ChangeofHeart31and32

CHAPTER THIRTYONE

She looked down at the tin box that held the story of her life. In document form, anyway. The facts were all in there, it was just the emotions that were missing.

�There you are.� It was Philip, of course, dressed in sweats over his squash kit. He sounded happy and relaxed before his usual Monday-night game with Roberto. He had so much energy, so much enthusiasm for everything he did, and normally it was contagious. �Hey, what�s up?�

She smiled vaguely in his direction, and he sat down on the bed beside her. Looking down at the open box in her hand, she gave a small laugh. �I was just sorting through some old stuff. I thought I�d look for some photographs. You said we didn�t have any pictures of me . . . but I don�t have anything really. There�s only this.�

She held out her hand and showed him a formal photograph of a high-school graduation. It was stamped on the back �Thomas Jefferson High School, Class of 1996.�

�Second row, fourth on the right,� she said hesitantly.

�That�s you?� He squinted down. The picture wasn�t very clear � there too many kids in it for the photographer to get too close � but he�d know the solemn girl with her hair pulled back from a pale face anywhere. The glasses were a dead giveaway, of course. �You don�t look so different!�

�I�d recognise you from your old pictures, too.�

�Is this all? Don�t you have any other pictures from your graduation?�

She shook her head again. Never before had she felt quite so much like Little Orphan Annie, the nickname he�d teased her with so many months ago. He knew that from the age of nine she�d lived in foster care and then an orphanage, but somehow the admission that no one had attended her graduation, that there�d been no one to photograph the ceremony, to share what was meant to be a special day in her life, sounded unbearably bleak.

�We can take some photographs of us together if you want,� he said quietly. �Or we don�t need any pictures at all. We can put mine away. I don�t want you to feel . . . you know . . . it doesn�t matter.�

He was so good, so understanding. Since their quarrel, she�d felt closer to him than ever, and she wanted to show him something she�d never shown anyone else. Something that was an unhappy reminder of the past, a past that at times seemed very distant and at others threatened to overwhelm her. �There is this one, but it�s too damaged to do anything with. It couldn�t go on show, even if there�s no one to see it except you and me.�

It wasn�t really a photograph � it was two scraps of paper that had once been a photograph until someone had torn it in two. On one piece was that pale, solemn girl again, only this time she was younger � and she wasn�t wearing glasses. And she was smiling.

�How old were you when this was taken?�

�Eleven. It was my second foster home.�

�And who�s the little boy?�

�His name was Christopher. He was staying at the same place and we got along quite well. He was my friend.�

He stared at the two pieces of photograph in her hand. The boy � obviously of mixed race � was wearing an ill-fitting red T-shirt, and he held a football in his left hand. And he was smiling too. But what was most noticeable was that the picture had been rent in two down the centre.

�Why�s the picture torn?�

�It was Mr Anderson, the man at the foster home. I think he . . . he hated Christopher, and when Mrs Anderson took the photograph he got real angry. He was always getting angry. When he was drunk he used to hit Mrs Anderson, and Christopher sometimes. With a belt. On his back.�

He was silent for a long moment, as if he were trying to find the right words. �Did he hurt you? Did he do anything he shouldn�t have? You know . . .�

She shook her head, but kept her eyes on the picture. �No, no, nothing like that. He did hit me once. Right at the end, the night Christopher ran away. That�s why they took me away, too, when they found him and realised what was going on, then they sent me to another foster home.�

�Do you know where they sent Christopher, what happened to him?�

�No. That�s one of the rules. When you move on to another foster home you can�t contact anyone from your last home.�

�Oh that�s mean! Why wouldn�t they let you do that?�

�It�s just a rule they have. It kind of makes sense, that foster parents don�t have lots of people calling, or writing. You know, pestering them, when a child�s moved on . . .�

�But two kids! What�s wrong with letting two kids with no family keep in touch?�

She shrugged again. �It�s just the way it is, I guess.�

He reached out and touched her hand gently. �I didn�t mean to make you sad, talking about having photographs. I didn�t think . . .�

�You didn�t make me sad. It�s looking at this stuff again. It�s a real Pandora�s box, huh? Full of bad things that shouldn�t really be let out.�

After a moment�s hesitation, he gave a chuckle. �You know, my father�s from Greece. He made sure I knew all the stories about the gods, and the mortals, too, so I know all about Pandora�s box. Sure, a lot of bad things came out of it, but you know what was at the bottom of the box? What also came out?�

She nodded and a slight smile began to curve on her lips.

