Thirteen

‘Hi.’

He looks down at me, and for a split second I see a slash of annoyance, then recognition and genuine surprise. ‘Julie?’

‘Mmmm…’ I gaze innocently at him from under my lashes, the way Lady Diana used to. I hope I come off as vulnerable and flirtatious as she used to.

‘You look different.’

‘Different better or worse?’

‘Definitely different better.’

A fierce flash of pride and pleasure go through me at his words. My heart starts beating really fast. I am determined to have this man. ‘I’ve got to talk to you. Come with me,’ I say, and, grasping his arm, lead him into the corridor and down it. I open the first door to my right, look in—it is empty. I pull him in with me.

‘What’s up?’

I turn to close the door and my heart is in my throat. The room is in semi-darkness with the drapes pulled halfway across the tall windows and two lit corner lamps. I am glad for it. My cheeks are burning up. In the dim of the soaring ceiling amongst the grand furniture, I try frantically to remember exactly what I had planned to say, and fuck me, nothing comes into my head.

My mind is blank.

I feel dread crawl up my spine as I turn to face him. He is looking at me curiously. I swallow hard. The blood is pounding so hard in my ears I hear it like a roar. All I can think of is how much I love him. I have loved this man for so long. I love everything about him. I love the bewilderingly silent pauses he lapses into. There will always be a part of him that can never be known, not by his mother, not by Lana and not by me. But I even love that he will never wholly be known.

I love the way he holds his jaw in that aggressive slant. I love the way everybody respects him. Or the way his hair is slicked back without any parting. And his tormented blue eyes. In my dreams they are hot and passionate. I laugh when he laughs. I love, love, love everything about this man. He has to love me back. In the end he must fall in love with me.

If only he would take me in his arms. If only there was no need for words. I squeeze my eyes shut. Where, oh where are the words that I have so carefully planned?

‘Are you all right, Jules?’

Jack’s voice cuts into my confused thoughts. I don’t like to swear, but fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! My eyes snap open. His face is puzzled but interested.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I gulp.

‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

I open my mouth and close it again. Thousands of unfinished sentences pass through my empty head, each one as incoherent as the one that had gone before.

‘What is it?’ he repeats, this more urgently. He reaches out a hand and takes mine in it.

At the touch of his hand I begin to tremble violently. Oh my God, Oh my God, it is going to happen like it happens in my dreams. He is going to take me in his arms.

‘Jules?’ He takes a step closer, and it seems to me that his whole radiantly clean heart is concerned. Even in this dim light I know he can see how tense my body has become. I am a nervous mess.

I open my mouth. ‘I love you,’ I blurt.

The room becomes so deadly silent that I dread to expel the breath I am holding. He looks like a nine-year-old boy that has had a bra thrown in his face. The incredulity in his dear face would have had me rolling with laughter in different circumstances. He frowns. A quick flash of some emotion crosses his eyes. I cannot understand it. Before I can even properly register it in my mind or its implications, I am swamped with that famous Jack smile. The smile that made all the girls in school swoon. He does not drop my hand, but gallantly, and in an oddly old-fashioned gesture, raises it to his lips and kisses it.

‘You will never be happy as the wife of a poor man.’

‘But I love you.’

He lays his fingers on my mouth. ‘One day you will find someone who is perfect for you, perhaps even the rich man of your dreams. And that day you will thank your lucky stars that nothing became of this day.’

I do not like the tone he has taken. This is wrong, all wrong. Even if he had said he loathed me it would be preferable, but this tone, as if I am a hurt child that needs to be soothed. I won’t have it.

‘She’s married now. You can never have her. Have me, please.’

It is as if I have slapped him. He draws away from me. Never before have I seen so much misery in anyone’s face except maybe that one time with my father.

‘You have your love and I have mine,’ he says sadly, and turns away to leave.

I grab his sleeve. ‘Wait, Jack.’

He turns back. His voice is dull. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Jules. Please, let’s just pretend we never came into this room.’

‘You can learn to love me.’

‘I could never love you.’

My mouth drops open. Maybe later I will feel shame. Now I just know I must carry on. I have come this far. ‘Yes, you can,’ I insist stubbornly.

He shakes his head.

‘How do you know?’ I demand, my voice rising hysterically. ‘You haven’t even tried.’

He stares at me with that pitying look. He doesn’t want me. He won’t even give me a chance. Even if it is just to prove that I am not good enough for him. Somewhere in my brain a fire splutters and rises up. I gather up my dignity and let loose the rage of hurt pride. I will turn this into a liberating experience even if it kills me.

‘I hope you’re not waiting for her. Because Blake is never letting her go. You’ll never have her,’ I cry vindictively.

His face pales in the gloom. ‘I am not waiting for her. I’m leaving tomorrow.’

‘What? You arrived today and you’re leaving tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I am needed in Africa. I am not here.’

‘You are needed here. I need you.’

‘I am here to keep a promise to dance at Lana’s wedding,’ he says, and depressing the door handle, quietly leaves.

‘Oh, you, you…’ At that moment I cannot think of a word that is bad enough. My hands are clenched tight and my breath comes in hard bursts. ‘Fool!’ I holler at the closed door.

There’s a chair nearby and I sink into it. The reaction to my wild outburst has made my knees weak. I feel so bewildered. He did not want me. Was it all for nothing then? I no longer feel furious, just a strange, cold emptiness. I place the palms of my hands against my humiliated cheeks. Oh! The vile things I had said to him. He must hate me. Forever, I will be haunted by that stricken look on his face when I flung at him that he would never have Lana. How I regret those unkind words that I can never take back.

My eyes fall upon a painting of a seated crone in a thick white shawl, her deeply lined face enclosed in a full and heavily ribboned white cap. I look at her puckered mouth and for some insane reason it makes me want to scream.

‘Damn it to hell, I’ve ruined it. I’ve lost him,’ I wail, and, burying my face in my hands, mourn.

‘Nothing drives a man away faster than desperation,’ says a deep male voice from the depths of the gloomy room.

I spring up in startled confusion and whirl around in the direction of the voice.

Fourteen

The best man is hanging his head out from the side of a huge sofa. He has very white teeth, which gleam in the darkness. Shame runs up my throat and flames into my face. Can it get worse? Now Grandview has witnessed my total humiliation too.

‘You were listening to a private conversation. You should have made your presence known,’ I accuse angrily.

‘I would have, but the conversation took a turn for the worse before I could announce my presence.’ He says it reasonably enough, but his eyes are laughing at me.