A Lonely Sky

by Linda Schmalz

  “And this-,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “-is my Elizabeth.”

  Julia held her breath as Sam studied the picture. Elizabeth was such a beautiful combination of them. Would Sam see it? Could the vibrant, auburn-curled, blue-eyed beauty convey to Sam the reason for all Julia had done? She stared at Sam, willing him to see Elizabeth and somehow understand. She hadn’t come here with the intention of telling him about Elizabeth, but she needed him to understand why she married John. Otherwise, his accusations against her would continue.

  “She’s beautiful, Julia.” Sam looked up from the picture, his eyes cold. “She has your eyes.”

  “She’s eleven, Sam.”

  Sam took another look at the picture, and then slowly returned to the wallet to her. His face grew taut as he stared at her, but then looked away. His words edged with anger and his breathing became labored. “And you never told me we had a daughter?” He stood and paced the length of the room.

  Julia returned the wallet back to her purse. She watched him pace. “You got married to Deirdre before I had a chance. What was I to think?”

  His mood darkened and he seemed aloof, lost in his own thoughts. He reminded her of a lion, walking back and forth as if waiting to attack.

  Julia waited, unsure how to continue. Finally Sam turned to her, his eyes ablaze. “Bloody hell, Julia! You should have tried to tell me!”

  “I did!” She tried to remain calm, hoping Sam’s anger would abate. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. And you never called me.”

  “And you just stopped trying?”

  “Because I found out you got married and I thought you hadn’t really loved me.”

  “And so you married John?” Sam’s voice grew faint. “Incredulous!”

  “Yes. He offered to help me. He loves me.” Julia looked down at her hands. Guilt washed over her like a tidal wave. John did love her. How could she be here?

  Sam stopped in front of her. “I want to meet my daughter.”

  “No. You can’t. She doesn’t know.” Julia swallowed hard, hating herself for keeping him from his daughter. “Besides, she’s John’s daughter now, not yours.”

  Sam looked away.

  “So you see,” Julia continued, letting her sensibilities speak while her heart cried. “This is the life I have.”

  Sam still didn’t answer.

  His silence unnerved her. “Sam, I don’t know why I came here. I didn’t mean to use Elizabeth to hurt you, but I needed to explain why I married. John was there for me when you weren’t.”

  “Don’t!” He turned towards her, his eyes brimming with hurt. Julia took a deep breath. No matter what she said, how much she explained, this was a no win situation for them.

  “Just don’t say anymore, Julia. I know you’re happy with things as they are, and I wouldn’t want to hurt your marriage or, our- your… kids, I just want you to know that I did love you. I should have divorced Deirdre long ago, but things became complicated and more of a fight than I could muster.”

  “You’re as guilty as I am for marrying someone you don’t love,” Julia said with a resigned sigh. “But I do love John, in a way. It’s just different than I hoped it would be.”

  Sam returned to the couch and sat. “I don’t feel I’ve been cruel to Deirdre. She has what she’s always wanted. Me. She loves me in her own, self-absorbed obsessive way. And I’ve never wanted anyone else but you, Julia.”

  Any anger Julia felt when she first walked through the door ebbed away. It would be so easy to tell Sam she still loved him, never stopped loving him, nor missing him, no matter how much she tried to repress it. Being with him now felt right, as if time stood still and the eleven years between their encounters never happened. Still, she held back.

  “Julia.” Sam took her hands again.

  She stood. “I have to go.” She took her purse and headed to the door. Tears fell as she reached for the handle. Suddenly she felt Sam behind her, his hands thrust against the door, trapping her between them. He leaned in close, his voice in her ear, pleading. “Julia, don’t leave me again.”

  She couldn’t turn to face him. “I do love you Sam. I just can’t do-”

  Before she could finish, his strong hands turned her to him and his arms enveloped her. She cried against his chest.

  “Julia, Julia,” he said, stroking her hair.