�Yeah?� His smile was a teasing one, and he raised his eyebrows as he looked at her from beneath that floppy hair, then he said with emphasis, �Hope.�

�Hope. I do know all about that.�

She looked down at the fragments of photograph in her hand and she heard him sigh quietly. �Do you trust me with this?� He gestured towards the picture. �There are places that can restore photographs so you�d never know they�d been damaged. Would you let me find a place like that, so you could have your picture back?�

She nodded again and gave him the scraps of photograph.

�I�ll take good care of it.�

�I know you will. I trust you.�

He lifted her hand to his lips, and she felt the warmth of his kiss to the very centre of her being. She moved her hand so their fingers were intertwined, and immediately he clasped her hand even tighter in his own. �I don�t have to go out tonight. I can take a rain check on playing squash, you know . . .�

She squeezed his hand. �You don�t have to do that. And I wanted to tell you about something else that you don�t have to do if you don�t want to. Mara asked us to dinner, with her and Pietro at their apartment.�

�That�s great! Why wouldn�t I want to go? I think it�s cool that they asked us.�

She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand, mimicking a gesture that he made so often. �You�re not afraid of anything, are you?�

�Afraid? Why would I be afraid?�

�Not afraid. That�s the wrong word. Worried. You�re going to be spending an evening with two people who you barely know and who don�t speak any English, and you�re not bothered at all. Doesn�t anything worry you?�

�You bet it does. I worry about failing you.�

�FAILING me?�

�You�re so different. You have such deep emotions, I worry how I can give you what you need when I'm so clueless and shallow.�

�Why do you do that to yourself, run yourself down whenever we talk about me, like it�s all your fault . . . You�re not shallow, Philip, you�re the most caring person I�ve ever met.�

He kissed her palm, then smiled as he rested his chin on her hand. �You make me that way! Hey, it�s almost eight - I guess I�d better go. I�ll take good care of this.� He gestured with the fragments of photograph in his hand. �I�ll tell Roberto I can�t make Thursday, and I won�t be late tonight. Promise.�

With that � and the quickest of kisses - he was gone, and she smiled slightly as she put the box back into the drawer that held her underwear. He was trying, he really was. He was always so serious when she talked about her past, so concerned, so intense. He always took it to heart, she thought as she went into the bathroom. Oh no. Well, maybe he wasn�t trying that hard. She sighed as she bent to pick up the wet towels he�d discarded earlier that day, and she started to restore some semblance of order.

No, that wasn�t fair. He was trying harder than she was. Except it wasn�t that she wasn�t trying � she just couldn�t tell him everything. He�d listened to her stories about her childhood, he�d been so compassionate, so loving, when she�d shown him the picture of Christopher - and she�d wanted to tell him then, in that moment of intimacy and understanding.

But how did you say it? �By the way, did I mention . . .�? �Oh, I almost forgot ��? �Hey, I must just say that . . .�?

Looking back now, getting together with Philip had been the easy part. If only they could have started with a clean slate, but too much had happened. There were too many ghosts from the past she had to confront first.

****

�Mmm, this has to be my best birthday ever!�

�I bet you say that every year. Like when you got your sports car?�

His arms tightened around her and he pressed a kiss against her hair. �This IS my best birthday. I got my best gifts, and � even better � I have someone to share it with. No, not someone � YOU.�

She smiled at her reflection in their bedroom mirror � and at the image of Philip holding her close. For the first time, she�d regretted having to work at the store all day Saturday. This Saturday was special � it was the first time they�d been together on his birthday and after watching him open his presents she�d had to leave him for most of the day. That morning she�d watched his almost childlike pleasure as he opened the parcels from his family � and she�d held back her own until afterwards.

There had been a shirt from Austin and Greta � she assumed it must be a designer shirt, she couldn�t really tell � and a die-cast model of a small car from Philip�s sister Billie. �Wow � an original Mini. This is so great!�

�Philip, it�s a toy!� she�d pointed out with affectionate tolerance. Actually she loved it when the little boy in him resurfaced, but she couldn�t resist teasing him.

�A toy, are you kidding? This is an original 1960s model of a Mini Cooper. Haven�t you seen the movie The Italian Job? This totally cool, and really rare. I wonder where she got this?�

Then there�d been an envelope and a small package from his parents. �Useful. Very useful. Mom hasn�t lost her touch,� was his only comment.

�What is it?� she�d asked, curiously.

�Stocks. These will be worth a lot of money.�

�Your parents gave you stocks for your birthday?�

�Oh, there�s this, too,� he�d replied, waving contents of the other package. It was a wallet, made of the finest leather and finished with the initials PRK in gold lettering.

