This time it’s she who takes my hand and squeezes it. “It’s okay, it really is. You’re not the only one to feel the attraction of the old life. Today, Clive talked of Westminster. I didn’t care to start with, but after a while I found myself giving him advice about some question he had to answer. It all came back to me, the problem solving, the political campaigns, the strategy. All the things I used to care about.”
I say nothing. What is there to say?
“Brand, I could go back. It’s not a bad choice.”
“Do you think you could be happy with him?” The words taste like tar in my mouth.
“Maybe.” She says very quickly. “And there is Malinara. She deserves a chance at growing up with both her parents. Maybe siblings.”
“And you think between him and that billionaire-fixer, they can protect you from the press?”
“I hope so.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know what we can do. It might end up being another version of Sir Alan’s Austrian plan. And a fake date of birth or something.” Her voice wobbles. “I have told so many lies, what’s another one, for her sake?” Lessa wipes her cheek. “Because the last thing little pomegranate needs is to grow up with the press taking pictures of her, being called illegitimate, having her story online for all her school friends to read.”
“I can help.” I say.
It is the answer to what she needs and also the answer to Liam’s wish:Giving someone a gift they’ll never know about.
But,God, does it ever taste bitter.
“I can go on pretending to be your husband. Or partner. You can say we’ve been together for a long time and Malinara is my baby. That should explain why you were pregnant before leaving London. We tried to make it work, but we’ve been having too many problems and now, at last, we’ve separated. That should explain your return to London. And it’ll explain Malinara. Any journalists trying to dig up dirt can come here and anyone on this island will tell them about our wonderful life together and the house we decorated and furnished. The perfect alibi.”
Chapter Forty-four
Lessa
The last weeks on La Canette are a flurry of packing. Doris has agreed to look after the garden. It breaks my heart that I won’t be here to see it next summer, but there are so many heartbreaks, I can’t keep track of them all.
Laura comes to help me, and she’s tearful as she folds clothes.
“I think you’re making a mistake. If he begged you to stay, why are you leaving?”
So, I tell her about Janey.
“And?” She stops wrapping Malinara’s night-light projector, the one Brandon had made for her with his own music to help her sleep.
“He’s an attractive man, he’s bound to have women interested in him. Come on, Lessa, unless you fall in love with Quasimodo, other women will always be there.”
“It’s not the other women, it’s him.”
“But he has feelings for you, I see the way he looks at you.”
“Not enough.”
“There are never any guarantees in life, you have to take a chance sometimes.”
“Laura, if I thought for a minute that he…that he didn’t have doubts… that…” I can’t finish the sentence.
Laura hugs me.
“If he was sure about himself, I’d stay. But he isn’t, he admitted it was a risk and he might hurt me, hurt us.”
Laura has nothing to say to this.
She still turning the night-light in her hands refusing to pack it. “Do you love Clive?”
