by Lucy Gordon
‘Do you know what’s missing?’ When she didn’t answer he turned and repeated harshly, ‘Do you?’
‘Yes. I said—’“I will never stop loving you, until the very end of my days, but this is the last time I can ever say so.”’ The signature is still there if you want to read it.
‘I don’t need to read it,’ he said quietly, and recited, ‘Your very own Cassie, yours forever, however long “forever” may last.’ I don’t suppose you remember writing that.’
‘Yes, I remember writing every word, even the ones that aren’t here any more.’
‘“I will never stop loving you until the very end of my days,”’ he repeated. ‘You’re sure you wrote that?’
‘Yes, I’m quite sure. But even if you doubt me, the rest of the letter is there. I told you what had happened and why I had to leave you. If only you’d read it then, you’d have known that I still loved you—oh, Marcel—all these years!’
‘Don’t,’ he begged, shuddering. ‘If I think of that I’ll go mad.’
‘I’m surprised we haven’t both gone mad long before this. And it was all so unnecessary.’ ‘Yes, if I’d read this then—’
‘No, I mean more than that. There’s another reason the last ten years could have been avoided.’ She broke off, heaving.
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded.
She raised fierce eyes to his face.
‘I mean that you played your part in what happened to us. It could all have been so different if only you’d been honest with me. Why didn’t you tell me who you were, who your father was? We need never have been driven apart.’
He stared. ‘What difference—?’
Her temper was rising fast. ‘If I’d known you were the son of Amos Falcon I’d have gone to him for help. He’s a powerful man. When he heard what Jake had done he would have dealt with him, had him arrested, sent to jail. We’d have been safe.
‘Everything since then could have been different. You’d have been spared all that suffering and disillusion. I’d have been spared that terrible time with Jake. So much misery because you had to play a silly game.’
He tore his hair. ‘I was just … I didn’t want you to know I came from a rich family.’
‘Because you thought I’d be too interested in your money. Charming!’
‘No, because you thought I was poor and you chose me over your rich admirers. That meant the world to me—’
‘Yes, but there was a high price, and you weren’t the only one who paid it. You spoke of hating me, but I could hate you for what you did to my life with your juvenile games. When I found out the truth recently I … I just couldn’t … so much misery, and so needless—aaaargh!’
The last word was a scream that seemed to tear itself from her body without her meaning it. It was followed by another, and another, and now she couldn’t stop screaming.
‘Cassie!’ he tried, reaching for her. ‘Cassie!’
‘Get away from me,’ she screamed. ‘Don’t touch me. I hate you.’
He wouldn’t let her fight him off, drawing her closer until her face was against his shoulder, murmuring in her ear, ‘That’s right, hate me. I deserve it. Hate me, hate me.’
‘Yes,’ she wept.
‘I’m a damned fool and you suffered for it. Call me every name you can think of. Hit me if you like.’ He drew back so that she could see his face. ‘It’s no more than I deserve. Go on, I won’t stop you.’
She couldn’t speak, just shook her head while the tears ran down her cheeks. Then she was back in his arms, held against him, feeling him pick her up, kick open a door and lay her down on a soft bed.
But this was no love-making. Lying beside her, he held her gently, murmuring soothing words, stroking her hair. Her efforts to stop weeping were in vain, and he seemed to understand this because he murmured, ‘Go on, cry it out. Don’t try to hold back.’
‘All those wasted years,’ she choked.
‘Years when we could have been together,’ he agreed, ‘loving each other, making each other happy, having children. All gone because I was a conceited oaf.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ she managed to say. ‘You were just young—’
‘Young and stupid,’ he supplied. ‘Not thinking of anyone but myself, imagining I could play games without people being hurt—’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ she said huskily.
‘Why not? It’s true. I did it. My silly pretence meant you couldn’t seek my father’s help and, even after that, if I’d only read your letter I—imbécile, stupide!’ ‘Marcel,’ she wept, ‘Marcel—’
Distress choked her again, but now it was the same with him. She could feel his body heaving, his arms around her as hers were around him.
‘I did it,’ he sobbed. ‘I did it. It’s all my fault.’
‘No … no …’ She tightened her embrace, tenderly stroking his head as a mother might have done with a child.
‘Ten years,’ he gasped. ‘Ten years! Where did they go? How can we get them back?’
‘We can’t,’ she said. ‘What’s done can never be undone.’
‘I don’t believe that!’
‘Marcel, you can’t turn the clock back; it isn’t possible. We can only go on from here.’
He didn’t reply in words, but she felt his arms tighten, as though he feared that she might slip away again.
Go on where? said the voice in her head. And what do you mean by ‘we ‘? Who are you? Who is he now?
She silenced the voice. She had no answer to those troublesome questions. Everything she’d suffered, the lessons learned in the last ten years, all the confusion and despair, were uniting to cry with a thousand voices that from this moment nothing would be simple, nothing easy, and it might all end in more heartbreak.
