by Susan Lewis
‘No, just us.’
She had an immediate physical reaction to that, which, thank God, he couldn’t see. ‘What is it? A pub?’
‘No. A restaurant.’
She frowned. ‘So we’re going for dinner?’
‘That’s the general idea in a restaurant.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we both need to eat? Don’t we?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’
‘And we also,’ he added, ‘need to talk.’
Her heart immediately turned over, for though she might like to tell herself it was about the story, she knew it was a follow-up to what she’d said on the way back from France. She was thinking fast, trying to come up with a way out of it. She’d never dreamt he’d bring it up again this soon; had even dared to hope he might have forgotten it altogether, but obviously he hadn’t and now all reasonable excuses were eluding her. Unless she claimed to be too shaken up by what had happened on the train. Which she was. It had been horrible – so bad, in fact, it had completely stolen her appetite. Not only that, it had actually made her nauseous. So no, what she needed to do was go home and have a quiet evening alone, burn some essential oils, listen to soft music, soak in the bath, slide into bed early …
But just over an hour later she was in a discreet, candlelit corner thanking a waiter as he passed her a menu, and agreeing they should go straight to wine.
As it turned out there was no opportunity to talk over dinner. His phone hardly stopped ringing and, thanks to the rowdy group that took over the next table, he had to keep going outside to take the calls. It also meant that what small snatches they did spend together, they could hardly hear each other above the din, so in the end they passed on dessert and coffee and ran back through the rain to the car.
‘Sorry it didn’t quite work out,’ he said, as they drove down through Covent Garden and turned on to the Strand.
‘The food was good,’ she responded. ‘And the wine. I take it from all those phone calls that something’s happening.’
‘Quite a lot actually,’ he confirmed. ‘But the details are changing by the minute.’
‘It’s moving forward, though?’
‘I’d say so. Still no paper trail of any substance, but the targeting of the euro is emerging as a five-possibly six-year strategy that’s due for completion around January or February 2003.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Tens of billions for those who stage the run, and that’s just on the currency play.’
‘What about introducing the US dollar into Britain?’
‘Still no evidence of that, but we won’t rule it out. One way or another it’ll be part of the story, either as a red herring we were thrown, or as a fact.’
‘So what’s stopping us going to print right away?’ she said.
‘Same as always. We’re still hoping to root out evidence to prove that the syndicate actually exists, and who’s operating it. If we don’t get that evidence by December, we’ll go anyway, because the speculation alone will kill the strategy. If we can tie in the real truth of why Sophie Long was murdered, and even confirm who did, or didn’t do it, all the better.’
She nodded, and turned to look out of the window. This conversation was merely a variation on one they’d had several times this past week, and though she’d stepped back from the financial investigation herself, concentrating more on the Colin Ashby / Sophie Long side of the story, she was naturally interested to know how his side of things was progressing. Tonight, though, she was preoccupied with the confession she was working up to, for despite the evening’s distractions, she knew it was unlikely he’d forgotten their decision to talk, and though she wasn’t looking forward to it one bit, she wasn’t going to put it off any longer either. The problem now, though, was knowing how to begin.
They drove on in silence, through the dark, almost deserted City streets, where pools of white streetlight shone out of wet roads, and the wind carried stray litter along the pavements and gutter. The radio was tuned to a classical station, but the music was turned down low, so she could hear the hum of the heater above it. From the corner of her eye she could see his hands on the wheel. She’d always loved his hands, for the way they were both elegant and masculine, seeming to exude strength and ruggedness as well as tenderness and care. They could almost be a metaphor for the man himself, she thought, then averted her eyes as shame swept through her for the way she’d tried to turn him into a monster. Headstrong, arrogant, impatient and occasionally ruthless he might be, but his sense of what was right would never have allowed him to do to anyone what she’d done to him. It was what made her transference of guilt so unacceptable, because she’d known he’d take it, and even now, no matter what she said, he’d probably still want to shoulder it, because he’d never agree that her role in Lysette’s death could negate his. Maybe it couldn’t, but that wouldn’t change how deeply he was going to resent, or even despise her when he discovered how, in her guilty and cowardly heart, she’d hidden the truth of that last phone call, and encouraged the world to believe that it was his cruelty and neglect that had finally pushed Lysette over the edge, when there was no doubt in her mind, if she’d let Lysette come to her that night, she’d be alive today.
Suddenly pushing aside the dread of his reaction, she took a breath and said, ‘You should know that it wasn’t your fault Lysette killed herself. It was mine, because she called me after you threw her out that night and I wouldn’t see her. She begged me to let her come over, but I just kept on refusing. I was terrible to her, cruel and unfeeling. She couldn’t bear to be alone while you were with another woman, and I couldn’t bear her to be with me.’