�Is that in case you forget who you are?� she�d asked ironically.

�Welcome to the Kiriakis family. Everything�s always monogrammed with my parents. You must have noticed at the guesthouse. Towels, sheets, everything we have. I remember Henderson not allowing me to give some stuff to charity when I was a kid because everyone would know where it came from.�

�Hmm, something tells me you�d never forget who you are,� she�d said musingly. �I mean, somehow February 24th was circled on the calendar, just to make sure today didn�t pass as an ordinary day. I wonder who did that?�

She�d felt a strange fluttery feeling as she�d passed him her parcel, wrapped in dull brown paper and without a label. But the expression on his face when he tore away the wrapper � without a care in the world about whether the paper would have to be re-used � made all her fears and apprehension melt away like an early-morning mist. He�d lifted his head and stared at her, before returning his gaze to the book in his hands.

�My God, this is a first edition! The Great Gatsby. How did you get hold of this?� His voice was almost a whisper, and she�d felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched the emotions play across the face she knew so well.

�You said it was your favourite book.�

�It is. I can�t believe you bought me this! This is amazing.�

�It�s in a pretty bad state, with the dust jacket being torn and some water damage. If it wasn�t damaged, I wouldn�t have been able to afford it . . .�

�You probably can�t afford anyway. Chloe, you shouldn�t have done this.�

�Working in a bookstore helps!� she said with a grin. How often had he surprised her? And now, in some small way, she�d managed to surprise him.

�Thank you!�

He�d kissed her then, not passionately but with a tenderness that made her melt to remember it now, as they stood in front of the mirror. He was relaxed, and so was she. He was the first person she�d ever wanted to make happy, and as she�d watched him across the table during dinner in one of their favourite restaurants she�d realised that making him happy made HER happy, too. Only a few months ago she would have argued that caring for someone else, thinking about their feelings, about their welfare, would be a burden. But it wasn�t � it was a gift, a gift he�d given her without even knowing.

�So are we having my birthday cake before I call my parents?�

�OK. What time did you say you�d call?�

�About ten, Italian time. Got to give them a chance to get back from the office. Yeah, I know it�s Saturday. Tell that to the Kiriakises.� He loosened his hold on her waist and she went into the kitchen to collect his cake. It wasn�t a proper birthday cake (just a small pandoro covered in chocolate) and she�d felt foolish as she presented it to him � with a single candle in the centre - as a present from herself and Columbine. But he�d laughed out loud and seemed delighted with the extra little gift, looking for the cat to thank her. �I bet it was her idea!� he�d said with a wink.

When she carried the cake, two plates and a small knife into the sitting room, Chloe found him looking at The Great Gatsby, studying it intently as if he�d never seen the book before, although she knew he�d read it at least three times.

�You know, this is incredible. I�d heard that the first edition was full of errors, and it is. He even gets Gatsby�s name wrong in one place!�

�Are you like this every birthday? Like a big kid?�

�I�ve never had a gift like this before.�

�So you don�t normally get something like a book? It�s usually toy cars or paper money, even though you�re 24?� she teased, setting the tray down on the floor in front of the couch.

�I did get a book from a guy at college last year, but even if it wasn�t in my room back in Salem I couldn�t show you - it�s not the sort of thing a young lady should look at!�

�Ugh! It doesn�t sound like I�d want to look at it! What sort of a friend gives you something like that?�

�It�s my buddy Mark, we roomed together from junior year. He called me when we were at the lake, remember . . .� His voice tailed off into nothing and his smile faded as he was hit by a recollection. His eyes were serious and his voice subdued as he put down her gift and took her hands in his own.

�That was it, wasn�t it, what upset you that morning? You heard me talking to Mark.�

�Philip . . .� She tried to pull her hands away, but he only tightened his grip.

�No, we need to talk about this. Mark called and I told him . . . you see, that�s the problem - I don�t remember what I said. Not exactly. He asked if I was with someone . . .�

She really didn�t want to rake over their history, to revive old emotions, old fears, but she couldn�t ignore his concern, so she whispered, �You said you WERE with someone but it was �just some girl�. That it wasn�t important.� It hurt to remember that time, how her ecstasy had turned to misery with those few words, but Philip was holding her hands and she could feel the warmth of his fingers against her own. The past was exactly that � past: it didn�t matter now.

�Oh my God,� he said slowly. He looked down at their interlocked hands, then raised his head and looked at her with appalled eyes. �I didn�t mean it like that. I was just trying to get rid of him . . . trying to stop him asking more questions. I�d never talk about you like that. You must have thought . . . You must the most forgiving person in the world to even speak to me again.� He shook his head in disbelief.

