The Wild Rose (28 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Willa sat at a table for two at the Dorchester, fiddling with her napkin.

The tearoom, with its low tables and silver trays and overstuffed chintz chairs, had been Albie’s idea. She would never have chosen to come here. But then again, the idea to have afternoon tea together, out of their mother’s house, was his idea, too.

“Why, Albie? Why can’t we talk in the parlor, for God’s sake?” she’d asked him earlier this morning, after he’d proposed the idea.

“We need to talk, Willa, and it will be easier without Mother nearby,” he’d said.

He was right about that. They were still not on the best of terms, and their frequent silences or brusque exchanges upset their mother.

Willa was relieved her brother finally wanted to talk, and she hoped he would say what he had to say, get it off his chest, and get over it. He was mad about their father’s funeral—and her coming home so late—but there was nothing else she could have done. She had loved their father, too. She hadn’t meant to be away from him when he was ill, and as soon as she’d found out about his condition, she’d tried to get home as quickly as possible. It wasn’t her fault letters took as long as they did to reach her in Rongbuk. She hoped she could make Albie understand that.

Willa checked her watch again. Albie was late and she wished he’d get here. She planned to see Seamie after she’d finished with her brother, and she didn’t want to miss even one minute of the precious little time she had to spend with him. She would see him tonight and then, a few days later . . . in Scotland. They’d made plans to go to Ben Nevis next week, she and Seamie, and she was counting the hours.

“I can get away, Willa. For a whole week,” he’d told her a few nights ago, in bed at the Coburg. “Come to Scotland with me. To Ben Nevis. Let’s try for a climb.”

He told her that Jennie often went to a cottage she owned in Binsey to rest and relax and that she’d be going the following week. It was August now, and people were taking their holidays. He himself was entitled to a bit of time off from the RGS. He planned to say that he was going to Scotland on a climbing trip. It was nothing out of the ordinary; he often went hiking or climbing.

He would rent a cottage, a tiny place situated somewhere wild and remote. They would travel up separately, avoiding any risk of being seen together. They’d each buy some provisions and meet at the cottage. And then they would spend an entire week together. Seven glorious days. Of hiking and climbing. Of eating every meal together. Talking. Going to bed in the dark together. Waking up in the light.

“Please come, Willa. Say you will,” he said.

She’d tried to say no. She’d tried to do the right thing, and once again she’d failed. She wanted to be with him, and more than anything, she wanted to climb with him again. And she would.

On Seamie’s advice, Willa had spent a good deal of her time in London investigating artificial limbs. Her inquiries had finally led her to Marcel and Charles Desoutter, two brothers who’d recently invented something called the duralumin alloy leg—a prosthetic leg made from light metal. It was half the weight of a wooden leg and had a frictional knee control that would allow Willa to manage the speed and length of her stride. Best of all, it had a feature called a cushion-joint foot, which moved and flexed in the manner of a real human foot.

Willa had tried one and had been so excited by its possibilities that she’d had one made for herself immediately, using the advance she had from Clements Markham for her Everest book to pay for it. The new leg was nothing like her old one. Its comfort and lightness left her less fatigued and bruised at the end of the day and its flexibility broadened her range of movement considerably. She was hopeful now that it might even allow her to attempt a climb. A real one. She couldn’t wait to try it out on Ben Nevis.

Willa looked at her watch now. It was a quarter past four already. Maybe Albie had got caught up in work and wasn’t coming. She would give him ten more minutes. In the meantime, she went back to fiddling with her napkin. She’d just made a rabbit’s head out of it, when she heard a voice say, “Hello, Willa.”

Willa looked up. “Albie?” she said, confused.

He looked flushed and a little disheveled. He looked like a man who’d been drinking, and he was, in fact, carrying two glasses of scotch. He put one down in front of her, then sat down across the table from her and knocked his back in one gulp.

“Albie, what are you doing?” she asked him.

“Drinking,” he replied.

“Yes, I can see that. But why?”

“What do you intend to do, Willa?” he asked her.

Willa felt even more confused. “About what?” she said.

“Are you planning on returning to Everest?”

“I’m not sure. Not yet. Why—” she began.

“Because I think you should. Father’s funeral is over. Mother is coping now. And I think you should go back. As soon as possible.”

Willa was taken aback—by her brother’s questions and his tone and the smell of scotch coming off him. Her confusion turned to anger.

“Albie, just what do you mean by coming in here and speaking to me so rudely? I’ve explained over and over why I couldn’t get home before Father died and—”

“I know, Willa,” he said, cutting her off.

“You know? Know what?” she asked.

“What the hell do you think? About Seamie.”

Willa felt as if he’d struck her. “How do you know?” she asked in a small voice.

“I figured it out. After I found out you’ve been visiting the Coburg. And Seamie, too.”

“Who told you that?”

“I’m not going to tell you, so don’t bother asking.”

Willa continued to press him, but he would not reveal who’d told him. And then it hit her. How could she have been so stupid? “It was Max von Brandt, wasn’t it?” she said, knowing that Max and Albie had met.

Albie didn’t reply right away, but Willa could see from his expression that she was right, and she said so.

“Yes. All right, then. It was him,” Albie said. “He didn’t do it on purpose, though. I bumped into him on the street. He told me that he’d seen you in the lobby of his hotel, and that you’d had dinner together and he’d had such a nice time. He said he’d seen Seamie at the Coburg once, too. Max might have thought it a coincidence, but I didn’t. I waited in the lobby one afternoon. I saw Seamie come in, saw him take the elevator to the fifth floor. You were about ten minutes behind him. You also went to the fifth floor.”

