Barbara Taylor Bradford - Secrets from the Past

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.

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