LAURI had never realised that he had green eyes; the tinted lenses of his glasses made them appear a smoky brown. But the coincidence of their eye colour didn’t make him her father!
Laurence looked at her pleadingly. ‘I know this is a shock for you, Lauri, but I—’
‘Shock!’ she repeated almost hysterically. ‘It’s a fairytale, a fabrication of a sick man’s mind.’
‘No, Lauri,’ he shook his head, reaching over for his wallet. It was just out of his grasp. ‘Pass it to me—please.’
She pushed it within his reach, stepping back before he could make any further attempt to touch her. ‘Why are you telling these lies?’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘Why are you trying to hurt me?’
‘I don’t want to hurt you, God knows,’ he groaned. ‘But you’re my daughter, and—’
‘I’m not!’ she cried shrilly, putting her hands childishly over
her ears. ‘I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!’
‘Lauri? Lauri, come here,’ he encouraged gently. ‘I have something I want to show you.’
She ignored his outstretched hand. ‘What is it?’
‘A photograph.’
She gave him a sharp look. ‘Of whom?’
‘Come and see,’ he invited softly.
‘No! I—What you’re telling me is that my mother—that she was the one—that you and she—’
‘Loved each other,’ he finished.
She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Is that the way you like to think of your sordid affair, the affair you had while your wife was at home, a helpless cripple in a wheelchair?’
‘Your mother and I loved each other,’ his voice had hardened angrily, ‘and there was nothing sordid about that love. Now come over here!’ he ordered.
Lauri’s eyes widened indignantly at his command, but she went to his side anyway. He held out the photograph to her, an old faded photograph with a brown tinge to everything. The colouring of the middle-aged woman was impossible to guess, but the face—the face was Lauri’s own! The widely spaced eyes, uptilted freckle-smattered nose, and wide smiling mouth, all her own features, and yet the age of the photograph denied its being her.
‘Who …?’
‘My mother, your grandmother.’
‘No!’ She threw the photograph down on to the bed as if it had stung her. ‘I—I don’t want to hear any more,’ she ran to the door. ‘I won’t listen to any more!’
‘In my experience running away from a situation has never solved it,’ Laurence told her in a strained voice. ‘And if you leave now you will be running away, postponing the inevitable.’
‘Then I’ll postpone it!’ she said shrilly. ‘You stay away from me, just stay away!’
‘I can’t do that, Lauri,’ he told her sadly. ‘I lost one child through death, I certainly don’t intend losing another one—for any reason.’
‘I’m not your child,’ she told him vehemently. ‘Oh I’m not denying you could be my father, could be,’ she repeated warningly. ‘That photograph is pretty damning, undeniable evidence you could say. But the act of making a child doesn’t make you my father.’
‘Lauri—’
‘I’m sorry, I know you’re ill, but I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again. Not ever!’ She slammed out of the room.
Alex stood up on her exit, coming towards her with long strides. ‘Lauren—’
‘Don’t touch me!’ She evaded his grasp, seven stone of fury as she glared her hatred at him. ‘You knew about this,’ she accused. ‘You’ve known about this from the start!’
He put his hands savagely in his denim pockets. ‘Not from the start, Lauren, only since we picked Laurence up at the airport. I told you when we went to lunch on Tuesday that you reminded me of someone. As soon as I saw the two of you together I knew who that someone was.’