She stopped, tense and fearful, eyes fixed on an unfocused place ahead. ‘After,’ she said, pushing her voice over the strain in her heart, ‘when they told me she was dead, I wanted to die too. All I could hear was her pleading with me to listen, and me saying no. Now I’d never be able to hear her again, never be able to say yes. I can’t tell you how terrible it was. Nothing had ever felt like that before, and I know it never will again. I wanted to punish myself in the worst possible way, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t do to my parents what she’d done, though God knows I wanted to. I was so angry, and desperate. I needed someone else to blame, or something that would allow me to hide from the truth, and pretend that last call had never happened. I never told anyone about it. Not until the police traced it to me, did I ever even admit she’d made it, and then all I said was that she’d told me you’d thrown her out because you had another woman. But it didn’t stop there, because once I realized that people were angry with you, I saw how I could avoid the blame if I told them you’d actually said she should go ahead and kill herself, because if that was what she wanted at least it would get her out of your life. So I told them. I was suffering so much, and I wanted you to suffer too. I wanted everyone to blame you, because I hated you … My sister was dead because of you. You’d found another woman and Lysette and I … We didn’t matter any more. We were history for you, so I wanted everyone to despise you for what you’d done to us.’
She stopped again. A few minutes ago they’d pulled up outside Andrew and Stephen’s house, but he hadn’t turned off the engine, or even released it from the gears. She turned to look at him. His face was lost in shadow, so there was no way of knowing what he was thinking, but though she longed to know, she dreaded it too. If only he’d turn off the engine, at least it would be a sign he wanted her to continue.
In the end she said, ‘I felt so many things back then that I’m ashamed of now. I used them to make myself hate you, and punish you, for things that just weren’t your fault. I told myself that if you hadn’t come into our lives none of it would have happened. I was so torn apart by my own guilt, and loss, that no one else mattered, and as long as I blamed you I could avoid blaming myself –’ She broke off abruptly and felt the tension press harder into her head. ‘I did, and thought, some terrible things,’ she said. ‘I can’t change them now, but
I need to tell you about them, so that you don’t have to go on living with a guilt that’s not yours.’
In the silence that followed she could hear her heart pounding above the patter of rain on the roof, and the low purr of the engine. The windows were steaming; the music was a thin haunting wail of viola. She couldn’t say any more. She needed him to respond now, even if it was to tell her to get out. Then realizing that his silence was probably saying just that, she pushed open the door and stepped out into the drizzling rain. She looked down at him, but he didn’t look back.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered brokenly.
Her heart was so heavy, and her throat so tight, that she didn’t even try to say more. She simply closed the door, walked down the short front path, and took out her keys. She expected to hear the engine rev up as he drove away, but he was still there, sitting alone with the terrible feelings she’d just left him with. She desperately wanted to go back, but she forced herself not to look round. It was up to him now. There was no more she could do, so she let herself into the house, closed the door and leaned back against it, waiting for the sound of his car, as it drove off down the street. When it came, she sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, and burying her face to stifle the sound of her pain. But no matter how much he despised her now, it was never going to compare with how much she despised herself.
Feeling the cat rub against her, she scooped it up and drew it in close. Despair and anguish wrenched at her heart, as she remembered all her jealousy and self-torment, and relived those terrible early days of grief and shock. This never-ending guilt, combined with his rejection, was no less than she deserved, and who could blame him for driving away when she’d just told him how hard she’d tried to make people hate him? She hadn’t succeeded, but it was enough that she’d been malicious and dishonest enough to try. How disgusted he must be by her now, knowing how cowardly and cruel she really was.
Letting the cat go, she wrapped her arms round her head and tried to imagine what it was going to be like from here. Could they continue working together? They were so embroiled in this story now, that neither one of them would want to let go, and in truth she was glad, for it meant that on one level it would keep them together. On all others, she had no idea what would happen. She’d hoped they would talk, that somehow they’d clear the air in a way that would help them eventually to forgive and forget, then finally move on. But now they were in this limbo, with only half the truth spoken, no anger or recriminations aired, no explanations given, nor apologies or forgiveness offered. It was all so unfinished, yet he’d given her no encouragement to go further, had shown no willingness to keep her in the car, or come into the house with her.
Getting to her feet, she was about to go into the bedroom when she heard a car coming down the street. She stood very still, hoping and praying, fearing and dreading. But it was him, she knew it; she just didn’t know what this might mean.
The night fell into silence as the engine died. Then she heard the car door closing and his footsteps on the path. She walked to the door and opened it before he could knock.
For a moment he only looked at her. Then, reaching for her, he pulled her into his arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, holding her tight. ‘I’m sorry I drove away. Sorry that you’ve had to go through what you have. It’s been harder for you than anyone. I know that.’
‘No, it’s me who should be sorry,’ she said, clinging to him as he tightened his embrace. ‘What I did to you, the way I let you take the blame –’
‘Was understandable. You were in pain and grief, you needed to lash out, and I should have realized it sooner.’
He took her inside and closed the door. Then leading her through to the bedroom, he lay down on the bed with her, and continued to hold her. ‘We needed to do this a long time ago,’ he said into the darkness.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her voice muffled by his shoulder, her senses swimming in so many emotions it wasn’t possible for one to dominate the others.
They lay quietly for a long, long time, feeling the strength and comfort of each other, as the pain and need of the past year surfaced in their hearts.
In the end, she said, ‘Can you forgive me?’
