A Brighter Tomorrow - Maggie Ford (thriller novels to read .txt) 📗

Eighteen

The moment Michael entered the little attic room where she practised her painting skills, Ellie flew into his arms in the joy of seeing him.

‘Where is he?’ Michael asked as they parted from a lingering kiss.

‘He left to go to his club, just a little while ago. His wife wasn’t well yesterday, so he had to stay with her. He’s gone this evening instead. I think he wanted to meet someone, because as I passed his surgery door earlier, I heard him say he needed to meet whoever it was urgently this evening at his club. So that’s where he’s gone. We have the whole evening to ourselves. We don’t even have to go out.’

She felt a certain excitement creep over her as she spoke. Usually they would have had to creep out of the house so as to be alone together. This time there was little to prevent a kiss from going further.

After for so long having had to embrace in darkened places there was no fear of anyone coming upon them. By the time Doctor Lowe came home Michael would have gone. Mrs Lowe was at home but wouldn’t dream of coming near this room. They were safe here.

For a time they sat quietly together on the two stools the room held. There were long, awkward silences; what small exchange of conversation there was was stilted and Ellie knew instinctively what was going through his mind, as it was going through hers.

It had been wonderful. No words had been spoken, but she needed none. He had been awkward at first, this obviously being his very first time; but instinct had taken over and on the cold, bare floor, with nowhere else to go, they’d become one in love to finally lie silently in each other’s arms before returning to the world and its mundane practicalities.

They dressed awkwardly, not looking at each other, neither sure what to say. Maybe there was no need. After a while, able at last to turn back to each other, Michael moved closer and took her in his arms, his words low and hesitant. ‘Was it all right? I mean was I… I mean…’

‘Of course,’ she floundered, then grew slightly annoyed. ‘Of course it was all right. We love each other, don’t we?’

‘I mean, it’s the first time, and I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you, that I only wanted to be with you for – for that.’

‘Of course I don’t!’ Catching the sharpness of her words, she repeated them more gently, ‘Of course I don’t. We’re in love with each other.’

‘It’s just that I don’t know where we go from here. I want to marry you, but I shall have to tell my father…’ He hesitated. ‘Ellie, I’m scared to tell him about us. I don’t know how to put this, but my parents…’

He fell quiet, leaving her to wonder what he was trying to say. Before she could ask, he took a deep breath, ran his hand over her hair as if to steel himself for something he was finding difficulty in saying.

‘I hope you don’t find what I’m trying to say offensive, my sweet, and I don’t mean it to be – not for the world. I love you so much, my heart breaks to pieces every time I think of you or say your name or imagine myself with you for ever. But it’s…’ He paused. ‘I don’t know how to say this.’

‘And I don’t know what you’re trying to say,’ she said. A chill began to creep over her. Had he indeed, having at last got what he wanted, felt the need to end it, perhaps even wishing that he hadn’t been so carried away?

‘What I’m trying to say,’ he went on nervously, ‘is that my parents have always planned out my life for me – what public school I should go to, what university, and that I would go into my father’s practice. And they continue to plan for me to the extent that they hope that one day I’ll meet someone whom they consider suitable to be a wife to me. That’s how it’s done, you see. I am introduced in certain social circles – weekend parties, society balls usually with debutantes from nice families, suitable young ladies primed for good marriages. Do you understand what I mean?’

She didn’t reply, beginning to stand back from him as disillusion set in. Her mind was in turmoil. She loved him so very dearly, yet a sense of soured joy had begun to invade her heart. She thought suddenly of her father. This was her father all over again: soft words, cajoling her, in an effort to get her to comply meekly.

Yet this was far more insidious; she had believed she was being loved, truly, for herself, not used. But she had been used, every bit as much as her father had used her – to satisfy his own craving. Suddenly she felt defiled. But she loved him so, and that was the worst part, her whole being torn to pieces between an agonizing pull of love and that of disillusionment. With an effort she held herself together.

‘Then you can go, can’t you?’ she said coldly, moving away from him. ‘Go and obey your darling parents and find someone – suitable, as you call it – to your taste and to theirs. I’m sure I don’t want to stand in your way.’

Her voice was beginning to tremble. ‘But thank you for your kind friendship. I hope I’ve been of service…’

‘What the hell are you saying!’ he cut in. Before she could escape he had her in his arms, crashing her to him.

‘For God’s sake! I love you! I’m not going to lose you, not for anyone. Ellie, you do love me? You do!’

She could hardly breathe. ‘I do, oh, I really do.’

‘And I shall tell my parents that I love you and that no one will ever part us. I don’t