  She turned her head toward him to speak. Sam’s hungry lips bore into her own, and every memory and feeling Julia ever felt for him burst forth, filling her with the insatiable desire she repressed for so many years. He pulled her tighter in his arms and her body willingly responded to his every touch. She felt the warmth of his body against her own as she melted into him.

  Sam pulled away to look at her, his hands running through her hair as he studied her face. “Julia.”

  She answered by pulling him back to her. His mouth found hers again. She could not resist as he led her by the hand to his bedroom and slowly lowered her to his bed, his body crushing her as he melted into her. Julia closed her eyes and let his lips, hands and body do as they pleased. She missed this passion, this pleasure she never felt with John.

  John.

  Reality crashed through Sam’s kisses smashing every passionate bone in her body. Julia pushed Sam off of her and sat up. “I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t do this.”

  He lay flat on his back on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” She shook her head, already missing his touch and the happiness that could not be hers. She studied his face intently, the tired sad eyes, the perfectly straight nose, the high cheekbones, and the sensual thin-lipped mouth she so loved.

  She stroked his cheek. “I love you, you know. I tried not to, but I do.” She leaned over and kissed his lips.

  Sam smiled and pulled her back to him. “Then why do you pull away?”

  Julia fell silent. How to explain that she didn’t need this physical intimacy with him. Knowing he loved her was enough. More than that would hurt everyone she loved, including him, for she could never be his.

  “I’ll ask Deirdre for a divorce as soon as I’m back in London.” Sam spoke softly but determined.

  Julia sat up again. “What?”

  “I should have done it years ago.”

  Julia rested her head against his chest, and chose her words carefully. “I love you, Sam. I can’t say it enough now that I’m with you, but I can’t be with you again.”

  Sam sat up. His eyes bore into hers. “We must be together now that we’ve found each other.”

  “Sam, I can’t.” Julia took his hand and kissed it. “I can’t hurt my family. The kids love John and-”

  “You don’t love John.” Sam’s jaw hardened.

  “In a way, I do. I can’t hurt him after everything he’s done for me. I just can’t walk out because I’ve found you.”

  “Our being apart was a mistake, a misunderstanding!” Sam pleaded their case. “Julia, he has to know you loved me first.”

  “I think he always has,” Julia said, thinking of John in the early days. “But despite that, he married me and supported the children. He’s loved Elizabeth as his own.”

  “Ah yes, Elizabeth,” Sam said. “Will you ever tell her about me?”

  “Well, Sam, Elizabeth is only eleven. Perhaps when she’s old enough to understand, I can tell her about you.”

  Sam looked to the window. “I can never meet her?”

  “I don’t see how, Sam. John wouldn’t want you in my life.”

  “What about what I want?” Sam held her tight. “Julia, don’t leave me. Let me be in your life.”

  “You’ve always been in my life, Sam,” she sighed, admitting the truth to herself as well as Sam. “I’ve always loved you.”

  “But you won’t be with me and I can’t know my daughter. What the bloody-devil am I supposed to do with that? I don’t understand you, Julia.”

  “Sam. I’ve built a life from the foundations laid for me from my time with
you. It’s all I could do. Don’t you know how much I would love to just run off with you somewhere and live out my days in your arms? I’ve dreamt of it Sam, nearly every day of my life. But it can only be a dream. I can never disrupt the life I’ve built for John and the children. I’m not like that. I couldn’t live with the hurt I would cause.”

  “What about my hurt? I lived without you for so many years, wanting and missing you.”

  Julia sighed. “I share that hurt. You must know that.” Julia glanced at the glaring red numbers on the alarm clock. “I have to get back.”

  He didn’t answer as she kissed him and held him close. “Maybe someday, sometime, we’ll be able to be together. I wish I could promise you that. But it isn’t now, or anywhere in the near future.”

  “We will be together, Julia. I know it. You’ll come back to me, somehow.”

  “I’ll always hold you in my heart Sam. I always have. I see your face all the time in the media and I smile. I hear your voice and remember how you made me laugh.”

