by Lucy Gordon
‘Are you glad we came?’ Marcel asked as they twirled under the trees.
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Everything was perfect.’
‘Yes, they seized the chance when it came. Travis was right. That’s what we should always do. Now, watch this!’
Plunging a hand into his pocket, he drew out the diamond ring Cassie had last seen in Laura’s hand. Before she knew what he meant to do, he took her hand and slid it onto her finger.
‘Marcel—’
‘Seize the moment,’ he said. ‘This is our moment and I’m seizing it. Listen, everybody!’
They all stopped and looked at him eagerly.
‘I’ve got wonderful news,’ he cried. He held up Cassie’s hand so that they could all see the glittering diamond.
‘She’s said yes, and the wedding will be as soon as possible.’
Cheers and applause. The family crowded around them, smiling, patting them on the back, embracing Cassie, asking to see the ring.
She showed it mechanically. Inwardly she was in turmoil, her mind whirling with a thousand desperate thoughts, of which the chief one was, No!
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE crowd waved and cheered. Harry flung her arms around Cassie, crying, ‘You next. I’m so glad.’
Cassie maintained a determined smile, practically fixed on with rivets to hide her real thoughts.
She loved this man, so why wasn’t she over the moon at his declaration of love?
Because there had been no such declaration, only a pronouncement without asking her opinion first. And this was the side of him that roused her hostility.
It would take a heart of stone to resist the way Marcel was gazing at her now, but she forced her heart to be stone.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?’ she said and he swept her onto the floor.
Here there was a kind of safety. Nobody could hear them or study their whirling forms too closely.
‘Well,’ he said, smiling in a way that would have dazzled her with delight at any other time, ‘we finally got that settled.’
‘Did we?’ she retorted. ‘You didn’t even wait for my reply.’
‘I didn’t need to,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I won’t take no for an answer.’
Give in, cried a voice deep inside her. You love him. Isn’t that enough?
But it wasn’t enough to quell the indignation rising in her.
‘But I won’t have to, will I?’ he persisted. ‘You know this is what we both want.’
‘If you’re so sure of that, why won’t you wait for me to answer?’
He sighed, humouring her. ‘All right, we’ll do it your way. Cassie my love, will you marry me?’
She looked into his eyes and shook her head. ‘No, Marcel, I won’t.’
‘Oh, I see, you’re going to make me beg.’
‘No, don’t beg. It would only make it worse when you have to accept my refusal.’
‘Darling—’
‘I mean it. Let’s get out of here.’
The way back to the village lay along a road overlooking the sea. Halfway there, he stopped the car.
‘Better if we talk here,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ She left the car and went to stand looking out over the waves. ‘I can’t marry you, Marcel.’
‘I know we’ve needed time to sort things out, but I thought we’d managed that by now.’
‘But you didn’t ask me. You just assumed I agreed with you and claimed me in front of everyone, almost as though the decision didn’t concern me. That’s the side of you I dislike so much, the side that makes you check up on me when I’m out, making phone calls to see if I’m there.’
‘I never give up something that belongs to me. If it’s mine, it’s mine. You belong to me, and I won’t give you up.’
‘You talk as though I was an inanimate object, nothing but a possession.’
‘You are a possession, but not inanimate. You belong to me because you once gave yourself to me of your own free will.’
‘And then took myself back.’
‘But not of your own free will. You yourself told me that, so it doesn’t invalidate your original gift.’
‘But you can’t—we can’t—’
‘Maybe you can’t, but I can. And I’m going to. All those years ago we made a verbal contract and I’m holding you to it.’
She regarded him with disbelief. She didn’t know this man. He called himself Marcel, but there was a glint in his eyes that took her by surprise. It might almost have been humour, and the curve of his lips suggested a hint of teasing that went back to the other Marcel, years ago.
‘A contract is a contract,’ he said. ‘You told me a thousand times that you belonged to me and nobody else. Nothing that’s happened since invalidates that, so the deal still stands.’
‘And that’s what I am to you—a business arrangement.’
‘Of course. But you’ll find that I conduct business at very close quarters.’ As he spoke he drew her close.
It was sweet to be in his arms again, but the voice of reason rose up and screamed, reminding her of all the sensible resolutions she’d made.
‘No,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘Can’t you understand? No!’
He stepped back. ‘Then you don’t love me?’
She sighed. ‘Cassie loves you, but Mrs Henshaw can’t stay with a man who behaves like this.’
‘Isn’t it time we forgot that Jekyll and Hyde nonsense?’
‘But it’s how things are, except that I’m content to be both people. But you aren’t content. You only want one of us and you can’t accept that we come as a package. But so do you. You’re just as much two people as I am. One of you is the Marcel I loved. The other one acts more like Amos, or even J—’
‘Don’t!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t dare to compare me to Jake Simpson.’
‘Why not? He used to give me orders, and drive me up a blind alley so that there was no choice but to do as he wanted.’
