He caught her staring at him and pursed his lips, grinning with fond amusement. He strode over and handed her the glass of champagne. ‘I ’aint bin wiv anover leidy, I swear I ’ain’t,’ he said, adopting a Cockney accent.
‘I ’opes yer ’ain’t,’ she said, responding in kind. But her eyes were serious, searching his face, and she was afraid to ask where he had been. ‘You were gone so long, darling,’ she murmured softly.
‘I had to see my father about a few things. Business matters to discuss,’ Paul said, clinking her glass. ‘Here’s to you, my lovely Emma.’
‘To us.’
Paul leaned back in the chair. ‘I’m afraid I’ve neglected the old man these last few weeks—’
‘It’s all my fault!’
‘No, it’s not. It’s nobody’s fault,’ he countered swiftly, and flashed her his boyish grin. ‘He has an understanding heart – when it comes to matters of the heart.’
‘Nevertheless, I’ve deprived him of your company at a crucial time, and kept you away from all of your other friends.’
‘Ah, but you must think only of the happiness you have given me and not be concerned with them. I’m not. It was my choice. I do believe I made the rules, didn’t I? Anyway, we could have seen people if I had considered it important. I didn’t. There wasn’t a soul in the world I wanted to be with but you. Others would have profaned our private world. This special world we have created for ourselves, here in our little cocoon. I didn’t want anything to intrude, to shatter the illusion.’
‘You make it sound as if what we have exists only here!’
He stared at her and an eyebrow went up in a quirk. ‘No, I don’t! Good God, Emma, surely you know this is real wherever we are, and wherever we might be in the future. This is no illusion. This is reality. I’ve told you that before.’
Her heart lifted. ‘I’m glad it’s not an illusory world we have been living in. I would hate to wake up and discover it has all been a dream—’
Paul saw the smile slip, the cloud cross her face. Acutely in tune with her moods, he leaned forward and touched her knee and asked, ‘What is it, Em? Is something troubling you, darling?’
‘You were at the War Office. And then you went to see your father, to say goodbye, didn’t you? You’re going, aren’t you, Paul? And very soon.’
‘Yes,’ he admitted quietly.
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Oh, my God!’
He crossed to the sofa and took the glass of champagne from her shaking hand and placed it on the table. He drew her close to him, looking into her anxious face. ‘I read something at Oxford years ago, about lovers who were about to be separated. It has always stayed in my mind. It went something like this: “This parting cannot be for long; for those who love as we do cannot be parted. We shall always be united in thought, and thought is a great magnet. I have often spoken to thee of reason, now I speak to thee of faith.”’ He saw that her eyes, so steadfastly fixed on his, were filled with tears. He tenderly brushed them away from her long lashes with his fingertips. ‘Don’t, my darling. Please don’t.’
‘I’m sorry, Paul. It was those words. They moved me so. Who said them?’ she asked tremulously.
‘Abélard to Héloïse. They were uttered centuries ago, but they are as true now as they ever were then. Don’t forget them, my Emma, and please have faith. And believe that we will always be united in thought and therefore as one. And know, too, that I will carry you in my heart for the rest of my life.’
‘Oh, Paul! I love you so much! I cannot bear to be without you!’
His clenched fist came up under her chin, moving against it lightly. ‘Come along, sweetheart. You must be brave. And we’re not going to talk about my leaving any more. We are going to think only of now. There is only now. At least until this mess is over.’ The roguish smile crossed his wide mouth and his eyes swept over her in the old appraising way. ‘And we do have hours of pleasure ahead of us yet. The whole night, in fact,’ he said. He leered at her theatrically, endeavouring to distract her, wanting to make her laugh. ‘And my dear, I must honestly confess that one night with you is worth—’
‘Why, you wicked letch! You – you – reprobate,’ she exclaimed, smiling lovingly through her tears.
‘A fairly accurate description of me, I would say, especially when it comes to you.’ He took her in his arms and moved his lips along the soft curve of her cheek and down the line of her neck. He began to speak in a low voice, using expressions of such love and intimacy the blush rose to her cheeks. She clutched at him, her fingers biting into his arm. Her heart raced as he pushed her back on the sofa, pressed his body against hers, and began to unfasten the buttons on her robe. His eyes were so brilliant she was blinded. She closed her eyes as he brought his lips to hers.
‘Amputate!’ Emma cried, her face turning deathly white. ‘But he has been so well for the last few days.’
‘No, he hasn’t. Your brother has been hiding the facts from you, Mrs Lowther. He has also been refusing to have the operation. Despite our warnings he has been fighting us. But you can’t fight gangrene. It’s virulent, and ultimately deadly.’
Emma sat down abruptly, her eyes pinned on the doctor. ‘Isn’t there an alternative?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘No, there isn’t. Unless you want to call death an alternative.’ Seeing the fear registering on her face, the doctor seated himself next to her and took her hand. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be brutal. But circumstances necessitate honesty, even bluntness, I’m afraid. Time is of the essence.’
‘What happened, Doctor? I thought you had been able to remove all the shrapnel from his foot and calf.’
‘We did, but the gangrene set in several days ago and it travels rapidly. It’s already above his knee. You must sign the papers giving us permission to operate. Otherwise—’ He lifted his hands helplessly, his face grave.
Emma swallowed. ‘But – but – Winston has to make that decision—’
‘Mrs Lowther, don’t you understand? Your brother is incapable of making the decision in his present state of mind. You must take the responsibility. Now. Today. Tomorrow will be too late.’
Emma bit her lip and nodded. Her heart was heavy as she said, ‘Give me the papers, please.’
The doctor stepped to his desk, returned with the documents, and handed them to her with the pen. ‘You are doing the right thing, Mrs Lowther. The only thing you can do. Your brother will be grateful to you for the rest of his life. Please believe that.’
Emma looked at him sombrely but made no comment. She signed, and although she was quivering inside, her hand was steady. ‘May I see my brother now?’ she asked dully.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll take you to him right away,’ the doctor said. His face was sympathetic as he led her out of the office.
Winston was in a ward with other sailors who had been wounded. Screens had been placed around him, and as Emma walked past them and approached the bed she saw that his eyes were glazed over with pain and beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. She leaned down to kiss him and he let out a stifled scream, his eyes febrile. Emma pulled back in alarm. ‘Whatever is it, Winston, dear?’
‘You touched the bed,’ he moaned. ‘I can’t