  “I’ll do it again, Julia. We’re not over. I’ll never be over you.”

  Julia kissed him one final time, holding her lips to his as long as she could. She didn’t want to forget this feeling or this moment. He kissed her back, pulling her close. Reluctantly she slowly pulled away. “I’ll miss you.”

  He let her go. But his words haunted her as she walked out the door.

  “You’ll come back to me Julia, you will.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Deirdre stepped from her dressing room as she finished buttoning her peach-colored, silk blouse. She smoothed out the simple wrinkles in her matching skirt and looked hastily around the darkened room for her flats. In her search, she accidentally bumped into the nightstand, causing a glass vase of flowers to tip over, the crash of which provoked that which she hoped to avoid. Spencer woke up.

  He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, yawned and looked around the room. Deirdre stood frozen, holding one shoe.

  “What time is it?” He rubbed his neck and Deirdre’s eyes fell to his muscular chest that served as her pillow last night.

  She glanced at her diamond and crystal watch.

  “Six a.m.”

  Spencer grinned as he extended a hand to her. “Where the devil are you going all dressed up Dee? Come back to bed.”

  She tried to ignore his offer, while memories of last night and the security of lying in Spencer’s arms rendered that impossible. She turned away and put on her shoe. “Sorry, but I must go. I have to plan Mother’s funeral.” She fought back tears, those dastardly telltale signs of emotion that put her in this situation in the first place. How had she allowed herself to cry in front of Spencer last night? Why such weakness? She must have been out of her mind with grief to let him make love to her. After all, she loved Sam. Spencer was but a moment’s indiscretion. Yes, that’s all last night had been.

  Spencer’s jovial expression fell. “Oh yes, that’s right…the arrangements. I’m so sorry about your mum.” He reached across the bed, turned on a lamp and took her hand, the silk sheet falling away from his torso to his hips. She recalled the way his hips felt beneath her hands as they moved above her. “But it’s dreadfully early, Dee. Nothing will be open at this time.”

  She removed her hand and turned away. She could not look at him without memories of last night resurfacing. How easy it would be to slip back under the sheet and wrap up in his embrace and relive the tenderness with which they made love. Spencer turned out to be an amazing lover, taking his time with her, exploring every inch of her body, kissing her over and over as if he’d never get enough of her. Why couldn’t Sam be this affectionate? Spencer made her feel wanted, whereas Sam’s lovemaking seemed hurried and perfunctory as if merely a chore, something to do and finish with as quickly as possible.

  She pushed those thoughts aside. Her poor mother was dead and she must focus. Yet it was grief that drove her into Spencer’s arms, so perhaps grieving for Penny wasn’t the right thing to be doing either. Deirdre chided herself for falling so easily into Spencer’s arms last night. Then again, when she awoke with her head on his chest and his arm draped protectively across her body, realization and shock dawned.

  Tears threatened at the thought. No, this couldn’t be. She must be wrong. Spencer could not possibly love her. Perhaps, like any other hot-blooded male, he simply took advantage of being in the right place at the right time? Deirdre’s head ached with grief and confusion.

  When she didn’t respond, Spencer reached for his clothes, confirming Deirdre’s assumption that he would rush off. Why should she care? She would forget last night and never be so awfully weak again.

  She straightened her skirt again and looked away. “If you’d like tea before you go, just ring the maid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must check my hair.”

  Spencer halted buttoning his shirt. “Tea? What are you talking about, Dee? And your hair looks gorgeous, as always. If you can wait five seconds, I’d like to go with you. You shouldn’t do this alone.”

  He had to be joking. He wanted to go with her?

  “Alone?” she nearly laughed. “Are you joshing me? I haven’t done anything alone in years. God knows, half of the society matrons and a third of Parliament will want to plan Mother’s funeral.” Deirdre didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Now really, Spencer. Don’t you have a tennis lesson to teach or something?”