Silence. Only the wind and the murmur of the waves.
‘You’d better take this,’ she said, handing him the ring. ‘It might have fitted me years ago, but not now.’
By common consent, not a word was spoken as they returned to the hotel. Laura was already there.
‘I didn’t expect you two back so soon,’ she teased.
‘I’m tired,’ Cassie said quickly. ‘I’m going straight to bed.’
Laura’s eager questioning look was more than she could endure. There was no way she could talk about what was happening, so she went quickly to her room and locked the door. Tonight she needed to be alone, perhaps to think, or perhaps to yield herself up to the confusion and dismay that was now all she could feel. She longed to go to sleep but could only stare up at the ceiling, longing for the night to be over.
Next day they all returned to Paris. Marcel drove Laura back to her home.
‘Did you tell her?’ Cassie asked when he returned.
‘No. I wasn’t sure what to say.’
‘Tell her everything when I’ve left. I think I should go to London tomorrow.’
‘And that’s it?’ he asked, aghast.
‘When you see the end of the road there’s nothing to do but head for it.’
‘But is that really the end of the road? Cassie—’
‘Don’t,’ she begged. ‘I can’t make you happy, Marcel, any more than you could make me happy. We’re each of us too different from what the other wants.’
‘Is that really true?’ he whispered. ‘I can’t make you happy?’
Dumbly she shook her head.
It was as though someone had struck him a blow. He sagged, his head drooped and he turned away in defeat. Cassie reached out her hand, driven by the impulse to comfort him. But then she drew back. She had to stick to her resolve for both their sakes.
She spent the rest of the day alone in her room, tying up ends, leaving him notes. The night was sleepless. Every moment she expected him to come to her.
But he did not. He had accepted her decision.
Nor did he come next morning, and she wondered if he was going to let her go without another word. But there were surely words to be spoken at the last. She went along to his apartment and found Vera just leaving.
‘He’s given me the day off,’ she said. ‘Bye!’
She sped along the corridor and Cassie slipped inside. There was no sign of Marcel. She closed her eyes, full of confusion. Her mind and heart were full of so many feelings and impressions, and they all seemed to contradict each other.
She looked into the bedroom which, by now, she knew, with its extra large double bed that was so comfortable for the indulgence of pleasure followed by sleep. But he wasn’t there. Next stood another door which she’d only half noticed before. She tried the handle and felt it give.
Probably a cupboard, she thought, easing it open, meaning just to take a quick glance. But what she found made her push the door wide and stand on the threshold, confused and trying desperately to understand.
It was a bedroom, although prison cell might have described it better. Pushed up against the wall was a bed so narrow that it sent a dismal message. No lovers could ever share that restricted space. The man who slept here slept alone. There was no wardrobe. A small bedside chest of drawers was the only other furniture.
But surely, she thought, Marcel slept in the huge bed in the other room? But this one looked as if it had been recently slept in, and only clumsily made. It couldn’t be anyone but him, which meant—surely not?
She sensed the truth by instinct. The outer room was the bedroom ‘for show’, the place where he took good-time girls who would expect to find him sleeping in lush surroundings, no expense spared. To keep up his reputation, he provided the background they expected, wined and dined them, made the speeches they would expect of a playboy and seduced them
But then he retreated to this bleak little place, because this was where he felt he belonged. Here he could be his true self. At least, that was how he felt.
The warm, life-loving, open-hearted boy she had loved had become the man who only felt truly comfortable in retreat. That thought distressed her more than any other.
And he’d loved the same about her, she thought, remembering how he’d said only recently, ‘She gave herself to the world.’
They had both changed, both been damaged. She had thought she understood the extent of the injury to him, but now she was being forced to recognise how badly he’d been hurt.
‘So now you know,’ said a voice behind her.
Turning, she saw Marcel in the doorway, watching her. She searched his face for anger but found only weariness and resignation.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she whispered, gesturing to the bleak surroundings.
‘Why do you think? Do you imagine I wanted you to know what a hopeless, miserable specimen I’d become? Look at it!’
‘It…doesn’t look very comfortable,’ she said, searching for the right words.
‘It doesn’t need to be comfortable. It serves its purpose.’
She couldn’t bear any more. She put her arms about him in an embrace of comfort. She thought he would cling to her, but at first he didn’t. Instead his hands reached up hesitantly, barely touching her, then down again, as though he wasn’t quite sure.
But at last he seemed to summon up his courage, wrapping his arms about her, drawing her against him and dropping his head so that his face was hidden against her neck. Cassie stroked his hair softly and they stood like that for a long time.
‘I usually keep this door locked,’ he said. ‘Nobody else has any idea. Nobody ever will.’
‘Nobody?’ she asked.
‘Nobody at all. This is me, deep inside, where nobody else ever gets to look. Not since…well…’
She stroked his face. ‘Oh, my dear, dear Marcel—how long have you had this?’
‘Since I bought the hotel, five years ago. Out there is the “official bedroom”, and in here is the real one.’
