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“We’ll tell them we are getting married!” Sometimes his wild impetuosity shocked me. “What the hell, Dita, let’s do just that! We can walk down the aisle together. Now! Today! Why should we not?”
I could think of one very good reason. My hand closed more tightly over the letter. But Sandor must remain my secret. Instead, I hazarded a second, less dangerous, but equally compelling reason. “Because we don’t love each other?”
“Well, at least we already know that! Most people find it out after the ceremony. Say yes, Dita! Anyway, if we really try, I know we could learn to love each other. I do love you. And making love to you would certainly be no hardship.” Before I could reply, he gripped my upper arms, lifting me hard against him as his mouth sought mine. There was desperation in his mounting passion. His teeth were sharp against my lips. Dragging me to the sofa, he drew me down with him, and I cried out in protest as his fingers dug into the tender flesh of my thighs. He stopped instantly, scanning my face with those endlessly tortured, blue eyes. Mercurial as a child in a sweet shop, he drew me gently into his arms. “Oh damn it, Dita. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
I was used to his wild moods. They sometimes troubled, but never frightened me. It was the desolation on his face this time that chilled my blood. Although he held me close, his touch did not excite me. Nor did he intend it to. Our world might believe we were lovers, but that had never been so. Sometimes the thought saddened me. We led oddly parallel lives, both battling our private demons. If we had ever allowed ourselves to console each other, perhaps together we might have defeated them.
I had to get away from Paris. As I returned Eddie’s embrace, the thought persisted. Now. Tonight. The knock I dreaded could fall on the door at any minute. Maybe I could lose myself at last in England, land of my mother’s birth.
“Very well. We will say we are betrothed. That way I can be a true friend and support you while you make this transition. It will also satisfy the proprieties,” I conceded, keeping my real intentions hidden. My secrets were part of me, and I was skilled at keeping them safe. I turned to throw Magda’s letter into the fire. “For the rest—let us see what happens.”
* * *
The channel crossing was wild and I stayed on deck, allowing the wind and driving rain to sting my face. The boat listed and tilted its tortuous path across the billowing waves. Fellow passengers with green-tinged faces rushed past me to hang over the deck rails. Eddie slumped in a chair, systematically draining the silver hip flask he carried and staring gloomily into the churning pewter water. When the famous white cliffs came into view, my feelings were a curious mix of pride and gloom. I had been conditioned to think of this land with love. But how could I be heartened by low-slung, marble skies? I could not see the cliff tops because of the cloud of murk shrouding them. Gulls hung still and limp, like a badly constructed paper chain, against the backdrop of the silver-lined heavens. Their mournful music echoed across the busy harbour where bright fishing boats bobbed and danced. The cold, dank smell of winter settled like a chilly blanket upon my shoulders. England had its own unique climate. On first acquaintance, we did not like each other.
An elderly roué twirled his whiskers at me and told me cheerfully that rough weather often held the larger vessels out in the bay for hours. A flotilla of tiny boats left the safety of the harbour walls to encircle us. Their hard-faced owners would row us ashore for an extortionate figure should we be prevented from docking. Thankfully, that fate did not befall us, and Eddie joined me as we disembarked. The grim set of his jaw as he took my arm sent my ageing admirer scuttling away.
Dusk was falling, although it was difficult to tell. How did the lamplighters know when to begin their task? There seemed to be no discernible difference between the dingy afternoon and the lowering darkness. Twilight was clearly an alien concept in this land of fog and drear. I shivered and drew my woefully inadequate cloak closer about me.
Eddie arranged for our baggage to be taken on ahead to the Harbour House Hotel. When we entered this bustling establishment, I was considerably cheered by the bright, elegant furnishings and, most importantly of all, the welcoming warmth of a crackling fire. I was also faintly surprised at the eagerness of the staff to ensure our needs were met. The manager himself came out of his office to greet us, which seemed a somewhat excessive courtesy to extend to a struggling artist and his foreign fiancée. We were escorted to our suite, which comprised a sitting room with two bedrooms leading from it and a well-equipped bathroom. The furnishings were old-fashioned but expensive, and I untied the ribbons of my bonnet, gazing around me with wide-eyed astonishment.
