It was from Ian.
Slowly, she took the envelope into the kitchen and slit it open, drawing out a handwritten letter.
My dearest Marisa—I have something I simply must say to you …
The knot tightened in her stomach, but she made herself read on. When she reached the end she stared for a moment, blinking.
Should she really do what Ian was asking?
It took her all day and all of a sleepless night to find the answer, but in the morning she dug out her mobile and texted him. It was the first time she’d contacted him since she’d sent him away—over a month ago now. He texted back almost instantly, cock-a-hoop, telling her he’d made the arrangements and all she had to do was get herself to Plymouth railway station. He would meet her at Paddington that afternoon.
His buoyancy did not elicit a similar response in her. Foreboding filled her. Should she really go ahead with this? She looked about her. The little cottage looked a lot better now than it had when she’d first fled back here. She’d subjected the whole place to a spring clean, and was now working her way round the rooms, brightening them with fresh paint. Outside, the garden was in full spring glory—daffodils thronging the beds, primroses nestling near the sun-warmed earth, the foliage in verdant green leaf. There was birdsong in the air, which was sweet and mild with the eventual promise of summer to come.
Could she really face leaving this remote, tranquil haven, where she had finally started to find some peace after all the torment she had been through? Could she really face going back up to London, doing what Ian wanted of her?
Becoming part of his life again …
Deep reluctance warred with longing.
But he was so adamant that now was the time. That he was finally brave enough to do what he knew with every fibre of his being he had to do. Tell the truth about them.
He said as much to her when he sat down with her over a drink in a pub close to Paddington station, where he had taken her after meeting the train.
‘I’ve got to do it, Marisa,’ he said, his expression full. ‘I’ve got to tell Eva. And you have to be there when I tell her, so that she will believe how much you mean to me.’
Anxiety and doubt filled her eyes. ‘Ian, I’m just not sure … ‘
‘Well, I am sure,’ he told her. He took her hand, squeezing it fondly. ‘I won’t live this lie any longer. I’ve tried to—God knows I’ve tried. I tried while you were here in London and I hated it—keeping you a secret the way I did. And I tried when you went back to Devon and buried yourself there. But I hated it still—and I will go on hating it, Marisa, until we stop keeping this a secret.’
He took a breath and went on. ‘Things are different now. It’s not just that I’ve missed you like the devil since you went away, but things have changed for me, too. You know I chucked in the job at Eva’s brother’s company? Well, I’m glad I did. I’ve got another job, and it’s one I really want to make something of.’
His expression changed, and Marisa could see the enthusiasm in it, hear the vigour in his voice.
‘I’ve been taken on as marketing director of a third world fairtrade company that wants to tackle the supermarkets. I’m really fired up by it—it’s a great cause, and I feel I can use my talents to do something important.’ He made a rueful face. ‘It also frees me from any sense of obligation or gratitude towards Eva’s brother. In the circumstances—’ he eyed Marisa meaningfully ‘—that’s pretty much essential.’
He squeezed her hand again.
‘Finally I feel I’m in a position to open up about you—to come clean. And that’s what I want to do tonight.’ He took one last decisive breath. ‘We’ve got to do it, Marisa. You and me—telling the world about us.’ He got to his feet, drawing her with him. Smiling down at her. ‘Let’s go and do it,’ he said.
Still filled with anxiety, Marisa went with him.
Absently, Athan fingered a wine glass set out on the table in one of the hotel’s private dining rooms. Eva was talking to the butler, telling him she’d changed her mind about what desserts to have.
For himself, Athan couldn’t have cared less what she’d chosen for that evening. He had no appetite—none at all. Certainly not for this travesty of a ‘family celebration’ that Eva had said she was organising at her favourite Park Lane hotel.
‘It was Ian’s idea,’ she’d said happily. ‘He w
ants to tell you all about his new job. He’s so excited by it—and so am I. It’s as if there’s a huge weight off his shoulders.’
Glancing at the vintage champagne on ice, the perfect damask napery, the silver service and the huge display of hothouse flowers, and knowing just what dinner in a private dining room cost at a place like this, it was just as well, Athan thought sourly, Ian had private means of his own—and that his wife was backed by the Teodarkis coffers. His new salary would not be nearly as generous as his old one had been.
Well, it was all to the good, he supposed. Not only did Eva seem very happy about it, but a demanding new job—even if poorly paid—had the notable benefit that it would keep his wayward brother’s nose to the grindstone, with no time for dalliance. Athan’s face hardened. At least there had been no sign of Ian trying to take up with Marisa again—nor was there any sign of him attempting to line up a replacement for her either. With luck, his sister’s marriage might really be on the level again—at least for the time being.
His eyes shadowed. Something good had come out of the unholy mess that was Marisa Milburne’s impact on his life. He’d better hang on to that. Find cold comfort in it.
He glanced out of the window over the rain-wet street beyond. He hadn’t been to England since his fruitless pursuit of Marisa to the derelict dump she lived in. Hadn’t been able to face it. Work, conferences—anything at all had kept him away—and he’d been glad of it. Coming here to London, now, for this dinner party his sister had organised, had not been on his itinerary, but Eva had pressed him so he’d reluctantly given in.
He was trying to be happy for her. Hell, it was to ensure her happiness that he’d gone and got himself into the mess he was now in with Marisa—so of course he had to be glad for his sister. Whether her happiness would last, of course, was a completely different thing.