A Night of Scandal

‘So why help them?’

‘Because I earn enough to give some of it away.’

He could have given his money to any number of charities, Katie mused, but he’d chosen to give it to children from difficult, violent backgrounds.

There was no way that was a coincidence.

She wondered if he was even aware of his reasons for championing that cause.

‘If you showed up, the children would be thrilled.’

‘And I care about that because …?’

‘Because you care about helping the children. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be giving them money. You’d be giving the money to the cats’ home or some other worthy charity.’

He reached for his watch. ‘Maybe I’m the cold-hearted bastard they say I am.’

He wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t. But he wouldn’t allow himself to become close to anyone. ‘Cold-hearted bastards don’t risk their lives rescuing drowning children. And they don’t waste time and money sponsoring acting projects that the media don’t even know about. You should go and see what they do. Imagine how that would make you feel.’

‘Bored? I don’t do things for other people.’ He sank his hands into her hair and kissed her neck. ‘I’m intrinsically selfish.’

‘That’s what you like to think about yourself, but it isn’t true. Nathaniel …’ She gave a low moan as his mouth found a sensitive spot. ‘Don’t. I can’t think when you—oh …’

With a satisfied laugh, he tumbled her down onto the soft rug and it was another hour before either of them thought about moving.

‘I could help with the costumes.’ Katie curled herself around him, trailing her fingers down his body. ‘I have all those ribbons and pieces of fabric I bought in the market yesterday. Who makes their costumes at the moment?’

‘Don’t you ever give up?’ Nathaniel rolled her onto her back and looked at her, his blue eyes blazing in exasperation. ‘I was going to get this meeting over with and then take you sightseeing.’

‘I’d much rather help out at your acting project. Please, Nathaniel. You’ll make their day. Their whole year.’ The thought of what it would mean to the children excited her almost as much as what it could mean to him. She’d seen the compassion behind the tough exterior. She knew how much of himself he kept locked up. Maybe working with children would help unlock that part of himself.

Nathaniel swore fluently and sprang to his feet. His eyes menacing, he threw her a warning glance. ‘Cry once, just once, and we’re leaving. Understood?’

Nathaniel stood outside the building that housed his youth drama project, stomach churning. Any minute now he was going to be on his knees in the gutter, throwing up.

Why had he agreed to this?

Above them a chaotic maze of tin-roofed, wooden and unpainted brick shacks hung precariously from a steep hillside and wide-eyed, curious children watched them as they kicked a football in the dusty street.

The air was hot and sticky but Nathaniel had never felt colder.

He took a step backwards and then felt Katie’s hand close over his.

‘Let’s go inside and meet some of them.’

Nathaniel wanted to pull away. He wanted to go inside about as much as he wanted to shoot himself in the head. He didn’t want to get to know these people. He didn’t want to find himself back there but Katie was pulling him and he couldn’t find a reason to stay outside.

Inside the building a crowd of children of various heights and ages were milling around. The moment Nathaniel walked across the threshold the atmosphere changed. Everybody stopped talking and just stared. He was used to that, of course. It happened everywhere. But this was different. The eyes looking at him were different.

The silence lasted only seconds and then the room erupted into excited squeals and non-stop chatter as a crowd of children of various ages surged towards them.

Erecting the usual barriers between himself and the rest of the world, Nathaniel switched into actor mode and tried to distance himself.

But he wasn’t able to distance himself. Unlike adults, the children didn’t respect boundaries and soon several of the younger ones were climbing all over him, talking simultaneously, touching him to see if he was real.

He saw scuffed shoes and unwashed hair. He saw bruises and eyes that held stories no one wanted to hear. But most of all he saw enthusiasm and excitement. Yes, there was trauma there, but it came a poor second to hope.

The sickness inside him faded. His hands relaxed.