He shook his head. ‘No, thank you, Rosa. I have something I need to sort out.’
Ten minutes later he was standing in front of the door to Kitty’s villa.
The garden was well kept, and the paint on the window frames shone in the sunlight. It seemed astonishing that it should look so untouched by what had happened. Surely, given the storm of revelation and confrontation that had passed through the villa that morning, there should be some sign or evidence of that turmoil, but it all looked so serene.
He tapped on the door and waited. After five minutes he tapped again, this time more loudly, but still there was no reply.
Could she have gone out? His heart began to pound, worst-case scenarios flooding his head and spilling over in panicky surges. Had he driven her out of Havana? Out of Cuba?
Pulse accelerating, he turned and walked swiftly away, circling the house towards the back door, his hand reaching for his phone. If he had to, he would send someone to the airport to stop her.
His fingers tightened around the phone—and then his legs started to slow.
On the back porch Kitty was standing with her back to him, watering some flowers. Her hair was loose and damp, probably from a shower, and she was wearing a simple slip dress. Briefly he allowed his eyes to roam over the long, slim legs and the viola-shaped back, and then, stepping forward, he cleared h
is throat.
She turned, her eyes widening, her expression changing from soft to guarded in a heartbeat, and his own heart began beating fast as she lowered the watering can in front of her body like a shield.
He held up his hands. ‘I’m not here to fight.’
She stared at him steadily. ‘So why are you here, César?’
She looked calmer, but there was a redness around her eyes and her already pale skin seemed almost translucent.
‘I wanted to apologise for before.’ He paused. ‘I truly didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to do the right thing. I want to do the right thing.’
‘And marrying someone you don’t love is “the right thing”?’
He winced. ‘When you put it like that, no, I suppose it isn’t. But people marry for lots of different reasons, Kitty, in lots of different cultures. And sometimes they grow into loving one another.’
‘And you think that could happen? To us?’
He was about to say yes, but there was a nakedness in her eyes that made it impossible for him to lie. ‘I don’t know,’ he said truthfully. ‘I’ve never been married so I couldn’t say for certain. But you haven’t been married either, so you can’t say that it wouldn’t happen.’
There was a silence. Behind her, a few petals drifted through the air like confetti.
‘Actually, I have been married,’ she said quietly. Her shoulders were braced but her mouth was trembling.
He stared at her, his breath suddenly leaden in his chest. ‘Are you divorced?’
‘Widowed.’
She looked exactly as she had done after the accident, her face taut with that same mix of strength and fragility that made him want to reach out and pull her against him.
‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’
She nodded stiffly and, watching her fight for control, he felt an ache inside his chest.
‘What was his name?’
‘Jimmy.’ Her face softened. ‘We weren’t married for very long. Only a year before he died. But we knew each other our whole lives.’ She blinked. ‘His whole life anyway.’
‘How long ago did it happen?’ he said softly.
‘Five years.’
Her answer shocked him more than finding out that she’d been married and widowed. She’d been so young to have her world implode like that.