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bsp; ‘And anything else? Can you see me?’
‘No, my angel—but holding you and hearing you is enough.’
She thought how thin he looked, and how pale—and her fingers crept up to the recalcitrant lock of hair. ‘Your hair needs combing,’ she observed.
‘Am I so repulsive to you, then, Ashley?’
She pretended to consider it, just as she would have done before. ‘You know you can’t start blaming your blindness for everything, Jack! ‘
At this, he laughed and then shook his head in wonder. ‘Witch!’ he murmured as he bent his head to her ear. ‘You know, I never thought I’d laugh or smile again—and yet just ten minutes in your company and I’m doing both.’
‘Ah, but I can’t promise that will be representative of our life together. I may soon drive you mad.’
There was a pause. ‘I’m pretending I didn’t hear that.’
‘Well, I’d rather you didn’t, otherwise I could accuse you of ignoring me—which would be a bit much since I’ve travelled all this way to see you.’
‘You mean you want a life together?’
‘Of course I want a life together—I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I can’t bear the thought of anything else. Why else do you think I’m sitting on your lap and kissing you whenever I get the opportunity?’ She placed her lips over his and just breathed him in.
‘Now I know why they say love is blind,’ he said mockingly.
Ashley bit back a smile. How irreverent he was! And she realised then that nothing could ever lessen the vibrant life-force which was Jack Marchant. She bent to kiss the tip of his nose and to feel the warmth of his skin against hers. ‘I’m going to make us both some tea—and after that we’re going for a walk. I’m going to describe all the spring flowers to you and tell you about the way the sun is shining on the grass and then we can stop, and listen to the birdsong. When did you last go outside, Jack?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t remember. And as pressing and as entertaining as both those proposals are—there’s something which will always take priority, Ashley.’
It was one of those questions which didn’t really need asking—but Ashley couldn’t resist.
‘And what’s that?’
He smiled again, his fingertip tracing the upward curve of her lips. ‘I’d quite forgotten how well you had learned to flirt. Come closer, my sweet minx—and I’ll show you.’
She realised that his sightless eyes could still weep, for she felt the wetness which mingled on their cheeks. But as he bent his head and began to kiss her, Ashley’s eyes fluttered to a close to block out everything but the sensation.
And in that moment she was as blind as he was.
EPILOGUE
SHE married him on a soft summer’s day in the little village church, near Blackwood. Their only witnesses were Christine and Julia—one a widow and the other a spinster. Two middle-aged women whose own dreams of love had been cut short or never realised—but who looked with deep affection on the couple who made their vows so tremulously in that small church. Ashley wore a simple gown of white cotton and carried a bunch of cream roses she had picked herself from one of the now-wild bushes at Blackwood.
Dismissing the two carers with a generous pay-off, they made their home in Ivy House while Blackwood was being rebuilt—because Jack had discovered he couldn’t bear to see the house which had been home to generations of his family simply crumble into the earth. Ashley was charged with overseeing much of the reconstruction—and she determined to use as many local craftspeople as possible to recreate the magnificent manor house which she had grown to love. There would be gleaming floors and sweeping staircases and stained glass just as before—but there would be modern touches, too. More en-suite bathrooms, for a start—and the opportunity to make the huge building more energy-efficient.
To Ashley’s delight, Jack continued to write the biography he’d been working on before the fire—he dictated it into a machine and she typed it up for him once she’d completed his novel. But the novel was never published—nor even read by anyone else, much to the chagrin and persistent pleas of Jack’s agent. Ashley was no expert, but even she suspected that the explosive and powerful content of the book was enough to ensure a massive global success—and a film was just crying out to be made. She said as much to her husband one evening, when she was lying on the sofa with her head in his lap where she’d just been reading aloud to him.
‘I know,’ he murmured as he kissed the top of her head. ‘But I don’t want that kind of success, Ashley. It disrupts. It takes over—devouring what it creates. I have the estates and the farms to provide us with income. In fact, I have everything I want here—with you. Why should I go seeking more?’
She knew exactly what he meant—she’d read enough celebrity magazines to see how fame could corrupt. She could just imagine the field day the publicists would have: Blind hero writes powerful anti-war polemic! Their lives would be dissected. He would be like a butterfly pinned to a piece of cardboard—trapped and watched over—this fiercely proud husband of hers.
For a man as independent as Jack, she had thought that occasionally he would rail and protest against his blindness—but he did not. He seemed content to rely on Ashley for support and guidance—maybe because that support and guidance was reciprocal. For Ashley felt she took from him as much as she gave. She was his eyes, yet he was her heart—and never had the marriage vows seemed to be more applicable than in their case. One flesh and one blood.
Until one bright clear morning he startled her by asking whether she was wearing a pale-blue dress.
Ashley spun round and stared at him. ‘Why… yes.’
‘And some sort of gold necklace?’
