Page 67 of A Modest Independence
“I don’t want it to stop either, damn me.”
“Shall we agree not to think of it? The end of things, I mean.”
“You’re proposing we suspend reality. That we pretend—” He broke off abruptly. “For how long?”
“Until we find out what happened to Giles. And then…we must agree to part as friends.”
“As if none of this ever happened.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t plan to forget a single moment. I’ll always remember—”
“And that’s what you want from me? To help you to create a memory? Some colorless shadow you can look back on fondly long after I’ve gone?” Tom’s voice was rough with something very like anger. “I could never be content with such a bloodless version of what we’ve shared. Never.”
She stared at him, uncertain what to make of his tone. “You’d prefer not to remember at all?”
“I won’t remember. Indeed, when we part, I intend to make a concerted effort to forget you, Jenny. If we ever meet again someday in London or Devon, it shall be as common and indifferent acquaintances. Make no mistake. I won’t waste my time pining for something I cannot have.”
His words skewered the most vulnerable part of her with ruthless precision. It was all she could do not to jerk her hand from his. “Why would you pine? You don’t want me. You said yourself you’d no desire to marry. It isn’t as if I’d be rejecting you, nor you me. We neither of us have any wish to become entangled.”
“I know that. But this attraction between us. I’ve never—”
“You’ve no cause to be angry with me over it. I made it clear from the beginning—”
“I’m not angry. I promise you.” He pressed another kiss to her hand. “I just…”
“What?”
“I don’t like being out of control of things. Feeling so bloody powerless.”
“Well, I don’t like it any better than you do. But I don’t see what can be done about it. Either we part ways now and try to forget each other or…” She laughed bitterly. “I suppose we could marry and settle down to a brood of children. Wouldn’t that be shocking?”
Tom looked at her, an expression his eyes that was hard to read. “Yes. Terribly shocking.”
“We’d both be miserable. And God help our poor offspring. What sort of mother would I be? Always feeling trapped. Always dreaming of running away to some far-off land.”
Tom didn’t reply. He merely held her hand against his cheek as the train rattled on toward Cairo.
They reached the railway station in Cairo at a quarter past eleven. There, they were obliged to break their journey for the night. Ahmad and Mira seemed in far better spirits than Tom was himself. Especially when given the opportunity to purchase skewers of spiced meat from one of the crowds of Egyptian peddlers shouting out to them in Arabic and broken English.
Jenny, by contrast, gravitated to a peddler selling sweet cakes. Her purchases were wrapped swiftly into a handkerchief. “How does one say thank you in Arabic?”
The peddler answered, “Shukraan.”
“Shukraan,” Jenny repeated in tentative accents.
The peddler grinned broadly, rewarding her pronunciation with another rapid string of Arabic.
Jenny smiled at him in return. She was still smiling when they climbed into the carriage Tom had hired to take them to their hotel. “One day, I shall come back here and stay a good long while.”
“What about India?” he asked. “I thought you intended to settle there?”
“I intend to find Giles. As to the rest…who knows where my heart will lead me?”
Who indeed, Tom thought grimly.
He’d been in a foul mood since they left Alexandria. The business with Hardcastle hadn’t helped. It was bad enough that the man had stooped to making vulgar insinuations about Jenny. But the fact that he’d forced Tom to mention Fothergill by name had left a bad taste in his mouth.
This journey was meant to be a time out of time. Something above the sordid business of his life in London. Yes, it had been impulsive of him. He’d never had any desire to travel the world. But now that he was here, every stage of the route—every steamship, train, and foreign hotel—seemed almost sacred. It was theirs. His and Jenny’s. The only places they would ever be together. Unless…