It was a relief to realise that he was relaxing into sleep in her arms, as though in her he found the only true comfort. She stroked him some more, murmuring soft words in his ear. ‘Sleep, my darling. We’ll find a way. I only wish I knew … I wish I knew …’
But then sleep came to her rescue too, and the words faded into nothing.
It was dark when she awoke and the illuminated clock by the bed told her they had dozed for barely an hour. Careful not to awaken Marcel, she eased away and sat on the side of the bed, dropping her head into her hands, feeling drained.
The concerns that had worried her before were even stronger now. Their tumultuous discoveries could bring great happiness, or great despair. They had found each other again, and perhaps the troubles of the past could be made right. But it was too soon to be sure, and she had a strange sensation of watching everything from a distance.
She walked over to the window, looking out on the dazzling view. Paris was a blaze of light against the darkness.
‘Are you all right?’ came his voice from behind her.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said quickly.
He came up behind her and she felt his hands on her shoulders. ‘Are you sure? You seem very troubled.’
How had he divined that merely from her back view? she wondered. How and where had he gained such insight?
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked softly.
‘I don’t know. My thoughts come and go so quickly I can’t keep up with them.’
‘Me too,’ he agreed. ‘We must have many long talks.’
‘But not now,’ she said. ‘I feel as though I’m choking. I need to go out into the fresh air.’
‘Fine, let’s go for a walk.’
‘No, I have to be alone.’
‘Cassie—’
‘It’s all right, I won’t vanish again. I’ll return, I promise.’
‘It’s dark,’ he persisted. ‘Do you know how late it is?’
‘I have to do this,’ she said in a tense voice. ‘Please, Marcel, don’t try to stop me.’
He was silent and she sensed his struggle. But at last he sighed and stood back to let her pass.
Without even going to her own apartment, she h
urried directly down to the entrance. The hotel was close to the River Seine, and by following the signs she was able to find the way to the water. Here she could stand looking down at the little ripples, glittering through the darkness, and listen to the sounds of the city. Late as it was, Paris was still alive. Far in the distance she could see the Eiffel Tower reaching up into the heavens.
She turned around slowly and that was when she saw the man, fifty yards away along the embankment, standing quite still, watching her. At first she thought he was a stalker, but then she recognised him. Marcel.
When she began to walk towards him he backed away. When she turned and moved off he followed.
‘Marcel,’ she called. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
At last he drew close enough for her to see a slightly sheepish look on his face.
‘I was just concerned for your safety,’ he responded. ‘I’ll keep my distance, and leave you in peace. But I’ll always be there if you need me.’
Her annoyance died and she managed a shaky laugh. ‘My guardian angel, huh?’
‘That has to be the first time anyone’s mistaken me for an angel,’ he said wryly.
‘Why do I find that so easy to believe? All right, you can stay.’
Recently she had forgotten how much charm he had when he was set on getting his own way. Suddenly she was remembering.
He completed the effect by taking two small wine bottles from his pockets and handing her one. ‘Let’s sit down,’ he said.
She did so and drank the wine thankfully. ‘It’s a lot to take in all at once, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Yes, I guess so.’
‘These last few years must have been terrible for you. The man who had me run down—was that the man I saw you with at the airport?’
‘Yes, that was Jake. I’d spent the previous few days at his house, “entertaining him” as he put it.’
‘You don’t need to say any more,’ Marcel said in a strained voice.
‘No, I guess not.
‘We were travelling to America that day. After he’d seen you he kept on and on at me, demanding to know if I’d been in touch with you. I swore I hadn’t, and in the end he believed me because he said if you’d known the truth you wouldn’t have called me “Whore”.
‘I didn’t know what to believe. I thought perhaps you’d read my letter and were pretending, or maybe you hadn’t been home yet and would get it later. But I told Jake that he must be right about that.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘It was always wise to tell Jake he was right. He’d already destroyed my cellphone so that nobody could get in touch with me.’
‘So you were his prisoner?’ he said, aghast. ‘All that time you were suffering and I did nothing to help you.’
‘How could you? I must admit that I did hope for a while, but in the end I realised you’d accepted our parting and that was the end. So I married him.’
‘You married him?’
‘Why not? I felt my life was over. I just went with the tide. When I found he’d been fooling around with other women it gave me the weapon I needed to divorce him. Suddenly I wasn’t afraid of him any more. I accepted some money from him because I had people who needed it, but I didn’t keep any for myself. I didn’t want anything from him, even his name. I used Henshaw because it was my mother’s maiden name.’
‘What’s happened to him since? Does he trouble you?’
‘He’s in jail at the moment, for several years, hopefully. I told you how I took business courses after that, and started on the life I live now.’ She raised her wine bottle to the moon. ‘Independence every time. Cheers!’
‘Independence or isolation?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘Does it matter? Either way, it’s better to rely on yourself.’
He sighed. ‘I guess so.’
He was glad she couldn’t see his face, lest his thoughts showed. He was remembering one night, a lifetime ago, when she’d endured a bad day at work and thrown herself into his arms.
‘What would I do without you?’ she’d sighed. ‘That rotten photographer—goodness, but he’s nasty! Never mind. I can put up with anything as long as I know I have you—’
‘And you’ll always have me,’ he’d assured her.
