The Man Behind The Mask (From Rags To Riches)

by Maggie Cox

  ‘No.’ Turning her bewitchingly pretty face towards him, Marianne held Eduardo’s gaze with resolute steadiness. ‘He—he died.’

  ‘Died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘A very rare form of cancer.’ Her shoulders hunched.

  Her ensuing sigh was as delicate as a newborn child’s, yet he heard it just the same. Feeling genuine sympathy, Eduardo wanted to react appropriately, consolingly, but his feelings raised the familiar spectre of his own devastating loss, and he found himself staying where he was as if turned to stone, wondering how people bore the some times dreadful things that happened to them, where they found the strength. Then, knowing that he had failed miserably in that department because he had not found strength—it was shame and guilt and the need for self-punishment that made him endure, nothing noble at all—he clenched his jaw hard.

  ‘Did he leave you with nothing?’ he demanded, his words under scored with indignant anger on Marianne’s behalf that her dying husband had clearly left her completely unprovided for. So much so that she’d had to resort to practically begging at the side of the road!

  ‘What?’ The question had clearly stunned her.

  ‘Look at the situation he left you in! How long since he died?’

  ‘Eighteen months.’

  ‘And he left you completely without the means to support yourself?’ Hearing the judgment and fury in his own voice, Eduardo made no apology for it.

  ‘No… He left me his house and—and some money.’

  Confusion taking over from rage, he glanced at Marianne in genuine surprise. ‘So what happened? Why was it that I found you in the street busking? And in temperatures that would prevent most people from even going outside unless they absolutely had to, let alone stand there singing!’

  ‘I was learning to perform in public, like I told you before. Music is a passion of mine and I wanted to get better at it. I thought I might eventually join a band or something, make my living that way. I was also trying to rebuild my confidence after what happened.’

  ‘So you were not going home to some—some hostel or homeless shelter each night?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.’

  What happened to the house and the money you were left? Why phone me and tell me that you were in need of a job and home?’

  Regarding Marianne’s young, beautiful face, lit so beguilingly by the dying light of the fire, Eduardo couldn’t deny the colossal disappointment and sense of betrayal that simmered inside him. What game was she playing that she would deceive him about her situation like this? Had she perhaps discovered who he was, learning that he had the kind of wealth that most people could only fantasise about? Perhaps her husband’s modest legacy of money and a house were not enough for a secretly financially ambitious girl like her? The very idea turned his stomach.

  ‘When I rang you and asked for your help it was because I truly needed it. I didn’t lie about that.’ She was twisting her hands round the belt of her robe, and her expression was genuinely in earnest, Eduardo saw. ‘I needed a job and a home because—’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘Because I gave the house and money and everything else that belonged to him to my husband’s adult children.’

  ‘Your husband had adult children?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘From that I gather that he was much older than you?’

  ‘Yes. He was fifty-nine when we met.’

  Moving away from the fire, Marianne turned her back on Eduardo for a moment. He saw the slender shoulders lift and then drop again, as though she was resigned to the fact that now she’d begun her story she would have to see it through to the end. As she turned back to face him, he detected the tiniest quiver of her lush top lip.

  ‘He was a good man, and a kind one…a genuinely caring soul. Over a fairly short period of time we became great friends. After a while he asked me to marry him, and I agreed. When he left me the house in his will his children con tested it, insisting that because he had been ill he couldn’t have been in his right mind to do such a thing.’ Her expression was anguished for a moment.

  ‘I never asked Donal—my husband—to leave me anything. I’d made my own way before I met him and I would again. But he made me promise that I would hold onto the house so I would have some sense of security. Life was very difficult for a while after he went…dealing with grief and loss, I mean. The legal wrangles over the house made it even more challenging. I finally decided that I didn’t want to be in a battle any more. More than anything I wanted peace. So I wrote to Michael and Victoria, his children, and told them they could have the house and the money. In the same letter I returned the keys. So you see…when I told you I needed a job and a home…it was perfectly true. I wanted to tell you before, but somehow it never seemed to be the appropriate time.’

  Rubbing at his temples, Eduardo frowned. Not one in ten women would have done what Marianne had done—given away the house that was legally hers, leaving herself with nothing. He was sure of it. What would her husband have made of such a gesture? he mused, more disturbed than he cared to be at the thought of her being married to a man more than twice her age. More startling still was the idea that they had both lost their spouses. Both had experienced the numbing dark realm of bereavement. Although perhaps the expected loss of Marianne’s husband due to his illness had been a little less hard to take than the shattering blow Eduardo had been dealt.

  Not wanting to revisit such sombre recollections any more tonight, he suddenly realised that the woman in front of him displayed all the signs of being dead on her feet from fatigue—and he was the cause.

  ‘Go to bed,’ he told her curtly. ‘You have an early start in the morning.’

  ‘Please don’t think I came here under false pretences…I would hate that. I’m not a liar. When you left me your card and told me if I ever changed my mind about needing a job and a home I should ring you, I took you at your word.’

  ‘And I honoured my word, did I not? Now…you have done quite enough for one night, playing both nurse and house maid, and you clearly need your sleep.’

  ‘What about you?’

