‘ “My darling, beloved Marcel, you will wonder why I didn’t come to you when you were in pain and trouble, but I didn’t dare. What happened wasn’t an accident. It was done on purpose by a man who wants to claim me for himself. I refused him, and—”’ She stopped. ‘There’s a gap here.’
‘What are the missing words?’ he asked.
She closed her eyes, travelling back to the past. ‘“He hurt you, to show me what would happen if I didn’t give in,”’ she said slowly. She opened her eyes.
‘Then the letter goes on, “I couldn’t risk coming to you in the hospital because he would have known and he might kill you. I’m delivering this through your door, because it’s the only way I can think of that he won’t find out. I hope and pray that it will be safe. I couldn’t bear it if you believed I’d just walked away, or stopped loving you.” Then there’s another gap.’
‘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