“About what?” Asks Jemma inquiringly.
“About everything. And I told her that we never had a relationship, that I didn’t want to marry her, and that I didn’t feel obliged to justify myself for marrying you. Now that we’ve put things right, we can attend the same places without risking being caught in the crossfire of anti-tank missiles.”
“Did you tell her we’re happy?”
I kiss her to remove every doubt. “Why, isn’t that obvious?”
77
Jemma’s Version
Since that Sunday, when I saw Portia come out of the stable block, I’ve been in a state of constant anxiety. My stomach is closed, so I can’t even eat.
Ashford’s words come back to my mind and, even if they’ve never had a relationship, thinking that there was something between them tears me apart. And Portia… every time she looks at me, I can see in her eyes that she thinks she should be in my place, as Ashford’s wife and Duchess of Burlingham.
I can no longer find the courage I had when I beat her with shameless confidence at the gentlemen’s auction. Maybe because I had no feelings for Ashford back then, I had nothing to lose and I only cared about saving my reputation. Now, I feel vulnerable and defenceless, constantly alert, as if there were something dangerous outside, something ready to undermine our delicate balance. Portia.
“Honey, be positive. Your aura is fading!” Comments my mother while I’m describing Portia for the umpteenth time.
“How can I be positive when all my past boyfriends were cheaters who broke my heart into pieces? I’m terrified that this is history repeating itself.”
“Ashford isn’t that kind of laddie,” Dad mumbles. “I’ve seen everything with you. I wouldn’t have bet a penny on any of your exes.”
“Do you really have to leave now?” I ask, looking at them with imploring eyes, hoping to change their minds.
“Martha and Hollister have bought a farm at Matlock Meadows, and they asked for our help to start it up. We’ve been friends for thirty years, we can’t let them down. They have stables, aviaries, rabbit runs and sheep pens; that makes a lot of creatures to take care of. Once they start it up, they won’t need us much. It’s just for a month!” Mum reassures me, kissing my forehead.
Damn you, Martha and Hollister! You should have stayed in Lewisham, selling crystals and candles in that New Age shop of yours!
“I could come and visit you.”
“You and Ashford would both benefit from a breath of fresh air.”
“We’re going to Barcelona soon.” I have the football tickets he gave me for my birthday, but I doubt the match will still be the main reason for the trip.
“Go away for a while. You deserve some time to yourselves. You’ve done enough dance parties and receptions,” Dad encourages me.
“Not tonight, though. There’s the last charity society evening of the season. We were invited by the Davenports.”
*
The evening could not be more pompous. The Davenports have opened the large gothic gallery with spectacular fan vaulting and majestic stained glass windows which go all the way up to the ceiling.
“Whenever I enter this room, I always think that I could find myself in the middle of a medieval sword fight,” says Harring, who walks in with us.
“Don’t worry, there’s no danger. In the Middle Ages, duels were fought to defend one’s honour, but since you don’t have any, you’re the last person in this room to be at risk,” says a female voice behind us.
“Loxley! Stop sneaking up on people! How old are you, three?” Harring says.
“I wish. I’d be much better. So? What are we signing cheques for tonight? Wells in Africa? Schools in Bolivia?” Asks my friend, getting straight to the point.
“Reintegration of misfits into the community,” Ashford replies.
“Have you heard him, Harring?” Cécile asks, nudging him. “It’s our evening!”
“Speak for yourself, Loxley. I don’t want to be reintegrated anywhere.”
“I just don’t get why I made everyone in high society turn their noses up for months. The two of you behave even worse in public! I mean, look at you! Cécile, you could be a character fromShining, and, Harring, your reputation is simply embarrassing! No offence. I love you both, but it’s a fact, and you’re the first to admit it.”