  As Marianne stepped towards Eduardo her question was suspended on air that was subtly but exquisitely charged with an awareness that made his breath slow inside his chest and his mouth dry. He could not take his eyes off her. Her loveliness mesmerised him. With her long hair spilling over her shoulders like dark molten honey, her waist impossibly small, and her form so slender even in the unflattering dressing gown she was a sight that would make most men long to possess her. Silently he echoed that longing. But instead of surrendering to his great desire to hold her, instinctively Eduardo tensed. Desperately he wanted her to come closer, but at the same time the polar extremes of honour and self-loathing were causing him to contain his yearning and pray for it to dissipate.

  ‘What about me?’ he echoed, gravel-voiced.

  ‘You need your sleep too. Please let me go and get you that hot drink or some brandy.’

  ‘I have survived nights like these before without the need for hot drinks or brandy, and I will do so again. Please just do as I say and go back to bed.’

  ‘All right, then—if you’re sure?’

  Deliberately not meeting her gaze, Eduardo glanced down at his neatly bandaged hand instead and said nothing.

  Knowing that Eduardo’s already sleep less night had been further disrupted by his accident, Marianne crept round the large, imposing house like a mouse, intent on doing her work as quietly as humanly possible so as not to disturb him. In the kitchen she played the radio at the lowest volume, and closed the door behind her as she prepared and chopped vegetables in readiness for yet another hearty soup for lunch. But occasionally during her work her gaze strayed out of the window to the alluring country views outside that made her heart leap with longing.

  The Siberian winter was starting to abate at last, and every where there were signs that the deep snow was
melting. Even as she stood by the sink, peeling carrots into a colander, Marianne heard the steady ‘drip-drip’ of icicles thawing under the eaves. She found herself speculating if Eduardo might invite her to take another walk with him. If he did, she wouldn’t hesitate to say yes, she decided. Perhaps this time they might get a bit further than the little wooden bridge over the moat and head off into the forest that she was so longing to explore? The crisp, clean air as well as the exercise would definitely be beneficial.

  What was it that troubled the man so deeply, seeming to steal away any pleasure he might find in simply being alive? she asked herself. She could under stand a young, fit man like him being de pressed about not being able to move as freely as he normally might because of his infirmity, but something told Marianne it wasn’t just his limp that was causing him pain. Occasionally she had observed what she believed to be deep trauma in his arresting blue eyes, and it was starting to seriously disturb her. That, coupled with the lack of personal photographs or anything alluding to his past or where he came from in the house, as well as his propensity for being reclusive, and she was beginning to suspect something dreadful had happened to him…something so dreadful that even his valet Ricardo refused to be drawn about it.

  And now there was another thing that bothered Marianne. Last night in the intimate confines of Eduardo’s room, seeing the distress he’d fought so hard to hide from her and witnessing his pain, she had almost given in to her great desire to reach out and offer him much more human comfort. Holding his hand while she examined the cut he had sustained had been a test of endurance in more ways than one—especially when her hands had been trembling the entire time she tended his wound. She had never been so affected just by being near a man before…as though all this time her senses had been lying dormant and only now had come to life because he walked into a room.

  The idea of being close to Eduardo plunged her into turmoil. She had certainly never experienced such wild, almost painful longing when she had been with dear Donal…but then they had never been intimate. His illness had simply pre vented it. And after he had died Marianne had been glad they had not enjoyed true marital intimacy, because she had started to acknowledge that her feelings for him—although devoted—had in reality been only platonic.

  Frowning at the guilt she’d suffered over that realisation, she reached out to straighten the little terracotta pot of fresh basil on the windowsill, almost jumping out of her skin when the door opened and Eduardo appeared.

  ‘Good morning,’ he greeted her, his expression disarmingly sheepish. ‘Or perhaps I should say good afternoon? I did not realise I had slept in quite so late. You should have alerted me to the time.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Marianne answered, hazel eyes widening in mild reproach. ‘It seems to me that extra sleep was just what you needed! Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you some coffee? Or if you’d prefer to go into the sitting room I’ll bring it to you in there. I’ve lit the fire, so it’s nice and warm.’

  But Eduardo was already moving towards the big pine table in the centre of the stone-flagged floor. ‘I think I will stay here with you,’ he said, drawing out a chair and lowering himself into it. ‘I am a little tired of my own company just now. The snow is starting to melt at last, I see.’

  ‘I know. But it’s still freezing outside.’ Following the direction of his brooding gaze out of the window, Marianne kept her voice deliberately neutral, intuitively guessing that it was probably wise not to mention last night.

  But then, just as she was about to fill the kettle with water, she glimpsed the reddened gash on his hand and realised he’d removed the make shift bandage she’d made.

  ‘How’s that cut this morning?’ she asked. ‘I hope it wasn’t too painful during the night?’

  ‘It is nothing. I have already for got ten about it.’

  ‘I’ll check it again after you’ve had your coffee’ Marianne said lightly, turning on the tap, filling the kettle and inserting the plug into the wall socket.

  ‘There is no need for you to trouble yourself any further about it.’

  Did he dislike the idea of her touching him? Marianne wondered. And she was unable to stem the hurt that thought produced.

