He was never going to leave his wife, was he? She’d been a fool to think he would. A blind fool. Why had it taken so long for her to wake up and realise that? Why had she wanted so badly to believe in his lies?
For God’s sake, she was an intelligent woman, so she thought, but she had behaved as naïvely and as stupidly as the child he had accused her of being.
What had made her think she was so special that Harry would divorce his wife for her? Arrogance, that’s what it was! She had imagined herself to be infinitely better than that poor woman to whom he was married. She wasn’t better. She was so much worse. She had cheapened herself by allowing herself to become his mistress.
His bit on the side.
The other woman.
The homewrecker.
Seeing her actions for what they really were, for the first time ever she felt guilty. Moreover she felt sorry for the woman she had never met, but whom she had turned into an inferior being. In her love for Harry, Annelise had convinced herself that his wife didn’t deserve him, that she wasn’t capable of making Harry truly happy. Only Annelise could do that, she had believed.
It was a pity she had not followed the advice she gave her students, that there was always more than one way of looking at something, that it was a mistake to limit one’s potential by narrowing one’s perspective. If she had heeded her own counsel, she might have seen through Harry’s tissue of lies and seen him for what he was – a selfish man intent on having his cake and eating it.
Find what will make you happy.That’s what Romily always used to say to her. She had convinced herself that Harry was what made her happy, but the reality was, he had drained the joy out of her with her constant battle to disguise just how much she loved him.
Love. Was that what she’d felt for him?
If it was, it had been the wrong sort of love, she now acknowledged; it was a destructive love.
Romily had not warned her off when Annelise had confided in her, that was not her style. Instead, she had said that love was an adventure, and nobody ever knew how or where it would end up, no matter the strength of the emotions involved.
With a deep sigh, Annelise accepted that Romily had probably known exactly how this particular adventure would end.
Staring at the passing scenery, and realising that she was nearly home, she felt cross that she had allowed herself to be consumed with thoughts of Harry when it was Hope who should be uppermost in her mind. And Edmund.
When the train finally pulled into the station at Melstead St Mary with a last puff of steam, Annelise couldn’t step down onto the platform fast enough.
Stanley was there to meet her. She all but fell into his welcome embrace.
ChapterForty-Seven
Island House, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Florence
‘Florence, do you have a moment to talk?’
In the laundry room, and hearing the serious tone to Romily’s voice as she stood in the doorway looking in at her, Florence said, ‘It’s not bad news from the hospital, is it?’
Hope had been unconscious now for two weeks. The longer it went on, the more they all feared she might never regain consciousness. During that time Romily had been away on aten-day tour of speaking engagements in Scandinavia and only returned late last night. She had wanted to cancel the tour, but Edmund had insisted she go, that everyone back at home would keep her up to date. Every day the news had been the same: Hope showed no sign of improvement.
Romily shook her head. ‘There’s been no word today from Edmund or Annelise. Would you come into the library, please, there’s something I want to discuss with you?’
Putting the basket of washing on the floor, Florence wondered what Romily wanted to discuss. Was she unhappy with her work? Florence knew that she had been distracted recently, worrying about those poison pen letters, so maybe she had forgotten something important she was supposed to have arranged. She hoped not.
In the library, Romily invited her to sit in the comfortable armchair to one side of the fire. ‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, ‘I need to ask you something personal.’
‘Goodness, that sounds ominous.’
Romily sat in the chair opposite. ‘I’m afraid it is. We’ve always been very honest with each other, haven’t we?’
Puzzled, Florence nodded.
‘In the past when you’ve had any worries, you’ve shared them with me, and I with you. I’ve always valued that between us. It’s made us the friends we are.’