‘Of course. Why do you think I’m here?’ Then drawing back to look at her in the soft shades of moonlight, he said, ‘Have you never discussed any of this with your parents?’
‘No. But I should. They’re ready to forgive you, and I want them to know that you weren’t to blame. It’s me –’
‘Sssh,’ he said, lifting a hand to her face. ‘No one’s to blame. I know it’s hard, and I haven’t done too well with it myself, but hearing you blame yourself makes me realize that what’s really important is understanding and forgiving, and that includes forgiving Lysette.’
She nodded and closed her eyes. ‘You’re right, I do need to forgive her, because I’ve been so angry with her. But I loved her so much, and I didn’t feel I had the right to be angry when I’d let her down so badly, and when I knew she’d forgive me anything.’ She took a breath, then covered his hand with her own. ‘She was so precious to me, to us all, and she loved us so much that I still can’t believe she’d hurt us like that.’
‘Stop,’ he said gently. ‘We’ve survived it, and we’re here. As your father said at the funeral, the only way past this is through it. And now we’re coming through. There are always going to be things we regret, but knowing her as you did, can you honestly believe she’d want you to go on suffering the way you are? She didn’t kill herself to hurt you, or me, or anyone, she did it to end the torment of being here at all. She couldn’t cope with the world’s tragedies, or the cold brutality of people. It confused her. You know that. All she ever wanted was everyone to be happy, and love one another.’
‘She wasn’t capable of wishing anyone anything else. Even if it caused her pain, she’d still want someone to be happy.’
‘Especially you,’ he said.
Swallowing hard, she turned to sit up and hugged her knees. She felt dazed by what was happening; caught up in grief, yet so weakened by other emotions that she hardly knew what she was feeling. ‘Did you ever love her?’ she asked, resting her cheek on her arms and staring at the wall.
‘Of course. It was impossible not to.’
When she tilted her head down, she could see him. ‘She adored you.’
‘Which was why it was so hard living with her. She refused to see my faults, just blinded herself to everything that wasn’t good, as though it would make me as pure in spirit as she was.’
She smiled mistily. ‘She used to say the same about you, that you were hard to live with.’
‘I’m sure that’s true, but probably worse with her, because when the time came, which it did long before she died, I just couldn’t make her let go. God knows I tried, but I just couldn’t make her understand that there was no future for us.’
‘The other woman –’
‘There was no other woman. It was all I could think of to make her accept it was over.’
Laurie’s eyes closed as her heart burned with all that had resulted from the lie. But, of course, there was no way he could have known it would end the way it had, even though Lysette had threatened it. After all, she’d made the same threat during that last phone call to her sister, and Laurie hadn’t believed her either. So had she done it to show them both? No. It simply wasn’t in Lysette’s nature to do something so cruel, or certainly not consciously.
Lying back down beside him she looked into his face and felt the enormity of her feelings swelling inside her. She wanted to touch him, yet was afraid to. She was so raw and fragile, as though she might break apart. ‘What do you think about, when you think about her?’ she asked.
He smiled and looked past her as though able to see his own thoughts. ‘Dandelions,’ he said. ‘She was so delicate, and ethereal, that sometimes I used to think that, like a dandelion, she might just float away.’
Laurie smiled shakily. ‘We always
used to call her the fairy when we were young. Mum even made her some wings once.’
‘I’ve seen the photos,’ he reminded her. ‘And I’ve seen them of you too. The little tomboy in her tree house, or helping Dad under the car, riding a bike that was too big, and showing off a trout she’d landed all by herself.’
She laughed and rolled her eyes.
He touched her face, smoothing her jaw with his thumb. ‘Yes, I loved Lysette,’ he said, ‘but in many ways it was like loving a child whose expectations you could never live up to.’
She continued to look at him, wondering if he was going to say more, longing for him to, and allowing her eyes to show the needs of her heart and her body. She could feel his breath on her face, his fingers touching her, moving into her hair. His eyes were searching her face, and her lips parted as she took a breath. Then her heart seemed to stop as, pulling her to him, he covered her mouth with his own and kissed her with more tenderness, more feeling than she’d ever known. There was nothing else in the world beyond the sheer beauty and intimacy that was embracing them; nothing stronger than the need for more as it flowed through her in silent currents of desire. She heard the moan of her own voice echo in his throat as he pulled her closer, and his mouth increased its pressure. The longing inside her was so pure, yet febrile, she could hardly contain it.
When finally he let her go it was as though she’d just been released from a fast-flowing current. Their eyes remained on each other’s, seeming to drink in the moment until, smiling, she said, ‘What are you thinking?’
A few seconds ticked by as he continued to look at her. ‘I’m thinking,’ he responded, ‘that I should go now.’
Shock and disappointment seared through her. ‘You don’t have to,’ she said before she could stop herself.
He smiled, pressed his lips to her forehead and got up from the bed.
She got up too, desperate to hide her confusion, stunned by the unexpectedness of this when he’d just kissed her the way he had.
‘Don’t blame yourself any more,’ he said gently. ‘Let it go now. It’s time to live your life.’