�No.� She freed one hand and placed it over his lips to silence him. �I know you didn�t mean it. I overreacted. It was my fault, too.�

�Chloe!� His hand cupped her face and his thumb moved gently against her cheek in a gentle caress.

�I think I knew at the time that I was overreacting, but I was scared.�

�Scared? Of me?�

�No, of course not!� Her fingers traced the outline of his face, then the line of his lips. �Scared of how I was feeling, scared you didn�t feel the same way.�

�And I hurt you, said all those things, then I left you. God, Chloe, I�m sorry about everything, about not calling you when I got back to the city. But I thought about you all the time.�

�Me, too.�

They were sitting side by side on the couch, and he gently brushed the hair away from her face. �I�m just glad you�re here now,� he whispered. �You don�t know how much it means to me that you�re here.�

�Me, too,� she repeated, and they smiled at each other. Then he took his hands away from her face and picked up the book again.

�When I first read this � when I was in high school � I so wanted to be Gatsby. There was something about him, living in that palace all alone . . . no family hassling him, giving him a hard time, the usual stuff.�

�That�s one of the advantages of not knowing your parents, I guess,� she said lightly, almost without thinking. �Of it all being a mystery.�

�Have you ever thought about looking for her?� he asked curiously. �Your mother, I mean.�

�No. Why would I want to do that?� She realised what she�d said, and she stood up abruptly and went over to the window. It had been such a wonderful evening � a wonderful day � and now his casual comment had reopened wounds she�d thought had healed. She pulled back the drape and looked down on the street below. Of course he knew she�d been adopted, and that her adopted parents had died - half a story that said almost nothing about the truth.

�Lots of people do. Even if their adoptive parents are alive they find their birth mother and build up some sort of relationship . . .�

�That�s not going to be me,� she interrupted. Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears and she felt that familiar churning in her stomach. �Do you want me to have �closure�, Philip? Well, it isn�t going to happen. I�m never going to be able to find out about my mother.�

�Why not? Kids have rights nowadays about finding out who their birth parents are. You could contact the people who handled your adoption. It�s not so long ago. There�ll be records . . .�

�They don�t know. No one knows. I �� She took a deep breath. It was now or never. �It wasn�t like that for me. I wasn�t handed over in a civilised ceremony in a hospital so I could have a better life. No one cried. No one was sorry. No one cared. I was put in a cardboard box and put out with the trash.�

She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye, though she was trembling.

�I was abandoned, Philip. I was put in a box and left to die.�

CHAPTER THIRTYTWO

�I was abandoned, Philip. I was put in a box and left to die.�

Time seemed to stand still as he stared across the room to where she was standing by the window. Her voice had been harsh and strident but, as she fiddled with a strand of hair, it faded almost to a whisper.

�You know the stories - you hear them on the TV news sometimes - a newborn baby found in a box or a basket, the police trying to trace the mother, a big mystery . . . Well, that was me.�

�Oh Chloe.� He felt something inside that could have been his heart breaking. He wanted to gather Chloe in his arms, to cover her, to hide her from any more uncertainty, protect her from any more pain, but that wasn�t the answer. Except that he had no idea what the answer was. He felt confused, afraid and completely inadequate.

Yet it wasn�t about him - it was about Chloe. He�d always known she�d been adopted - and that later her adopted parents had died - but he had never imagined anything like the secret she�d just revealed. They�d been so happy during dinner, but somehow the past had forced its way into the present, and again he�d been found wanting. They could almost be back at the lake, back at the moment that haunted him, when he�d let her down so badly. Now she was hurting even more, and he didn�t know what to do. She looked so forlorn, standing there twirling her hair nervously around her finger. Right now she seemed very much like the little girl he�d glimpsed in those few photographs - solitary, uncertain and unhappy.

