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 hurried 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
