Ferne stared at him, unable to believe that he’d really spoken such words.
‘You’d want me to leave you-just abandon you?’
‘I’d want you to get as far away from me as possible. I’d want you to go where you’d never have to see me, or even think about me, again.’
Shattered, Ferne stepped back and looked at him. Then a blind rage swept over her and she drew back her hand, ready to aim at his face, but at the last minute she dropped it and turned away, almost running in her fear of what she had been about to do.
He came after her, also furious, pulling her around to face him.
‘If you want to hit me, do it,’ he snapped.
‘I ought to,’ she breathed.
‘Yes, you ought to. I’ve insulted you, haven’t I? Fine, I’ll insult you again. And again. Until you face reality.’
The rage in his voice frightened her. Part of her understood that his cruelty was a deliberate attempt to drive her off her for own sake. Yet still it stunned her in its intensity, warning her of depths to him that she had never understood because he had never wanted her to understand.
‘Reality means what you want it to mean,’ she said. ‘Maybe I see things differently.’
‘Marriage? Children? Holding hands as we wander into the sunset? Only I wouldn’t just be holding your hand, I’d be clinging to it for support.’
‘And I’d be glad to give you that support, because I love you.’
‘Don’t love me,’ he said savagely. ‘I have no love to give back.’
‘Is that really true?’ she whispered.
The look he gave her was terrible, full of despair and suffering that she could do nothing to ease. That was when she faced the truth: if she had no power to ease his pain, then everything was dead between them.
‘Try not to hate me,’ he said wearily.
‘I thought you wanted me to hate you as the quickest way of getting rid of me.’
‘I thought so too, but I guess I can’t manage it. Don’t hate me more than you have to, and I’ll try not to hate you.’
‘Hate me?’ she echoed. ‘After everything we’ve-Could you hate me?’
He was silent for a long moment before whispering, ‘Yes. If I must.’
He looked away again, out of the window, to where the dawn was breaking. The air was clear and fresh; the birds were beginning to sing. It was going to be a glorious day.
She came up close behind him, touching him gently and resting her cheek against his back. Her head was whirling with the words that she wanted to say, and yet no words would be enough.
She could feel him warm against her, as she’d known him so often before, and suddenly, irrationally, she was filled with hope. This was Dante, who loved her, no matter what he said. They would be together because it was fated. All she had to do was convince him of that.
‘Darling,’ she whispered.
His voice was hard, and he spoke without looking at her.
‘There’s a flight to England at eleven this morning. I’ve booked your seat.’
He came with her to the airport, helping her to check in and remaining with her as they waited for the first call. There was no more tenderness in his manner than there had been before. He was doing his polite duty.
She couldn’t bear it. Whatever might happen, there was no way she could go one way and leave him to go another, at the mercy of any wind that blew.
‘Dante, please.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Tell me to stay,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll make it work somehow.’
He shook his head, his eyes weary and defeated. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s me. I can’t change. I’ll always be a nightmare for any woman to live with. You were right. I shouldn’t have lived with you and not warned you. I made the terms but didn’t tell you what they were. Doesn’t that prove I’m a monster?’
‘You’re not a monster,’ she said fervently. ‘Just a man trapped in a vicious web. But you don’t have to live in it alone. Let me come inside, let me help you.’
His face was suddenly wild.
‘And see you trapped too? No, get out while you can. I’ve done you so much damage, I won’t do more. For pity’s sake, for my sake, go!’
He almost ran from her then, hurrying into the crowd without looking back even once. She watched as the distance between them grew wider, until he vanished.
But only from her sight. In her mind and heart where he would always live, she could still see him, making his way back to the empty apartment and the empty life, where he would be alone for ever in the doubly bitter loneliness of those who had chosen their isolation.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS late at night when Ferne reached her apartment, to find it gloomy and cold. Locking the door behind her, she stood in the silence, thinking of Dante far away, locked in a chill darkness that was more than physical.
She’d eaten nothing all day, and after turning on the heating she began to prepare a meal, but suddenly she stopped and simply went to bed. She had no energy to be sensible.
Where are you? she thought. What are you doing? Are you lying alone, your thoughts reaching out to me, as mine to you? Or are you passing the time with some girl you picked up for the evening? No, it’s too soon. You’ll do that eventually, but not just yet.
She slept for a little while, awoke, slept again. Sleeping or waking, there were only shadows in all directions. At last she was forced to admit that a new day had dawned, and slowly got out of bed.
Her first action was to call Hope. She’d managed to keep her up to date about the disaster, Dante’s discovery of her files, their trip to Milan and her return to England, and Hope had asked for a call to say she’d arrived safely.
‘I meant to call last night, but I got in so late,’ she apologised.
‘Never mind. How are you? You sound terrible.’
‘I’ll be fine when I’ve had a cup of tea,’ she said, trying to sound relaxed.
‘How are you really?’ Hope persisted with motherly concern.
‘I’ll need a little time,’ she admitted. ‘How’s Dante?’
‘He’ll need time too. Carlo and Ruggiero went round to see him last night. He wasn’t at home, so they trawled the local bars until they found him sitting in a corner, drinking whisky. They took him home, put him to bed and stayed with him until morning. Carlo just called me to say he’s awake, with an almighty hangover, but otherwise all right.’
They parted with mutual expressions of affection. A few minutes later the phone rang. It was Mike.
‘I’ve been hearing rumours,’ he said. ‘They say you might be back in the land of the living.’
She almost laughed. ‘That’s one way of putting it. I’m back in England.’
‘Great! I have work piling up for you.’
‘I thought you dumped me.’
‘I don’t dump people with your earning potential. That job you turned down is still open. They tried someone else, didn’t like the result and told me to get you at any price. It’s fantastic money.’
The money was awesome. If the Sandor episode had propelled her into the big time, her refusal of an even better offer had given her rarity value.
‘All right,’ she interrupted Mike at last. ‘Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.’
Later that day she went to the theatre, where the major star and his equally famous fiancée were rehearsing. From the first moment everything went well. They liked her, she liked them. Their genuine love for each other made them, at least for the moment, really nice people. They praised her pictures and insisted that she must take some more at their wedding.
The tale of her meeting with Sandor in Italy had got out. She began to receive offers to ‘tell all’ to the press. She refused them, but Sandor had heard rumours and become nervous, having given a self-serving interview to a newspaper, illustrated with several of Ferne’s notorious pictures. Her fame had increased. So had her price.