Across from where they sat, another headstone read,Here lies Sebastian Jean Amondine, a good man, good father and grandfather.
“You were trying to be a good man,” she said.
“I was a dishonest man,” he said. “I didn’t tell her how I felt; I didn’t tell anyone. What people saw was not who I was. I hid feelings that shamed me. And the deception was so good it made me even more ashamed. Everyone thought I was a saint, because I looked after her, because I never cheated on her. No one knew how I forced myself to go into her room every morning. How I spent years taking every job, every opportunity to be out of the house. Lectures, conferences, symposia, private clients, on and on and on. All the time convincing myself I was doing it for her, to make enough money so she wanted for nothing. When allshewanted was me. And I couldn’t give her that. What was her fault? That she fell in love with a man who didn’t feel the same? That’s not a crime.”
“Why does it have to be anyone’s crime?” Laura reached over and laid a gentle hand on his wrist. “You’re trying to take the blame because you can’t place it on her.”
He covered her hand with his. “Ironically, I’d been trying to do the right thing and it backfired. Remember when you told me you knew I meant well?”
Yes, their walk at night when they got lost. He’d withdrawn into himself after she said it.
“If I hadn’t meant well, if I had been selfish, refused to marry her, she would have been fine.”
“And you know that for sure, do you?”
“I don’t know anything at all. The only thing I knew for sure was that I failed at the one thing I tried so bloody hard to get right. It was why I’d been determined to never trust myself with anyone ever again. Live like a nomad. Then…”
He took her hand between his. “Then…” He pressed a kiss into her fingers. “Then Lord M made me read him a poem about starting over, losing everything and starting from nothing. and I thought I would try.”
Chapter Forty-Three
She wentto the pavilion for more tea and this time some sandwiches. But mostly she just wanted to give him time alone.
On her way back, she passed Evans, the driver, having a quiet smoke behind the church. He waved at her and she grinned as she stepped round a headstone.
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me here,” she said.
“Righty-ho miss. But you should know some people were looking for ya.”
“Who?”
“Some journalist and the like.”
Bollocks. This was her new business, and she really ought to talk to them.
“Don’t worry. The women from the Casemate gave out leaflets with your name and number. You’ll be getting a few calls tomorrow and no mistake.”
A rustle in the leaves behind her made her turn. Adam, his jacket hooked over one shoulder vaulted over the low stone wall and came to join them. He had the two empty teacups which he dropped into a nearby bin.
“Go if you need to,” he told her.
“Not sure I need to.”
“This is your business, the thing you wanted all along, didn’t you? You told me you were going to focus on your career.”
“How do you even know about my new business?”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “May I introduce you to the small island of La Canette where nothing stays secret?”
She laughed.
“Besides,” he said, “one of us should be a success.”
“I’d hardly call setting up a medical centre a failure.”
“You should see the house I am moving into.”
Evans asked, “Would that be old Orange Peel cottage? The one on the cliff all by itself?”