Three weeks later, the disaster had separated them.
‘Better rely on yourself,’ he repeated, ‘rather than on a fool who thought it was funny to conceal his real background, and plunged you both into tragedy.’
‘Hey, I wasn’t getting at you. Nobody knows what’s just around the corner.’ She laughed. ‘After all, we never saw this coming, did we?’
‘And you’d have run a mile if you’d known. I remember you saying so.’ He waited for her answer. It didn’t come. ‘How long ago since your divorce?’ he asked.
‘About five years. Since then I’ve been Mrs Henshaw, bestriding the financial world. It suits me. Remember you used to joke about my having a great brain?’
‘It wasn’t entirely a joke. I think I was a bit jealous of the way you could read something once and remember it like it was set in stone.’
‘There now, I told you I was made to be a businesswoman.’
‘But that’s not your only talent. Why didn’t you go back to modelling? You’re still beautiful.’
‘Not really.’
‘I say you are,’ he said fiercely.
‘I won’t argue about it. But it takes more than beauty and I’ve lost something special. I know that. I knew it then. I’d look in the mirror and see that a light had gone out inside me. Besides,’ she hurried on before he could protest, ‘I wanted to try something new. It was my choice. Life moves on, we don’t stay in the same place.
‘Cassie was one person. Mrs Henshaw is another. I became quite pleased with her. She takes people by surprise. Some of them are even scared of her.’
‘And you like people being scared of you?’
‘Not all the time, but it has its uses. She’s a bright lady is Mrs Henshaw. Lots of common sense.’
‘Now you’re scaring me.’
‘Good.’
‘So I’ve got to get used to Mrs Henshaw hanging around, when the one I want is Cassie?’
‘I’m not sure that’s a wise choice. Mrs Henshaw has to get that hotel set up. You need her expertise, her “great brain”. Cassie wouldn’t be up to the job.’
She managed to say it in a teasing tone, and he managed a smile in reply. But they both knew that she was conveying a subtle warning.
Go slowly. Don’t rush it. A false step could mean disaster.
‘I think we should go back now,’ she said.
She rose and offered him her hand. He hesitated only a moment before nodding and taking it. In this way, with him following her lead, they strolled back to the hotel.
CHAPTER NINE
SHE slept alone that night. Marcel kissed her at the door, touched her face with his fingertips and hurried away. She smiled at his retreating figure, glad that he had the sensitivity not to try to overwhelm her with passion at this moment.
After everything that had happened, all the unexpected revelations, the business of deciding her appearance next morning was a minefield. In the end she selected clothes that were respectable rather than forbidding, and wore her hair drawn back, but not scraped tightly, so that it framed her face softly before vanishing over her shoulders.
When she entered the office he was deep in a phone call, his manner agitated. He waved for her to come in, then turned away. He was talking French but she managed to make out that he was about to go away. The idea didn’t seem to please him, for he slammed down the phone and snapped, ‘Imbécile!
Idiot!’
‘Somebody let you down?’ she asked.
‘Yes, he’s made a mess of a deal I trusted to him, and now I have to go and rescue it. It’ll take a few days. Come here!’ He hugged her fiercely. ‘I don’t want to leave you. You should come with me and—’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’d be a distraction and you’ve got to keep
your mind on business.’
‘I’d planned such a day for us. I was going to take you over Paris—’
‘Paris will still be here when you get back.’ She added significantly, ‘And so will I.’
His brow darkened. ‘Your word of honour?’
‘I told you, I have no reason to leave now.’
Reluctantly he departed, giving her one last anxious look from the door. She saw him go with regret, yet also with a faint twinge of relief. His possessiveness was like a reproach to her. She couldn’t blame him for it, but she sensed that it could be a problem, one to which he was blind.
Knowing herself better than Marcel could, she sensed that Mrs Henshaw was more than just an outward change. Her businesslike appearance really did represent a certain reality inside. For the moment Cassie and Mrs Henshaw must live side by side, each one taking the spotlight according to need. But which one of them would finally emerge as her true self? Even she could not be certain about that.
She’d hinted as much to Marcel the previous evening, but she knew he didn’t really understand. Or perhaps didn’t want to understand. That was the thought that made her a little uneasy.
For the next few days she was Mrs Henshaw, deep in business and thoroughly enjoying herself. Vera introduced her to the chief members of the staff, who had clearly been instructed to cooperate with her. She went through the books and knew she was impressing them with her knowledge of finance.
Then there were the builders who had renovated and extended La Couronne, and who spoke to her at Marcel’s command. The more she listened, the more she understood what he’d been trying to do, how well he’d succeeded, and what he wanted in London. Ideas began to flower inside her. She would have much to tell him when he returned on Thursday.
He called her several times a day on the hotel’s landline. Wryly she realised that in this way he could check that she was there. Just once he called her cellphone, and that was when she was out shopping. He managed to sound cheerful but she sensed the underlying tension, especially when he said, ‘Don’t be long getting back to the hotel. There’s a lot to do.’