Wildfire at Midnight (25 page)

"Yes. Well, it's over for her, too. I rather think they've both had a fright, and they realize that they do matter to each other after all. ..." He paused for a moment, looking down at me under lowered brows. "And now," he said, in a totally different voice, "shall we talk about us?"

I did not reply. My heart was beating lightly and rapidly somewhere up in my throat, and I could not trust my voice. I could feel his eyes on me again, and when he spoke, he did so slowly and deliberately, as if with some difficulty.

He said: "I'm not going to begin with apologies and self-abasement, though God knows you have plenty to forgive me for, and God knows, too, why you have apparently forgiven me. I'll say all that to you later on. No, don't speak. Let me finish. .. . What I want to say to you now is quite simple, and it's all that matters in the world to me. I want you back, Gianetta. I do most damnably want you back. I suppose I knew I'd been a fool—a criminal, brutal fool—about two days after you'd gone, and then my pride stepped in and stopped me coming after you."

I remembered how I had told Alma Corrigan that there was no room for pride in marriage. His next words were almost an echo—almost.

He said: "But pride and love won't go together, Gianetta. I discovered that. And I do love you, my darling. I don't think I ever stopped." He took me gently by the shoulders, and turned me so that I had to face him. "Will you have me back, Gianetta? Please?" ' "I never did have any pride where you were concerned, Nicholas," I said, and kissed him.

Later—a long time later—he said, rather shakily: "Are you sure? Are you sure, my darling?"

"Quite sure." The words were decided enough, but my voice was uncertain as his. I added, foolishly: "Darling Nicholas."

"Gianetta mia. ..."

Later—a rather longer time later—he held me away from him, and laughed.

"At least, this time, there's no doubting the solid worth of my affections!"

"Why not?"

He looked down at me with the old, mocking look. "If you could see yourself, my Lady Greensleeves, you wouldn't ask me that! And if Hugo were here—"

"Which God forbid—"

"Amen.. . . No, don't try and tidy yourself up. It couldn't be done, and in any case I like you dirty, wet, I and semiragged. I want to concentrate on your beautiful soul."

. "So I noticed."

He grinned, and his arm tightened round my shoulders. * "It wasn't just coincidence that I met you here, you yknow."

"Wasn't it? But how—?"

"Your father," he said succinctly. "D'you mean to tell me—?"

He nodded, still grinning. "I got into touch with your people again some time ago. As you know, the divorce upset them very much, and they were only too anxious to help me put things straight." He smiled down at me. "Poor Gianetta, you didn't stand much chance. Your father told me flatly that you'd never be happy without me, and your mother—well, I don't think she ever has quite grasped the fact that we were divorced, has she?"

"No. For Mother, divorce just doesn't exist."

"That's what I understood. Well, I was here at the beginning of May, and I happened to write to your father from this address, to ask him about The Golden Bough. A little later I rang him up—I was at Armadale then— and he told me you were due for a holiday, and that he'd contrived—"

"Contrived!" I said dazedly. I began to laugh. "The— the old Machiavelli! And Mother said it must have been 'meant'!"

"It was meant all right," said Nicholas grimly. "I thought that all I needed was a chance really to talk to you. ..." He smiled ruefully. "And then you ran away from me and I thought that perhaps your father was wrong and it really was all finished. I'd been so sure ... I deserved a setdown, by God I did. And I got it. You came—and I couldn't get near you. . . ."

He gave a bitter little laugh. "So of course I behaved just about as badly as I could. I said some pretty filthy things to you, didn't I? I've no excuse, except that I thought I'd go crazy, being so near you, and having no— no claim.

Somehow the biggest shock to my egoism was when I found you'd even discarded my name, and my ring."

"I only dropped them when I saw your name in the register. Look." I held out my left hand. The white circle on the third finger stood out sharp and clear against the tan. Nicholas looked at it for a moment, while a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth, then he turned again and pulled me into his arms. His voice was rough against my hair. "So you're going to let me walk straight back into your life? After what I did? After—"

"You said we'd not talk about that."

"No, I like things made easy, don't I? It would serve

me right if you turned on me now, and told me to get back where I belonged, and stop making a mess of your life."

"No," I said.

The lark had left his nest again, and was bubbling up through the clear air. I touched Nicholas's hand softly. "Just don't—don't ever leave me again, Nicholas. I don't think 1 could bear it."

His arms tightened. He said, almost with ferocity: "No, Gianetta, never again."

The lark rocked, feather-light, snowflake-light, on the crystal bubbles of his song. The great hills drowsed, drifting head under wing in the luminous haze.

I stirred in his arms and drew a little breath of pure happiness.

"What d'you bet," I said, "that when we arrive at Tench Abbas, Mother'll meet us just as if nothing had ever happened, and serenely show us both into the spare room?"

"Then we'd better be married again before we get there," said Nicholas, "or I won't answer for the consequences."

And so we were.