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Alex didn’t move as his mother raised herself up on her tiptoes and looked over his shoulder at the photograph he was studying. Her face became sad and shadowed as she recognised it.
‘You still feel the same way about her.’
It was a statement, not a question, and Alex simply nodded as he replaced the photograph he had taken of Beth in Prague back in his wallet.
‘Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry,’ his mother sympathised.
‘Not half so sorry as I am,’ Alex told her dryly.
Alex’s mother had heard the full story about her son’s meeting with Beth in Prague and the events that had followed it from Alex himself, after he had returned home to England to take up a new appointment as the Chair of Modern History at a local university. It was a prestigious appointment, and one she felt her cherished only child entirely merited, but it had soon become plain to her that Alex was far from happy. When questioned he had grimly explained to her that he had fallen in love with a girl who had not returned his feelings, a statement which had aroused all his mother’s protective maternal instincts. How could any woman not love her wonderful son?
In any other circumstances Alex would have been amused by her reaction. His mother was neither possessive nor clinging, quite the opposite, and she had taught him to value his independence as she and his father valued theirs. Loving someone meant allowing them the right to choose their own way of life, she had always told him. One thing Alex had not told her, though, was that he and Beth had been lovers—or rather, as Beth had so clinically put it, had had sex. That was something that was far too private to be discussed with anyone. The truth was that Beth might only have had sex with him, but he had quite definitely made love with her. Made love, and put love, his heart and soul, his whole self, into every kiss, every touch, every caress he had given her.
Even now he could hardly believe the accusations she had made against him. The day after he had left her at the hotel following their return from the castle he had gone to see her, only to discover that she had checked out of the hotel without leaving a forwarding address.
It had been some time before he had been able to return home, and he had lost count of the number of occasions he had been tempted to get in his car and drive to Rye-on-Averton to see her, to demand an explanation...to beg for a second chance. But on each occasion his pride and his self-respect had stopped him. If she didn’t love him then he had no right to try and compel her to accept him. But how could she have responded to him the way she had if she did not love him?
‘Lucy Withers’ daughter is back from Greece. She really is the most pretty girl. I saw her the other night when I called round to see Lucy. Do you remember the way she used to follow you around?’
Alex shook his head.
‘Nice try, Ma, but I’m afraid it isn’t going to work. You can’t stop a haemorrhaging artery with a sticking plaster,’ he told her grimly.
‘Why don’t you go and see Beth...talk to her...?’ his mother urged him softly.
Alex shook his head.
‘There wouldn’t be any point.’
He couldn’t tell her that to do so would, in his eyes at least, be tantamount to forcing himself on Beth, and besides, he didn’t think he could face the look in her eyes when she told him she didn’t want him. He still woke up in the night, his body tensing in denial as he relived the first time. To go from the heights he had believed they had both reached to the depths of despair he had felt when she had told him that she didn’t love him had been too much to endure at one gulp.
‘Well, you know best,’ his mother told him, and then added, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you—your aunt telephoned. The authorities have released the stolen glassware back to them at long last. You know they were told that it had been recovered but the police wouldn’t tell them anything else?’
Alex nodded.
‘Well, it turns out that it had been stolen on the orders of a gang of criminals who were using it as bait to draw in unwary foreign buyers. They promised them glass of a similar quality as a means of getting their hands on foreign currency, but in reality fulfilled the orders they took with the very poorest quality, cheap stuff. The whole thing only came to light when customers started complaining to their own embassies about the orders they had received— ‘Alex! Alex! Where on earth are you going?’ his mother demanded as Alex suddenly started to stride towards the door.
‘Alex,’ she protested, but her son wasn’t listening.
His mind working overtime, Alex hurried out to his car. As he swung his powerful BMW into the main stream of traffic his thoughts were busy.
Supposing Beth had been caught in this scam hi
s mother had just described to him?
He didn’t live very far away from his parents—less than fifteen minutes’ drive. He soon pulled into the driveway to the large Edwardian mansion where he owned a handsome ground-floor apartment.
‘Alex, it’s beautiful!’ his mother had exclaimed the first time he had shown it to her. ‘But it’s far too large for a single man.’ She had looked hopefully at him, but he had shaken his head.
‘I like my home comforts and my own space,’ he had told her, but what he had not told her was that when he had been viewing the apartment what had clinched the quick sale for him had been the resemblance of the drawing room to the salon at the castle where he and Beth had made love.
There had been many times since he had bought it when he had looked into the flickering flames of the fire and wondered if he was crazy to torment himself the way he was doing...many, many times when he had had his hand on the receiver to dial the number of a builder to come and take the fireplace out. And then he had looked into the flames and remembered the way he had seen the firelight flickering shadows on Beth’s body what seemed now like a lifetime ago, and he just hadn’t been able to make the call.
There was no need for him to pack anything—Rye-on-Averton wasn’t that far away.
Half an hour later, as he swung his big car out onto the motorway slip road, it was as though he had already driven the route before, and in his thoughts he already had.
This wasn’t mere indulgence of his own needs and feelings, he assured himself as the powerful car ate up the miles. This was a duty, an almost sacred charge. An act of responsibility, an act of faith...an act of love.
