Page 128 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘Something in Italian. I didn’t understand,’ Giles said, stirring his coffee.

She frowned. ‘But you speak very good Italian. I know that for a fact.’

Now he met her eye. ‘He said, all the world loves a lover,’ he told her.

Time seemed to hold its breath. Nina’s chest felt tight, as though she had taken a big breath of cold air.

He laid his hand over hers, folded the fingers under it. It was warm, and strong, and it gave her such a feeling of safety, it was as if it had conferred invulnerability on her. Perhaps there was another world, parallel to this one, where another Nina was licensed to hold the hand of another Giles, and was with him whenever she wanted to be, was not exiled from the all-encompassing happiness of his presence.

It was almost over, this magical interlude.

How was it that he read her unspoken thought? ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘It’s not over yet.’

She met his eyes, and everything was said without words.

They were silent then, but it was a silence of warmth and closeness. Some time later they went out into the evening street, lamplight and wet pavements. The rain had stopped. They walked, not hurrying now, further along Piccadilly. Bolton Street was the third turning along, no distance at all. At the street door she waited behind him while he fished in his pocket. ‘You have a key?’ she said.

‘There’s no live-in staff. Richard and I both use it when we’re in Town.’

The house was in darkness. She shivered. He opened the door and she stepped inside, and he followed her. But then he paused and said carefully, ‘Do you want me to take you home?’

To take the offered escape, the safe way out, or to jump into the void? But it was long past the moment of choice for her. She had to have this. She stepped forward into his arms. ‘You are my home,’ she said.

He closed the door, shutting them together in the dark. Just enough street glow came in through the fanlight for them to find their way upstairs.

In the bedroom he said, ‘I think we’re owed this. Life owes us this.’

She said, ‘Just this one time.’

It was not a stipulation but an understanding of reality. Such chances did not come twice. This was time out of Time; a different story they might have lived – but the ending would be the same.

‘Can it be enough? Can we make this one time pay for everything?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘But we can try.’

Afterwards he held her tenderly. She understood now. The poems, the novels, the paintings, all the great passionate and tragic outpourings of art in all its forms that had puzzled her. She had been standing outside a closed door, hearing faintly the music from inside. Now she had stepped through the door, and she knew.

‘You’ve never—’ he began to ask.

‘No,’ she said. Not properly, she thought. Not like this.

‘Thank God,’ he murmured, kissing her hair, holding her a little tighter, as though someone were about to snatch her away.

‘But you have,’ she suggested, in a small voice.

‘Not like this,’ he said. But that was all.

No more could be said, without betrayal. But she wouldn’t think about that. She sighed and pressed closer, feeling the great warm wash of contentment that was as powerful as sexual passion and, she guessed, would be more enduring, for those lucky enough to be able to know it. They lay entwined without speaking, and slept a little, the best sleep of all.

She woke in the dark and felt him wake too, and joy surged in her as she realised where she was. Giles, she was with Giles. She felt his skin against hers, smelt the scent that belonged to him alone out of all the creatures in the world. She would know it, even if she was never with him again until the end of her life. He drew her against him, his mouth to her ear. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘Only you.’

But words were not their friend. Words were sentinels of Time, and Time was not their friend. She nuzzled closer, and felt his body respond. It was so natural, this fitting together, such a miracle the sensations, the satisfaction. They made love again, and slept again, tumbled together like puppies, utterly content.

The curtains were undrawn, and she woke to a lightening of the sky over the chimneys. ‘What time is it?’ she said.

He separated himself from her and searched for his watch. ‘Nearly half past six,’ he said.

It was almost over.