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‘Well, it’s for both of us,’ I amended, my heart thumping. ‘And…’
He’d been reaching for a sandwich, but he paused and eyed me nervously. ‘And?’
I swallowed. ‘Celeste is outside. She wants to speak to you.’
‘Celeste?’ He frowned. ‘Which one is that again?’
‘The one who Blaise St Clair was involved with,’ I said, not sure whether to be glad or sorry that her name obviously meant nothing to him. ‘I did tell you, remember? You—he—was going to marry her. Or at least, that’s what he told her.’
‘Oh. That one. I remember.’ He bit into a sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. ‘When I say I remember, I mean I remember you telling me. Why does she want to talk to me all of a sudden?’
‘She needs closure,’ I said, hoping he’d understand and be kind, although I did feel it was a lot to ask considering he didn’t even believe he was Blaise. ‘She’s trying to face her fears.’
He sighed. ‘This is all bonkers, you know that? What am I supposed to say to a woman who honestly believes I’m a witch from the seventeenth century? Am I supposed to indulge her in her fantasies? Should I try to persuade her she’s wrong? What do I do? What do I say?’
‘Maybe,’ I said gently, ‘you should say nothing. Just let her talk, and if she asks you a question answer her as honestly as you can. There’s nothing else you can do really, is there?’
‘I guess not. Well, I suppose you’d better tell her to come up then,’ he said resignedly.
‘She’s just outside the door,’ I said. ‘Ready?’
He pulled a face and shrugged. ‘Not really, but it seems I have no choice. Will you stay with me? She could be a madwoman. She might attack me.’
How ironic that he had the same fear as Celeste. I nodded and reached over to kiss him.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll be right here.’
I got up and opened the door, beckoning to Celeste to come in. She moved forward hesitantly, and I gave her arm a reassuring squeeze as she passed me and entered the room. I shut the door behind us and sat on the bed, while Celeste perched uncomfortably on a tub chair in the corner.
John eyed her nervously then reached for another sandwich.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ he asked her politely.
She shook her head but didn’t reply. She simply continued to stare at him. Even I felt unnerved, so goodness knows how he felt.
He glanced at me, clearly anxious. I wasn’t sure what to say or do in response. I wanted to put them both at their ease but how was I supposed to do that? There was so much tension in the room the air was positively crackling.
Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe I should have asked Hector to join us?
‘Blaise St Clair.’ Celeste’s voice was shaky but determined. ‘Blaise Vincent Elias St Clair. Born on the ninth of November 1640, in Castle Clair.’
John replaced the sandwich and sat back, leaning against the headboard, his arms folded.
‘John David Ford, born on the fourth of October 1989, in Workington,’ he informed her. ‘I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but—’
‘You may believe that,’ she said. ‘On the other hand, you might already know that it’s a made-up story. A false memory that a Guardian implanted in your mind. How am I supposed to know?’
He sighed. ‘Look, Celeste—may I call you Celeste? Look, I don’t know what I can tell you. What do you want from me?’
‘I want you to tell me the truth.’ Celeste picked up the tub chair and moved it closer to the bed. She glanced at me as if reassuring herself that I wasn’t going anywhere, then leaned towards him. ‘Look at me and tell me who you really are.’
He shook his head and gave me a look of bewilderment.
‘Just do it,’ I said, trying to sound as kind as I possibly could.
He rolled his eyes. ‘This is crazy, but fine, if that’s what you want.’ He leaned towards her and stared at her intently. ‘I am John Ford, not Blaise St Clair.’
Their eyes locked and they were both still and silent.