‘You never brought me in here.’
‘I was waiting for the right moment—’ He looked at her.
‘It’s now,’ she said, drawing him down.
In the narrow bed there was only one way to make love, and that was to cling together, arms holding each other close, faces touching gently. When he claimed her she felt herself become one with him as never before. When he’d finished she offered herself to him again, and felt him accept her gift gratefully. In return he gave her gifts of power and tenderness that made her heart rejoice as never before in her life.
As the storm died away and she felt peace return she knew a passionate gratitude that this had happened while there was still time.
She looked up at him, eyes shining with love, waiting for him to utter the words that would start their life together.
‘Goodbye,’ he said.
Later that day he took her to the airport.
‘There’s the line for Check In,’ he said. ‘You’re in good time. I’ll go now.’
She turned tortured eyes towards him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I won’t trouble you any more. I’m glad we had this morning. It means we can part on good terms, and that’s important after the way we parted last time.’
He was silent, searching her face for something he needed to find there.
‘At least we met again and found out…well, things we needed to find out. We’ll always have that.’
‘Marcel—’
‘I told you it’s all right. You’re free of me now. No one stalking you, checking up on you, trying to back you into a corner. You were right about that. Goodbye, my darling. Be happy.’
‘And you,’ she said.
‘Happy? Without you? Surely you understand that the only happiness I can have now is knowing that I set you free. Heaven forbid that you should regard me as you regarded him, a bully who forced you to do what he wanted. It’s the way I was going, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t face it, but it was true. Thank goodness you showed me in time.’
‘Why did it have to be this way?’ she whispered.
‘I don’t know, but I do know that if we’d stayed together you’d have come to hate me, and I’ll endure anything but that. Goodbye, my dearest. Find a man who deserves you, and be happy with him.’
‘You can wish that?’ she asked, amazed.
‘I can wish anything for you that’s good.’
‘And you—oh, heavens, we both harmed each other so much. If only—’
‘I know. But I won’t risk harming you any more.’ He leaned down and kissed her cheek. ‘Goodbye.’
She watched as he walked away. Last time they had been in this airport he’d cried out her name in desperate determination to stop her leaving. But now he kept walking, not once looking back.
She stood there for a long, long time before moving off very slowly.
She was numb for the journey. Only when she was at home, behind a locked door, staring into the darkness, did she finally face what had happened.
Marcel had opened his arms and set her free because it was the only way he could show himself better than her fears. By doing this he’d proved the strength of his love for her.
It was the moment she’d been secretly waiting for, what Harry had called ‘the turning point, when it all became clear.’
The clarity was blinding. Marcel had done what she hadn’t believed possible, behaving with a generosity that paradoxically freed her to love him completely. Now she knew beyond all doubt that he was the one. The only one.
And she had lost him. It was over. Final.
Perhaps it was the best thing for him too, she thought, trying to comfort herself. If they had stayed together she might have made him wretched. He deserved better than that. He deserved better than her.
And with the thought came a sense of pride and even happiness that she’d thought never to know again. Marcel had loved her enough to ignore his own needs, his own pain. His generosity raised
him head and shoulders above all other men. To be loved by him was an honour.
She might never see or hear from him again, but as long as she lived she would know that she’d won the heart of the finest, bravest, strongest, most honourable man in the world. That thought would sustain her throughout the long, sad years ahead.
Back in London, she realised that it was time to be practical. She was out of a job. There was more in her bank account than she had realised, owing to a sudden infusion of funds from Paris on the day she’d left. Marcel had put in three months’ wages as a farewell gift.
She texted him, Thank you. And received in return, Good luck!
Nothing else. Not a word.
But the money wouldn’t last for ever, as she realised when she visited her family, and her brother-in-law exclaimed, ‘Do you mean you’re out of a job?’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, handing him a cheque. ‘I’ll get another.’
But what? That was the question. The business world beckoned, but it no longer satisfied her. She needed more to fill the emptiness inside.
A few evenings later she went for a walk along the Thames, sometimes stopping to lean on the wall and watch the blazing sunset over the river. As she gazed she suddenly heard the sound of a familiar click, and turned to see a man aiming a camera at her.
‘Don’t move,’ he called. ‘I haven’t finished.’
‘You’ve got a cheek,’ she began, then stopped. ‘Hey, aren’t you—Toby?’
Toby had been the eager young assistant of the photographer who had helped to make Cassie’s name ten years ago. Since then he’d become successful on his own account.
‘How lovely to see you after all this time!’ she said, embracing him warmly. ‘Let’s go and have a coffee.’
‘Not just yet,’ he said. ‘I’m not passing up my chance of a photo session with the great Cassie.’
‘She’s not the great Cassie any more. Let’s get back to the studio.’
The pictures astonished her so much that she yielded readily to his suggestion of a ‘proper shoot’. It was simple fun until he said, ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea. The return of Cassie, more beautiful than ever.’