass window. He fell as Leonard stopped by his side, but his gaze was fixed on his daughter’s battered face as doctors and nurses pushed tubes and wires in her small body.
Christ! He tried to breathe but there was no air in his lungs. He swayed on his feet and Leonard grabbed him by the upper arms. My little Nathalie.
He blinked twice but his lovely daughter was still lying in that hospital bed, white as a ghost and broken as a ragged doll. Her small body was strangely bent in the middle and her legs were broken. The sheet that had covered her was stained red and had been flung in a corner. So much blood!
“Nathalie!” he roared and banged his fists on the window.
“Stop, Alistair!” Leonard grabbed his arm.
Nathalie tilted her face to look at him. Her blue eyes were wide opened and scared.
He saw when her lips moved and said, “Daddy-”
He saw as she coughed and a trickle of blood marred her white lips.
He saw her struggling to breathe and her eyes filling with a far away look.
The machine beeped one last time and Nathalie’s chest rose no more as a desperate and impotent Alistair screamed and pounded all his grief on a window pane.
Heather and Alistair’s Apartment.
Saturday, January 31st, 2009.
1.08 a.m.
Alistair closed the door behind him and looked around Nathalie’s empty room.
He wished he could kill Heather for what she had done.
But he couldn’t.
He heaved a breath as a pain that couldn’t be expressed took hold of him, going on and on, crushing him.
The best time of my day was when your laughter rang in the air, Nathalie.
Now...
Now, you’ll never laugh again.
Never again you’ll sit with me to play with your princesses and their castles in the clouds.
You will never grow into a beautiful woman.
So many dreams I had for you, my little angel.
Now... Your castles and my dreams have been shattered.
Now... You are dead.
And I am alive.
The knowledge that she was gone - forever - and that he would have to live on without her, swelled the emotions that gripped his heart. Alistair flung himself in her small bed, burying his nose in her sweet scented pillow.
I deserve to live in hell. “Nathalie,” sorrowfully he sobbed his little daughter’s name. “I’m sorry. So very sorry.”