�That�s why I�ll never find my mother. No one knows who she was. No one knows who I am.�

He forgot to worry about what to say or do - the need to comfort her overrode that - and almost without thinking he held out his hands. �Come here,� he murmured, and after the slightest hesitation she sat back down beside him on the couch. He shifted his position so they were facing each other, and looked into her downcast face. �I�m sorry. I�m so, so sorry.�

�I know I should have told you before. You had a right to know . . .�

�No, no, no.� He was holding her hands tightly but he made a gesture as if to silence her. �You don�t have to tell me anything you don�t want to. You don�t HAVE to do anything.�

�I�ve wanted to say something for a long time, but it�s been so hard, admitting that I - that I . . .�

�Admitting what?�

�The truth. That I�m not a real person.�

She wasn�t looking at him, and he could feel her tremble slightly through their clasped hands. �Not real? My God, what do you mean?�

�Philip, when I was born I was put in a box and left in the street. The police couldn�t find out who had put me there, they couldn�t find out anything about me. It�s not just that I don�t have a family - I don�t really have an identity. How can I, when I don�t even have a name - a real name.� She was gabbling now, but it was obviously something she�d thought about, agonised over, for a long time. �My adopted parents - the Lanes - gave me the name �Chloe� when I was eight months old, but before that I was �Marta� at the hospital, and �Baby A� in the courts and all the case files. How can I have more than one name? None of them are real - and I�m not real.�

No, something inside him cried. She can�t feel that way. Not her. �Chloe . . . You�re wrong, you�re so wrong,� he said at last. �Not real? I can�t let you say that because you�re the most real person I know.�

�I am?� she asked uncertainly.

�God, yes. In every way. I don�t know how to describe it. I�ve never met anyone as brave, smart and interesting as you. You�re so talented - and not just your voice. It�s the way you live your life, the way you are, inside and out. Damn, I�m saying this all wrong! Chloe . . .� He took a deep breath. �Since the moment we met, you�ve completely changed my life. I�ve never admired anyone as much as I do you. Look at you - you�re incredible. You need money, you earn it. You wanted to be an opera singer, you won a scholarship to one of the best schools in the world. And you�re the star pupil.�

�But those things are just . . .�

�They�re not �just� anything,� he interrupted. �You�ve achieved so much already, you started from nothing and look where you are. I don�t mean here, with me. It�s where you are in your life. Is this making any sense?�

She thought for a moment, then nodded. �I know what you�re saying. At least, I think I do.�

�About your name, about it being important . . . Chloe, I can�t believe you feel like that, because it�s the opposite for me.�

�That�s because you have one. Everyone knows who you�re parents are, who YOU are . . .�

�Yeah, everyone knows my name. And maybe that�s all they do know.� His voice softened. �I guess it�s one of the reasons I love you - because you make me feel different. I don�t feel like a Kiriakis when I�m with you, I just feel like . . . me. Like the person that�s inside.�

�Philip!�

Like he�d done earlier in the evening - was it only a few minutes ago? - he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the lips. �I wish it wasn�t true,� he whispered. �I wish you hadn�t been hurt so much. That I could change it somehow.�

�I know. It�s just really hard to admit that no one ever wanted you, ever loved you.�

�People DO love you. I know that, Chloe. And not just me. I know why Mara invited us to dinner tomorrow after the game - it�s nothing to do with me, it�s because she wants to make you happy. And when you were sick last fall, I�m sure she took care of you - or tried to. And what about Belle? You�re always calling and emailing each other, laughing about some secret or another. She�s been my friend as long as I can remember but she�s YOUR friend even more than mine now. Then there�s Greta. They�re your friends and they care about you. No way are you unloved.�

She was still pale, but she smiled slightly now. �I shouldn�t say things like that, like I�m sorry for myself. I hate being the victim.�

�You are anything but a victim. You�re tough and determined and the strongest person I�ve ever met. But I guess you�ve had to be.�

�You don�t talk about your situation, when you�re in foster homes. Nobody tells anyone anything. I was 11 when I found out. There was a story on the news about a baby being abandoned, but they found the mother. She hadn�t even known she was pregnant and didn�t what else to do. She said she simply wanted someone to take care of the baby.�

�Maybe that�s what happened with you,� he said quietly, but she shook her head sadly.

�I wasn�t left at a hospital, Philip, where someone might find me. I was left with the trash outside a restaurant.�

�In Pittsburgh.�

She shook her head again. �No. A place called Stanton. It�s not far from the city.�

�Who found you?�

�A homeless guy. He was looking in the trash and heard a baby crying, so he flagged down a patrol car. Then he disappeared, too.�

He�d read the newspaper stories of abandoned babies, felt a momentary concern then moved on. They were just as disposable as the newspapers themselves: read, sympathise, then forget. But behind the headlines were little tragedies, human dramas, and the players couldn�t finish saying their lines, take off their costumes and return to their normal lives. They had to play the story through, and looking at her solemn face and haunted eyes, he could see that Chloe�s tragedy was still as painful to her as if it had happened yesterday. �I wish I�d known you then, been there for you,� he said simply.

