Secrets From the Past by Barbara Taylor Bradford

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.
    Helping Zac to get better was one thing, falling under his fatal spell was something else altogether. What if he went back to covering wars? And he might feel the compulsion to go to bad places, where disasters were constant, or because he wanted to put himself in danger for the thrill of it. Or to test himself. That could become a disastrous cycle, one I wanted no part of at all.
    Immediately, I pushed this unacceptable idea to one side. I knew he fully understood he could never go back to the battlefield. He would have to find a different area of photography to focus on, one which was much less dangerous.
    It was almost as if he had read my mind when he said, ‘I guess I could follow in your father’s footsteps.’
    I was puzzled. ‘What are you getting at?’
    ‘For the last few years of his life, Tommy took pictures of presidents, politicians, royals, celebrities of all kinds. Maybe I could do that. What say you?’
    Ready to seize on anything that was not physically dangerous for him, I exclaimed, ‘That’s brilliant! Dad enjoyed shooting those pictures.’
    ‘The thing was, he managed to get pictures of them in funny, amusing and unusual poses. He obviously persuaded them to do stuff they didn’t normally do. That’s what made the photos so great.’
    ‘You could do it, Zac, you’re a natural to step into his shoes,’ I told him, and I meant this.
    ‘I’ll think about it.’ He paused, looked worried when he went on, ‘You don’t really want to shoot a series on world famine, do you?’
    ‘I don’t know, to be honest. It interests me, and yet it would mean facing a lot of women and children suffering, and that’s heartbreaking, as you well know.’ I made a face. ‘On the other hand, people should be reminded about how much famine there is around the world.’
    He nodded, but his face was glum, even slightly disapproving, I thought.
    ‘Like you, I’m looking for something to do. I have the book to finish about Dad’s life, and then I might work on a photographic book that Tommy started but never completed. Cara and Jessica found quite an extensive archive at the house in Nice. Loads of photographs Dad had taken over the years.’
    ‘Hey, that would be wonderful!’ He sat up straighter, a smile glancing across his face. ‘It would be another great tribute to Tommy.’
    ‘That’s what my sisters said.’
    Zac settled back, drank his tea, and after a few