Willa, stricken, said nothing.

“The next evening, I went to Seamie’s flat, intending to have it out with him. He wasn’t there. Jennie was, though. She was upset. She’d been crying. I sat down with her and we talked. She knows, too, Willa.”

“But that’s not possible. She couldn’t know,” Willa says. “We’ve been so careful.”

“Not careful enough, apparently,” Albie said. “Jennie’s distraught. She isn’t sleeping or eating properly, which is not good for her baby.” He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes hard with anger. “Did you ever think about that, Willa? Either of you? Did you ever think about the damage it would do to other people? To Jennie? To me? To our mother, if she ever found out?”

“Stop it, Albie. Please.”

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t imagine either of you did think about anyone else. You never do. You never have. You’ve always done just as you pleased. Doesn’t matter who gets hurt, does it? Doesn’t matter who worries, who suffers, who gets left behind. All that matters is the bloody quest. Being first. Getting to the top. Getting what you want. Or, in this case, whom you want. And icebergs and mountains, and people—yes, even people—are all just obstacles to be got round.”

Willa’s defenses crumbled. Albie was right. All along, she had been so wrong, so selfish. She’d wanted Seamie so badly, and so she’d taken him, with no thought for the woman he’d married, the woman who was going to have his child. Shame and remorse engulfed her now.

“I never meant to hurt her, Albie. Or you. I love him, that’s all. I love him more than my own life and I wanted to be with him. Oh, God,” she whispered, covering her face with her hands. “What have I done?”

Albie must’ve heard the sorrow in her voice, for he softened slightly. “You have to stop this, Willa. For Jennie’s sake. And Seamie’s. And their child’s. And for your own sake, too. It’s an impossible situation, can’t you see that?”

Willa lowered her hands and nodded. Tears were running down her cheeks. She was frightened suddenly. She, who had climbed Kilimanjaro and nearly died, who’d journeyed to one of the most forbidding places on the planet and made it her own. She was terrified, because she knew now what the worst thing was that could ever happen to her—and it wasn’t losing a leg, or not being able to climb. It was losing the one she loved most in this world. Again.

“What will I do?” she asked her brother, though she already knew the answer.

“You have to leave, Willa,” he said. “You have to leave Seamie. You have to leave London. There’s nothing else you can do.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Seamie poured himself another glass of wine. His third. If he didn’t stop, he’d be tipsy when Willa arrived.

He walked to the window and looked out over the rooftops of London. Where was she? She was supposed to have been here an hour ago. It was already six o’clock. They had so little time together, he didn’t want to miss a second spent with her, never mind an entire hour.

He had a surprise for her—a key to their cottage near Ben Nevis. He’d finalized the arrangements just this afternoon and the agent had given it to him. They would leave for Scotland in a few days’ time. Seven days they would have together. Seven days of walking and climbing. Of looking up at the stars at night and searching for Orion. Of sitting by the fire. Cooking breakfast together. Reading. Doing the washing up. Six nights of making love to her without watching the clock, of lying next to her in the dark and listening to her breathe.

Jennie had looked unhappy this morning when he’d told her of his plans to climb Ben Nevis. She’d looked as if she were about to protest, but then she’d forced a smile and wished him a wonderful trip. He’d wondered then, just for a moment, if she suspected. How could she? They’d always been so careful, he and Willa. They’d never taken chances.

He told himself he was being foolish, and yet something still nagged at him. Something in Jennie’s eyes as he’d put her on the train to Oxford. Not suspicion exactly, no. It was more like sadness. It
would
have to stop one day. What he and Willa were doing. And likely the day would come soon. One day, yes, he thought. But not yet, he begged the fates. Please, not yet.

He heard a knock at the door. Finally, he thought. But when he opened it, a bellhop was standing there, not Willa.

“Letter for you, sir,” the man said, handing Seamie an envelope. There was no name on it, just his room number.

“A letter? When did it arrive?” Seamie asked.

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“Who brought it?”

“I didn’t see, sir.”

Seamie reached into his pocket, gave the man a tip, and closed the door. He opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper in-side. It was covered with Willa’s handwriting.

My dearest Seamie,

I cannot do this anymore. It’s not right and it never was. Jennie deserves better. Your child deserves better. I am sorry for leaving a note—again. But if I come upstairs right now, and say good-bye to you in person, I will do what is wrong, not what is right. I love you, Seamie. I always have and I always will. Wherever you go in this wide world, and whatever you do, never forget that.

Willa

“Well,” he said aloud. “It looks like the day has come. Sooner rather than later.”

He folded the note, put it back in its envelope, and tucked it in his jacket pocket, next to his heart. He was not angry. Not this time. He knew that Willa was right—that she’d somehow found the courage to do what he could not.

He knew, too, that he must try to forget her now. That he must go back to the woman he’d married and try his best to love her again. To be a proper husband to her and a good father to their child. She needed him. He had made her a promise, had taken a vow.

A long time ago, Willa had lost her leg, and she had learned to live without it. He had lost his heart. Twice now. He would have to learn to live without that. And without her—the woman who shared his soul.

He poured himself another glass of wine, emptying the bottle, and took his time in drinking it. He didn’t have to be home at any particular hour tonight. Jennie was in the country. When he’d finished his drink, he collected his things and left a few coins on a table for the maid. He settled his bill downstairs and told the receptionist that he would not be needing the room again.

Dusk was coming down by the time he left the hotel. The doorman asked him if he required a hackney and he told him no. It was a mild night—warm and overcast. He would walk. He took off his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and set off. He looked up at the sky once as he walked London’s dark streets, but he could not see the stars.