  He glanced at the clock and shot her a quirky grin. “I don’t usually teach at six in the morning.” He walked to her side of the bed. They stood face to face. She could count every freckle on his sun-kissed face.

  He reached over and stroked her cheek. “Deirdre, your mother is dead. That’s an awful thing to deal with, whether the prime minister or God himself should lend a hand. I’m sure, given Penny’s status in society, that her funeral will be no small affair. You need someone on your side to support you. And I’m sure Sam won’t make it back in time.” He paused. “Has he reached you?”

  Deirdre remembered her unsuccessful attempts to contact Sam. She sat down on the bed, a wave of fatigue overwhelming her. Spencer sat next to her and placed an arm around her waist.

  “Let me help you, Dee.”

  She looked into his pale blue eyes, almost the color of her own. “You’ve been very…kind…to me, Spencer, but honestly, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Act like you care because we slept together.”

  Spencer removed his arm from her waist. “Oh, is that it?”

  “Yes. You can go, really. You don’t have to play the role of concerned lover. I really don’t need anyone.”

  Spencer rose and began to pace, his face a fireball of fury. She bristled under his words.

  “Do you honestly think that that’s all you mean to me, Dee? That all I’ve ever wanted from you was a quick lay and then it’s off I go to teach tennis or write my book?”

  She answered softly. “I don’t know, Spencer. Isn’t that what you want to do?”

  He pounded one fist into the other. “Jesus Christ, Deirdre, no! Last night was no sympathy fuck! I wanted you because…well, I want to help you, to stop your tears, to make you feel better. And I want to be with you. I have for so long.”

  He turned and knelt in front of her. “Dee, I’m not abandoning you, not now, not even if you say you never want to see me again. I can’t.” He took her hands in his. “Don’t you get it, love?”

  She stroked the side of his cheek. Was it possible that, for the first time since she met Sam, she actually felt emotion for someone else? Or had she felt this all along for Spencer and chose to ignore it, so blind was she in her quest to win Sam?

  “Dee, I’ve stuck by you because I love you. Even though you married Sam, I still loved you. I went away when you married, but I came back. I can’t stay away from you.” He kissed her, softly, sweetly and she allowed it. She realized how much she would miss him if he left her.

  His lips searched hers for an ans
wer. She pulled away gently, and gazed into his pleading eyes.

  “After all this time,” Spencer said. “Could you love me at all? Even just a little?”

  Deirdre rested her head on his shoulder. “If I knew what love actually was, maybe I could. I think my parents loved me, but it always felt so conditional. As long as I behaved, ran with the right social crowd, graduated from the right schools, married the right man.”

  “Sam. I remember your parents doting on him when we were young.”

  Deirdre chose her words carefully. How to explain? “No, I really wanted and loved Sam.” She steeled against tears. “He just doesn’t love me back.”

  Painful silence and truth sat between them. Spencer’s lack of response proved that he’d known this truth about Sam all along.

  “You tried once to warn me not to marry him.” Deirdre remembered. “As I was picking out flowers right before my wedding. Do you remember that? You were so angry with me, and I just didn’t understand.”

  “I was trying to warn you without warning you.” Spencer laughed softly. “Sam never knew how I felt.”

  Deirdre took Spencer’s hand. “No, and you would never tell. You were such a good friend to him, and to me.”

  “A friendship with you was all I could hope for.”

  A knock at the door startled them both.

  “Yes?” Deirdre called.

  The door opened and Lydia’s head peeped around the corner. The maid startled and her face flushed scarlet to discover Deirdre and Spencer side by side on the unmade bed.

  “Telephone, ma’am.” Lydia said. “It’s Mr. Lyons.”

  Deirdre’s heart raced, but Spencer squeezed her hand. She turned to him. He offered a smile of courage, hope and new beginnings.

  “Tell Sam to forget my calls, Lydia.” She turned to Spencer. “Tell him he’s too late.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lydia left and closed the door.

  Spencer turned to Deirdre. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want Sam here?”