  ‘Well…perhaps you’re ready for some break fast, then? If you’d like something cooked it’s no trouble.’

  ‘No food. Just coffee.’

  As if realising he had sounded a little curt, Eduardo softened his reply with a smile. It was as though she’d been given the most monumental gift. Marianne sensed pleasure gush through her blood stream like hot water springs, and to hide her burning cheeks she turned away to scoop pungent dark roasted coffee into the cafetière and place a matching cup and saucer on a tray.

  ‘Marianne?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was thinking that maybe you’d agree to take a walk with me after I have had my coffee. Up towards the forest, perhaps?’

  ‘Are you feeling up to going so far?’

  Turning, she was just in time to catch Eduardo grimace, as if the last thing he wanted was to be reminded of his infirmity, and Marianne could have bitten out her tongue at her tact less ness.

  ‘If I was not feeling up to it I would not have suggested it,’ he replied, clearly attempting to quell any irritation inside him and making a deliberate effort to sound more agreeable instead.

  ‘In that case, I’ll be happy to go with you,’ she told him, turning back to the kettle and pouring boiling water into the waiting cafetière…

  In silence they made their way across the bridge, then onto the path that wound its way into the dense, still snow-covered forest. Now and again Marianne glanced to her side, to make sure Eduardo was not in difficulty, but she soon got the message that it would be unwise to display too much concern. Just a glimmer of a warning glance was all it took, so Marianne walked onwards without comment, her booted feet crunching on deep snow that was still treacherously slippery in places, the freezing air caressing her face with the cold kiss of winter at its deepest.

  On either side of them tall trees rose up like dark walls hemming them in, and the path seemed to thin to a bare ribbon in places. She knew that, much as she might like to wander off at will, it would not be a good idea on a day with conditions as potentially treacherous as this. As soon as the lighter, milder days of spring arrived, then it would be an excursion to savour. But would she still be here in the spring? For that matter…would Eduardo?

  Unable to hold back the fear that suddenly swarmed through her, Marianne stopped walking to study the silent, handsome man at her side.

  ‘Please tell me what’s wrong with you!’ she burst out, emotion welling up inside her. ‘I can’t bear not to know.’

  ‘Because of what happened to your husband you ask this?’ Eduardo sighed heavily into the frigid air. ‘I have not got a terminal illness, if that is what you are worried about.’

  ‘Then what’s wrong with your leg—and why do you so often seem to retreat where no one can reach you?’

  ‘The first question I will answer… The second I cannot.’

  Marianne waited, the cold at the tips of her gloved fingers feeling like sharpened steel teeth nipping her. She clapped them together to try and restore some warmth.

  ‘I was involved in a car accident…a very bad one.’ He stared at the ground for long seconds, a pulse throbbing visibly in the side of his cheek. ‘That is how I injured my leg. I have had nine operations to try and mend the shattered bone, and from time to time the pain is excruciating.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ His jaw hardened, and the steely look that he some times wore crept back into the pale blue gaze now focused on Marianne. ‘It was my own fault, and I must pay the price.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ She frowned. ‘That you deserve the pain?’

  ‘Now that you know I am not going to die any time soon, let us walk on or turn back.’

  ‘Eduardo?’

  ‘What is it?’ H
is answering glance was predictably impatient.

  ‘You are much too hard on yourself, I think.’

  She knew she risked him telling her to mind her own business, but Marianne couldn’t help herself. Once again he had gone to that place where no one could follow, and she longed to bring him back.

  ‘Have you always spoken your mind so easily?’ he asked.

  To her surprise, when she glanced over she found Eduardo was smiling, and her stomach did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree cart wheel. ‘Not always. But it seems to me that people waste too much time pretending and not saying what they really feel.’

  ‘You are probably right about that. Now have you had enough of an adventure for one afternoon? I think we should turn back, don’t you? The sky is looking rather dismal and threatening.’

  ‘I suppose we ought—’

  Turning too suddenly, Marianne felt her booted foot slip on some ice, and the next thing she knew was she was lying flat on her back in the freezing snow, staring up at Eduardo as if he were a sky scraper above her.

  ‘Marianne!’ As he bent towards her, his expression was shocked and bleached of colour.

  Inexplicably, laughter bubbled up inside her chest, her peal of mirth ringing out clearly as a bell in the still, silent forest, agitating some birds that were nesting in a nearby oak.

  As they flew away, in a cacophony of flapping wings, Eduardo glanced back down at Marianne, his handsome face a picture of confusion and uncertainty. ‘I do not see what is so funny,’ he said gruffly. ‘You might have hurt yourself badly! Do not try to get up too quickly. Here…let me help you.’

  Allowing his cane to fall onto the ground, he put out both hands to aid Marianne, but even as she struggled to get to her feet again her humour did not dissipate.

  ‘I didn’t even hurt myself! That was what was so funny. I made a perfect landing…just like an acrobat or a prima ballerina!’

  Her eyes damp with mirth, she was now upright, and her gaze locked with the man still holding her hands. Seeing something there that made her heart stall, she felt her laughter die as abruptly as it had arisen.