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Are they bothering you? Get the police to move them on if they show any sign of trouble.
And on one rare and wonderful occasion they managed to be online at the same time and he told her that he had met Rose. She wrote:
Was she angry that I’d been there without getting in touch?
He replied:
She seemed to understand, just as Khalim said she would. I like her very much. She says to send you her love.
She typed, Send mine back, and waited, but that was it.
E-mailing could be a frustrating form of communication, she was coming to realise. One of you had to break it off first, and she could have sat writing to him all day. It wasn’t as good as seeing him in the flesh, but it was a damned sight better than nothing.
And, in a way, it was another way of getting to know him—by the written word. It was rewarding and it was sweet to discover that she could make him laugh with some of the things she wrote—as he did her.
Christmas came and went and there was no present or card—but then they didn’t celebrate Christmas in Maraban, and she didn’t want a token anything from him. There was only one thing she really wanted, and that was the man himself.
But he sent her a sweet e-mail on Christmas Eve, reminding her to leave a mince pie for Santa and a carrot for the reindeer, and Lara went off happily to her parents’ farmhouse, sighing as she hung up her stocking, knowing exactly what—or who—she would love to find inside on the following morning, pleased to lose herself in the messy, noisy chaos of a family Christmas.
But as a frozen January slipped into an even icier February, the e-mails became less frequent and when they did come they usually began with an apology.
Sorry I haven’t written for so long, but Khalim has been inducting me into the way of State Ceremonies.
Lara strove to reassure him.
It doesn’t matter. Honestly. It’s just lovely to hear when you do have time.
And then, one evening, Jake took her to task.
She had just trailed into the sitting room when he looked up from his film script and pulled a face.
‘War just started, has it?’ he questioned acidly. ‘No, let me guess—you haven’t heard from Lover-Boy!’
‘Leave it, Jake.’
‘No, Lara—I will not leave it. How long are you going to continue living in a half-world? Happy when he writes—which is hardly ever—and miserable as sin when he doesn’t?’
‘He’s been busy with Khalim,’ she said miserably.
‘Busy being an international playboy, probably,’ said Jake darkly. ‘It beats me why Khalim seems to have taken such a shine to him.’
And she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t. She shrugged instead. ‘I love him, Jake,’ she said simply.
‘Well, it doesn’t look like he loves you back,’ said Jake brutally. ‘Better get used to it.’
Lara turned away, biting her lip and willing away the tears which were making her eyes swim. But deep down she knew he was right. She wasn’t living, not really, or if she was it was in a fantasy world, just waiting for him to e-mail or recalling things he had said, things he had done—reading far too much into a remembered gesture or word.
Nothing had changed. He hadn’t promised her anything then and he still hadn’t, only now distance seemed to be asserting its natural power. The e-mails were fading away, and so, probably, were his memories of her.
Better join the real world again, Lara, she told herself.
That was what she did. She went to parties with Jake and fixed a bright smile of determined enjoyment on her face.
‘That’s my girl,’ he murmured fondly. ‘Pretend you’re happy and one of these days you’ll turn around and find that you actually are.’
She had to trust him on that one.
She needed a break, and a heavensent opportunity came in the shape of a weekend visit to her parents’ farmhouse. It was their wedding anniversary and they were having a family party to celebrate. Lara hadn’t been down since Christm
