Not that it mattered, he reminded himself—after all, her life story was hardly relevant. Instead he focused on Rafael.
‘As you know, each year this dinner honours a different charity. This year, with respect and remembrance of Prince Axel, our donation is to Drive for Life. DFL is a charity that pioneers safe driving and helps the victims and survivors o
f car accidents, including those who are left behind. The parents, children, families and friends of those whose lives have been snatched without notice.’
Although Marcus had known about the chosen charity—a charity he supported wholeheartedly on a personal level—the words touched him with renewed grief as Rafael spoke of those who had suffered through accidents such as the one that had taken Axel.
He wasn’t surprised to sense April’s reaction—to hear her small intake of breath and feel the tension that stilled her body—Rafael’s words were emotive. What he hadn’t expected was for her to leave... But that was exactly what she did.
A murmured, ‘Excuse me,’ an additional apology and she was gone.
OK... It could be that she quite simply needed a bathroom break, but that was an unlikely scenario. To leave at this point in Rafael’s speech was...if not rude, then close to it. Perhaps the food had disagreed with her and she’d had no choice but to exit.
The minutes ticked on. Rafael sat down to a round of applause and Marcus turned his head towards the door. No sign of her. He could sit here and wonder, or he could follow her.
He headed towards the restrooms as a first port of call and halted outside the Ladies’. Obviously he couldn’t go in there, but as he leant back against the wall it soon became clear that no one was handily going to come out and answer his query as to whether April was inside.
So with a quick glance down the corridor he opened the door and entered. Silence. No cry of outrage greeted him, so he called out, ‘April?’
Further silence—and then he heard the slightest of shuffles.
Feeling like a first-class idiot, he tried not to think of the ramifications if it wasn’t April in there... Lycander’s Chief Advisor caught peering under cubicle door in the Ladies’.
‘April? If that is you, please say so now as I’m less than comfortable in here.’
There was a small sigh redolent of tears and his chest squeezed in the sure knowledge she’d been crying. ‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have followed me. There is such a thing as privacy.’
‘Are you OK?’
Another silence. Then, ‘Not really. I just need five minutes and I’ll be back at the table. Please go before we draw attention to our joint absence.’
Marcus hesitated, then realised he really couldn’t linger in here, nor force her out. ‘OK...’
* * *
April pressed her hands against her eyes. No more tears...please, no more tears. But Rafael’s speech had plumbed the depths of her soul, forced a replay of her past.
Vivid images had flickered in her brain.
Standing in front of Edward’s cot, trying to protect him from Dean’s rage. The sound of thunder in the background—a prelude to the storm and the tragedy to come. The dense grey pounding rain and the lash of wind against the windows. The pungent smell of alcohol and hatred that had emanated from her husband. The pain when he’d punched her out of the way and the deadly, deadly fear when he’d snatched Edward up. Her desperate pleas as she’d tried to stop him, reaching up from the floor in supplication...
Somehow she’d dragged herself after him, heard the roar of his sports car as he had gunned it away from the kerb. And then a few hours later the police had been on the doorstep, deluged by the rain...
So in the here and now she’d left the table, knowing she was about to break down, and had made it to the sanctuary of this cubicle, where she had allowed herself to weep silently. She’d swallowed down tears when Marcus had entered and pulled herself together. Now she needed to keep herself together—no more unravelling.
She pushed the cubicle door open and headed to the basin, staring at her reflection in the ornate gilt mirror as she washed her hands and inhaled the scent of rose petals that permeated the air.
It seemed ludicrous now that at the start of the evening she’d almost had a sense of anticipation—had held a small bubble of optimism that it might even be a tad enjoyable. How could it be? Social events invariably brought about conversation that evoked poignant memories—a minefield that she had to prepare herself for. Worse, they prompted the need to dissemble, to erase years of her life, her marriage and her son. Quite simply to pretend her beautiful baby hadn’t existed.
Stop. Before Marcus returns to find you.
Somehow the thought of Marcus steadied her, and with one last glance in the gilded mirror she turned and headed for the door. Pulling it open, she screeched to a halt as Marcus pushed himself off the adjacent wall in one lithe movement.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Waiting for you.’
‘I told you to go back to the table.’