�When you were 12? It was a long time ago, Philip. Nobody can change what happened, and I have to accept that I�m never going to know the truth about that night.�

�If you want to find out, we�ll do it. You don�t have to live with not knowing, Chloe.�

�I don�t think about it much really. Not any more. It�s just tonight . . .� She forced another smile.

�I�m sorry to tell you all this on your birthday. You shouldn�t be upset, you have to call your parents. It should be a happy day for you . . .�

He placed a finger on her lips to silence her. �No, it�s exactly the right time. We got together on YOUR birthday, remember? It�s like we�ve come full circle.� He glanced down at the birthday cake, sitting forgotten at their feet. �I love my gifts and I love you.�

He was about to kiss her again when the shrill sound of the telephone cut through the silence in the room. They both looked at the clock, then back at each other.

�The Kiriakises.�

�You�d better answer it.�

�I don�t want to.�

�They want to wish their son happy birthday. And I want them to,� she said, gazing at him intently. �It�s a special day and he�s a special person.�

The phone continued to wail, sounding increasingly impatient as if Kate Roberts knew her son was wilfully ignoring her call. Eventually, Philip tore his eyes away from Chloe�s and reached for the handset. He took a deep breath. �Mom, hi,� he began. �Thanks for the presents. I can�t tell you how much I appreciate them . . .�

****

He was reading his favourite part of The Great Gatsby when Chloe entered the bedroom, clad in her usual cotton T-shirt and shorts. For once the appalling scene in the fictional Manhattan apartment didn�t hold his interest - his mind was full of the real-life scene earlier that evening in his own apartment.

Quietly, he put the book on his nightstand and watched as she started to brush her hair, left loose for the evening instead of held back in her usual braid. �Dad was impressed by your gift,� he said finally, nodding towards the nightstand. �He started reading a lot when he was recovering from his stroke and he picked up some Dickens first editions at auction once. He thinks you have an eye for a bargain.�

Her reflection smiled at him slightly across the room. �Does he read Greek literature? The classics?�

�Yeah - though even Victor Kiriakis can�t get his hands on a first edition of the Iliad!� There was that half-smile again, then she put down her hairbrush and took off her glasses. She always looked slightly vulnerable without them, Philip thought, as if she�d shed part of her protective shell, her barrier against a world that had hadn�t been very kind to her. �They think I�m lucky to have you - that you�re very thoughtful.�

He slid down in the bed and lifted up the covers so she could slip in beside him. Ignoring the lamp on the nightstand, he simply drew her into his arms so she lay with her head on his chest, the ticking of her old-fashioned alarm clock the only sound. Eventually she spoke into the silence.

�Philip, if we managed to find out what happened when - when I was born . . . what if it�s something bad?�

He hesitated. He knew she�d been brooding about it and he was glad she wanted to talk, but he wasn�t sure how to reply. It was too important. Nothing had ever mattered so much as not letting her down. �Then we�ll deal with it together,� he said slowly. �What I said earlier, about you not having to tell me anything . . . I meant it, but I�m glad you DID tell me, because now it�s my story, too. Whatever happens - or doesn�t happen - belongs to us both. We�re in this together.�

She pressed her face against his chest. �You always say the right thing!�

He laughed. He couldn�t help it. �You have a very short memory. Or a selective one. I seem to have said the wrong thing too many times since we met.�

They lay there for a moment, then she gave a sort of muffled gasp and he felt her tremble against him. He reached down gently to her cheek and felt the dampness of her tears. �That�s right,� he murmured. �Let it out. I�ve got you, I�m here now. You�re not alone anymore.�

�It�s just - it�s just, I�ve never told anyone before, and saying the words out loud . . .� she said between sobs.

�I know, I know.� He stroked her hair as she cried in his arms and he vowed silently that he�d never ever let anything hurt her again. All her life she�d secretly carried the burden of rejection, and his heart ached to imagine her - lonely and unloved - fighting for her very survival in a series of cold, dismal foster homes and orphanages. In the time they�d been together she�d revealed some of the sad facts of her difficult childhood, and he didn�t know what was the stronger emotion - sadness or anger at a system that seemed to punish a child for the circumstances of her birth. If anyone didn�t deserve that it was Chloe. She was an incredible person - perfect, in fact - and yet her life had been anything but perfect. Until now.

Eventually he felt her relax slightly against him. �I don�t think we could find out what happened anyway,� she said quietly. �It was over 20 years ago, and if no one knew anything then . . .�

�There�s always someone who knows something. Stanton can�t be that big. A private detective could talk to everyone in town if he had to.�

�That would take forever. There must be, like, 100,000 people there.� She looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes and he was relieved to see her distress had been replaced by curious interest.

