The rest of the day passed in companionable silence, hours spent lying in each other's arms in front of the log burning fire, sipping vintage whiskey that Ric had uncovered from Michael's secret stash, finding no need to speak to each other. Sometimes, words were simply an unnecessary distraction and as she lay in his arms, the glow from the fire illuminating her features with a warm glow that she did not feel, she didn't think that she could have articulated a coherent sentence if she wanted to. Occasionally she would glance up at him, catching his eyes and seeing the confusion in their depths as he struggled to assimilate what she had told him earlier in the day. Whatever it was he had expected to hear, it wasn't that her mother had killed herself and left her at the mercy of an uncaring father and cruel stepmother. While unexpected, it was a shockingly plausible story and she knew this when she concocted it while preparing their lunch. Eventually he cleared his throat as if to speak and she pressed a solitary finger to his lips, silencing him without speaking a word herself. She knew from his face that he had spent hours searching for the right thing to say in response to her admission; to her lie. How was he possibly to know that the last thing she wanted was any kind of response from him – any kind of pity or sympathy at her troubled childhood. Sympathy was the last thing she deserved – she had lied to him because the alternative was telling him the truth. If he knew the truth then he would hate her as much as she hated herself. Self-loathing she had learned to live with; being loathed by someone she respected as much as she respected Ric was a different kettle of fish entirely. The very idea of it was unbearable.

'Connie, I…' he tried as soon as her finger was withdrawn and immediately she replaced it with her lips, silencing him this time with a kiss, the sensation of her dry, tense lips against his still speaking ones feeling as unnatural to her as it did to him. Even so, it was a necessity if she was to resist, or at least minimise the crippling guilt that threatened to overcome her every time she looked into his deep, kind eyes.

'Don't say anything. Please don't say anything' she begged, a pleading gaze meeting his eyes and as requested, he kept quiet. Looking at him, she knew that he thought that she simply hated anyone pitying her for things that had happened long ago in her past. He had no idea.

After a while, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet, leading her gently towards the stairs, nothing to be heard expect the gentle footfall of their bare feet on the stripped wooden boards of the stairs. Arriving at the bedroom he opened the door and led her inside, pushing her down on the bed and lying beside her, his arms around her as he attempted to kiss her, surprised when he met resistance.

'No?' he enquired with amazement in his voice as she pulled away and stood up, making brisk strides to the French doors where she stood with her back to him, gazing out at the darkness of the garden, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

'I can't Ric' she turned to him, an expression of hurt and shame on her face although he didn't know why. He inferred that it had something to do with her earlier revelation but this was not the response he anticipated from her – generally anything that transpired, be it good or bad, would only serve to increase Connie's desire for him. The fact that she seemed unable to bear his proximity concerned him greatly.

'Come back to bed' he asked after several tense moments had passed 'I promise you, I won't touch you again if you don't want me to'

'I need to be alone' there were tears in her eyes as she turned back to him, her face suddenly so cold and expressionless that he felt a shiver run down his spine 'you can sleep on the sofa if you've drunk too much to drive'

'Connie…' he began but stopped himself. It was futile; she had once again retreated behind barriers so well constructed that he knew he had no hope of breaking them down and getting close to her when she was in this state.

'Please…' she pleaded slightly and he nodded, backing from the room and making his way to the sofa, his reluctance to leave having more to do with the fact that he wasn't about to abandon her in the state that she was in than the fact that after three glasses of whiskey, driving would be very foolish indeed

As he lay alone on the sofa, listening to the gentle sounds of her sobbing echoing throughout the house, knowing her well enough not to intrude on hear tears, he had never felt so useless or so guilty. All he had wanted when he had pushed for her to confide in him was to feel trusted. It had never occurred to him that her problem was not one of trust, but one of a past so painful that talking about it was almost more than she could bear. Selfishly he had bullied her into discussing an event that she had clearly tried to put behind her and now she was pushing him away. He only had himself to blame.

He wasn't aware of dropping off until he awoke three or four hours later to complete silence. Eventually he made his way lethargically upstairs and was surprised to note that he was creeping so as not to alert her to his increasing proximity. Pushing open the door he saw her fast asleep, clearly having exhausted herself with the tears that still left tell tale tracks down her cheeks. Not wishing to disturb her now he was satisfied that she was okay he turned and made his way back down the stairs and into the kitchen where he set about making himself a cup of coffee. Once the drink was ready he opened the back door and stepped out into the garden, shutting the door behind him and perching on the edge of a sunlounger made from split wood, clearly worse for wear having been neglected since the previous summer.

He didn't know how he sat there for; he was aware of the chill removing sensation from his extremities and eventually, he stopped feeling the cold. It was only when the sun peeked over the horizon that he started to consider going inside, rubbing his arms and legs furiously in an attempt to restore circulation.

'You're freezing' there was a note of accusation and concern in her voice as she stepped forward, relieving him of his long-since emptied cup and putting her arms around him, holding him tightly 'what were you doing out there?'

'Thinking' he mumbled as she steered him toward the sofa and sat him down, putting her arms around him and rubbing him gently in an attempt to warm him up 'I didn't mean to upset you'

'It's okay' she whispered gently, holding him even more tightly 'you didn't know'

'I shouldn't have pushed you' he continued mournfully and on this point she agreed with a barely perceptible nod but there was no anger or resentment 'I promise, I won't push you again…'

'That's all I needed to hear' she whispered as she pulled him closer to her, burying his face against her body and kissing his head gently. As she held him he didn't see the guilt in her eyes.