If I hadn’t been back, I would have never seen that horrible scene. Why did I return?
Halfway to Cécile’s place, I felt guilty for what I had said to Ashford, so I had the chauffeur turn the car round and head back to Denby, to apologise to him and talk. And I found him with Portia! Guilty, my arse!
I drag myself to my room, but before collapsing on my bed, I go to the connecting door, which I’ve always left open lately, and I turn the key twice.
This is self-preservation in full swing. Once again, after I lowered my defences and got vulnerable, I was stabbed in the back. I’ve never felt my heart bleed as much as today. In my mind, I see confused flashes of the most beautiful moments of the last few months, when a secret fairy tale seemed to have come true between me and Ashford, but they abruptly alternate with the image of a victorious Portia holding him and kissing him away from prying eyes, mine.
I can’t take it any more. I would like to vent my fury and abandon myself to one of those angry outbursts that are generally so natural for me at these times, but I can’t do anything. I’m unable to react. Just like when I saw them on the terrace. I didn’t wade in to give them hell; I beat a retreat instead, to nurse my wounded pride and the pieces of my broken heart.
I don’t even dare open my eyes, because I’m afraid to see the walls closing in on me.
Why did it happen again? Why with Ashford?
I suddenly sit up in a panic when I hear the handle of the connecting door being pulled once, twice, before I hear Ashford’s voice calling me.
“Jemma, are you in there?”
If I don’t answer, he’ll think that the room is empty and that the servants have locked the door by mistake. In this way, I can buy some more time.
Ashford stops calling me and leaves.
Oh, no, he’s not leaving. He’s now knocking on the main door, and I can no longer ignore him. Lance must have told him that I’m back, and locked doors are a pretty clear message, even for him.
I open it reluctantly, as I’m aware that I can’t pretend that everything is fine.
Ashford gets in and tries to hug me. “Jemma, why have you locked yourself in your room?”
I take a deep breath before I can utter a sentence that makes sense. “I saw you. You and Portia, you were kissing each other in the study.”
Ashford’s eyes are crossed by a flash of horror. “You do not know what you saw.”
“Do you think I’m blind? Was it my imagination? Or can you say it wasn’t you?”
Silence.
“Your silence speaks for you.”
“Portia did everything by herself: she came here with an excuse, then she started pressing me more and more, but I rejected her.”
“My hero!” I shout, exasperated.
“I rejected her,” he repeats.
“That’s not what I saw.”
“What are we even talking about?”
“You, us, love and truth, that’s what we’re talking about. And the relationship you still have with Portia, even if I was convinced that something was going on between you and me.”
“I don’t have a relationship with Portia!”
“Don’t lie to me! I have too much experience in being cheated on, and I know how to spot a lie.”
“Jemma, this is all wrong.”
Why is his defence so weak? “Stop it. You don’t want me, you never did. At the beginning, at least, you didn’t hide your contempt. The cruellest thing you did was stringing me along!”
“Jesus Christ, Jemma, what do you mean?”