�Then we�ll hire a bunch of detectives. Fly them in from New York or somewhere. Maybe two hundred guys.�

�Two hundred? I know you earn more than me but I can�t imagine what it would cost to hire hundreds of detectives!�

�We can use my trust fund.� He shrugged slightly. �Though we�d have to wait till next year - when I�m 25 I get complete control of the fund, you see. No more trustees to worry about and we can get as many detectives as we need.�

�It would take a lot of money,� she said doubtfully.

�The fund would cover it. There must be . . .� he yawned slightly. Money talk didn�t interest him, especially talk about his own money. �There must be about three-quarters of a million dollars by now.�

�Three-quarters,� she repeated, then she sat bolt upright. She twisted round till she was facing him and she stared open-mouthed in an almost cartoon-like shock. �THREE-QUARTERS OF A MILLION DOLLARS?�

�Yeah, I guess so. Give or take a few grand.�

She continued to stare at him. �Philip, that�s - that�s just so much money!�

�So? You knew my family had money.�

�Your family, yes. But I never imagined . . . You�re RICH, Philip. Not your family - YOU.�

Wealth had never been an issue with him. He�d had an allowance as long as he could remember, and he�d always had much more money than the rest of his friends. When, in high school, he�d blown everything in his account on a new jet ski, his mother has simply smiled indulgently and written him a check. He�d had a brand-new car for his first semester at Princeton, and his graduation gift had been a trip to a resort on the Great Barrier Reef for him and a group of friends.

He wasn�t na�ve or greedy - at least he didn�t think he was - and Chloe�s lack of money wasn�t an issue for him either. But her stubbornness over it was. Because of their backgrounds, he had money and she didn�t - it was as simple as that for him. Only Chloe didn�t see it that way, and though they rarely discussed it he knew she didn�t like to feel she couldn�t contribute to their life together. And now she was staring at him as if seeing him for the first time.

�Come on! It�s only money,� he cajoled. �I thought we�d gotten through this. It doesn�t matter. I have money - so what? I�m still me - Philip.�

She seemed to consider for a moment, before reaching out to touch the bare skin just above the waistband of his boxers. The beginnings of a smile appeared on her face. �Well, I suppose it does make it easier to put up with you. Sort of compensation.�

�I knew it - you�re a gold-digger.� He gave an exaggerated sigh, then he smiled - a smile he hoped would somehow transmit to her everything that was in his heart. �But what the hell. I don�t care.�

She ran her hand up his chest, and he grabbed at it, holding it tight. When he interlocked his fingers with hers, she smiled properly and allowed him to pull her back into his arms. She snuggled in as close as she could. �YOU!!! Why didn�t you tell me about your million-dollar nest egg?�

�To tell you the truth, I almost forgot about it. It�s just something people like my parents do. People use it to buy a house or something, though in my case there is some sort of condition about giving ten per cent to charity.�

�Really?�

Of course she�d approve of that, his kind-hearted, hard-working, serious-minded Chloe! He stretched back against the pillows, content now she was back in his arms. �Yeah. But other than the ten per cent . . . it�s all yours.�

�You�d really let me spend all your money like that?�

�Sure. What�s the point of having money if you don�t put it to good use? And I can�t imagine a better use than making you happy. Anyways, I told you before - it�s OUR money, not mine. Everything�s ours - I want to share everything with you.�

�I don�t have much to share with you - except Columbine.�

�Hey, she�s more than enough. I get two crazy females in one package.�

�Money IS useful, I suppose,� she said musingly. �I could go to Paris, get a whole new wardrobe of clothes . . .�

�Monogrammed, of course!�

She giggled and gently pinched the skin over his ribs. �You�re terrible. You�re an awful person, you have that hideous scar, and now I find out you�re practically a millionaire . . .�

�I like you just the way you are, too.�

�You just don�t want me to spend all the money on clothes.�

�You don�t have to. I like you best in my shirts, or as you are right now. Or in nothing at all of course . . .�

Chloe laughed softly, and he could feel her breath on his chest. He closed his eyes and stroked the smooth skin of her back under her T-shirt. He would never tire of touching her, he thought. During the months they�d been apart he�d almost gone crazy imagining having her in his arms again, and whenever he went away on business he found he couldn�t sleep - no matter how tired he was - because she wasn�t there beside him.

�I never knew it could be like this. That it could be so warm. . . safe . . . being close to someone,� she whispered.

�I�m glad. This is one of the things I love most. Just being together like this, holding you and talking about things. It makes me feel sort of secure, and lucky. D�you know, you need the most personal space of anyone I�ve ever met? When we first met you had like this exclusion zone around you. I was going out of my mind before you invited me in.�

�I seem to remember you invited yourself in!�

�So I�m a pushy guy. But about tomorrow. You�re not going to get much personal space if we go to the game. Are you sure you want to do this?�

�Of COURSE I do. I�ve never been to soccer before. I know you like it and I want to go with you. It will be fun.�

�OK, but take along some earplugs. It�s pretty noisy and some of the stuff isn�t what a young lady who sings opera should hear.�

�Excuse me, I was a waitress, remember? I don�t think there are many things that I didn�t hear in four or five languages!�

�Don�t remind me about that sleazy place. That�s history. You once said you�d work two jobs to support me - well, I�d rather starve in the street than let you spend even one minute in a dump like that.�

�Just listen to you - the dominant male. Didn�t we come out of our caves a few thousand years ago?�

He knew she wasn�t really angry with him. Otherwise she wouldn�t still be stroking the contours of his torso in a way that both comforted and aroused him. �OK, OK. I get the message. You know you�re the boss. I always do whatever you say in the end!�

She smiled against his skin, and again they lapsed into a comfortable silence. The clock ticked and in the distance a car horn blasted a warning, but neither of them said a word. Eventually he felt her stir slightly. �Philip, I don�t think I want to find out anything about what happened when I was born. Not yet. I�d rather we just stayed as we are.�

Her voice was soft but the uncertainty that had tormented him earlier had been replaced by a quiet determination. �Then that�s what we�ll do. Just you and me, exactly as we are.�

At last he reached out to the lamp, flipped the switch and plunged the room into a stark but safe darkness.

****

Chloe stretched and yawned before reaching out for her alarm clock. Squinting at the dial, she realised it was 4am, and that Philip was no longer beside her. She yawned again, touched the pillow where his head had laid, and wondered where he was. But she wasn�t worried. She knew he wouldn�t be far away and that soon he�d be back by her side.

Philip. She smiled into the blackness. Once she might have panicked at finding herself alone, but not any more. She didn�t remember what time they�d fallen asleep, but she knew that she�d still been in his arms at the time. They hadn�t even made love, but she�d felt closer to him than ever before as he comforted her, made her laugh and revealed a little more about himself and his life in that diffident, casual way of his.

Still, she missed him, and she wanted to know where he was, so - shivering slightly - she picked up her glasses and went to find him. It didn�t take long. He was in the sitting room, in front of his computer, staring at the screen intently and completely unaware of her presence.

�Hey.� She crossed the room to stand behind him, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders. �What are you doing?�

�Hi. Did I wake you? I just wanted to look for something on the internet . . .� He smiled at her softly, then turned his attention back to the website on the screen.

�The Ramsey Relief Centre,� she read. �Where�s that?�

�It�s in Lansing, about 40 miles from Stanton,� he said quietly. �I was thinking, about when you told me how that guy found you, when you were a baby. My first thought was �Thank God� and how lucky for me, for you - for us - it was that he was there. But it wasn�t lucky for him. I mean, we�re here and happy because for some sad reason that guy had nothing, and he was living on the streets, looking in the trash for food. And he found you, SAVED you.�

�Philip . . .�

�I wish we could do something for him, but it�s 20 years ago - it�s gonna be too late, isn�t it? But I found this place where street people can go, for food, clothes and stuff. I want to make a contribution - not just once, every month. I mean, they always need money, right? And they may be able to help more people, help someone like that guy . . .�

She couldn�t utter a word. She wanted to, but she couldn�t. How like Philip to want to do something practical, to want to change a thing that he didn�t like - or that upset him - rather than hide from it.

Unable to say what she really felt, she squeezed his shoulders gently. �Come back to bed. It�s late and it�s cold. We can do this tomorrow.�

Even in the midst of emotions that threatened to bring her to tears once more, she registered that �we�. Somehow, somewhere along the line, �I� had been replaced by �we� and it came as natural as breathing to think of them as a pair.

�OK. I�ll just log off. I won�t be long.�

She moved her hands against his shoulder slightly, then she bent and kissed him gently on the cheek. �Don�t be.�

She was drifting into unconsciousness when he returned a few minutes later, but she felt the bed sag under his weight and the familiar warmth as he fitted his body around hers. By the time his arm crept round her waist she was already asleep, so she didn�t hear the words he whispered against her hair. �I�ll make it up to you, I promise. One day I will, Mrs Kiriakis.�

To be Continued...