Читать книгу Historical Romance: April Books 1 - 4 - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 18
ОглавлениеThe euphoria of unlocking the secrets of the tomb had given way to harsh reality by the time Tahira returned to the palace. She had rid herself of the worst of the sandy dust which clung to her by washing in the trough where Farah’s camel was stabled—or she thought she had. One brief glance in her own mirror told her otherwise, forcing her to make a more thorough toilette when what she really wanted to do was collapse, exhausted, on to her divan. Naturally, as soon as she did so, she was once again wide awake, her mind churning.
It was over, was her primary, most melancholy thought. Christopher had solved the mystery of his amulet’s origins. As Sayeed curled up on the divan beside her, she was reminded of the jewelled sand cat depicted in the centre of the amulet, and of the princess who had worn it. Who was she and what had happened to make an outcast of her? An outcast is what Tahira had told Christopher would be her fate, if she stubbornly refused to marry, but she had envisioned a solitary life, not a lonely death. She shivered again, recalling the strength of the pull she had felt when she touched the sarcophagus. It had been the same when she had first held the amulet. The connection couldn’t be denied.
If the amulet belonged to a princess, then Christopher would be desperate to restore it to the princess’s descendants. In a panic, Tahira sat up so suddenly that Sayeed swiped at her with his claws in protest. Christopher was a man who acted on impulse. As early as tomorrow—which was already today—he could turn up at the royal palace to hand back the amulet. Which thought kept Tahira wide awake for the remainder of the night.
* * *
At breakfast, having almost persuaded herself that she was completely overreacting, when the almost unheard-of summons came, she thought she might faint for the first time in her life. Standing trance-like as her maid dressed her in the elaborate attire required for a formal interview with the Crown Prince, Tahira felt as if she were watching herself from a distance.
Too late, too late, too late, echoed around and around in her head as she followed the guard from the harem through the corridor leading to a waiting area designed to intimidate the visitor with its porphyry pillars and elaborate ceiling decorated with green and gold.
Too late! No matter that the summons made no sense, for even if he had become aware of her true identity, why would Christopher betray her and thus himself? Panic made a mockery of logic. The waiting room opened on to the Tower of Justice, a euphemism for the famed armoury with its formidable display of shields, spears, scimitars and daggers, all purely ceremonial in these more civilised times, but many with a bloody history.
Arriving at the entrance to the Chamber of the Royal Imperial Council, Tahira could scarcely breathe. As the doors were flung open, her name announced and she stepped forward, at first she thought she had simply overlooked him, but a second, more measured glance around the room revealed no trace of Christopher.
Only her brother seated in splendid isolation at the far end. Tahira dropped to her knees and prostrated herself before him, for once thankful not to have to stand. Ironically, for once, Ghutrif did not wish her deference to be prolonged.
‘Rise, Sister. You may proceed and give thanks.’
Familiar emotions began to take over as her panic subsided, not least of which was guilt, as she struggled to reconcile her simmering resentment with the knowledge that her marriage would make everyone happy, including her beloved sisters. Everyone but herself, that is.
The Chamber of the Royal Imperial Council was one of the longest rooms in the palace, and the most sparsely furnished. Save for the rich rugs beneath her feet and the lavish curtains which draped the huge row of stained-glass windows, there was only the throne, gilded and scrolled, on which Ghutrif imperiously sat, observing Tahira from under his hooded lids. As ever, she was struck by the family resemblance. Though his features were undoubtedly masculine, they were also unmistakably brother and sister. If Christopher ever did meet Ghutrif would the similarity strike him too? Perhaps she should confess tonight. But if she did...
‘I am waiting, Sister.’
‘Your Highness.’ She dropped on to bended knee and took the extended hand, kissing the air a fraction above his skin. ‘I must thank you profusely for arranging this most—most worthy match.’
‘Worthy?’
Worth a great deal to you, I have no doubt, Tahira thought rebelliously. Fixing her smile, she inclined her head. ‘Worthy of our Royal House of Nessarah, I mean.’
‘Then it is to be hoped that you make a better fist of representing our Royal House this time around.’
Tahira bit her lip, determined not to rise to the bait. Silence, she had learnt the hard way, was the best way to neutralise her brother’s barbs.
Silence stretched. Ghutrif’s fingers drummed on the wide arm of his throne. He crossed his legs. He uncrossed them. Tahira stared down at the rug on which she knelt, counting inside her head. She had once got as far as eighty-five. Today, Ghutrif surrendered at forty-one.
‘What have you done to yourself? You have the hands of a miner, not a princess!’
Curse the skies! ‘Scratches inflicted by my little Sayeed,’ Tahira said, with a silent apology to her cat. ‘I was teasing him, it was my own fault.’
‘That animal is vicious and feral. You know you will not be permitted to take him with you?’
‘Then I will release him into the wild,’ Tahira said through gritted teeth. At least that way, she thought, to console herself, one of us will retain their freedom.
‘The camel race to celebrate your betrothal is arranged for four days hence. The marriage will take place within the month. I am planning a lavish celebration, although naturally both events will pale into insignificance compared to the festivities planned to mark the joyous and long-awaited arrival of my son and heir.’
Ghutrif was smiling that supercilious smile that made her grit her teeth. He was dangling something between his fingers. ‘Perhaps that is why I am in such a generous mood, Sister. You may have this small token to celebrate this most worthy match I have made for you. Call it a reward for your obedience. I intend to have your wedding jewels crafted from the same material. Not so valuable as diamonds perhaps, but rarer.’
It was a bracelet, formed of polished gems set in gold. The stones were a vibrant blue, streaked most distinctively with copper. Tahira had seen a similar image on the wall of the tomb last night. She had seen the real things on Christopher’s amulet. ‘Turquoise,’ she said, reaching eagerly for the trinket.
Ghutrif snatched it away. ‘Crafted from the first samples taken from my new mine.’
‘It is very beautiful. Most distinctive.’
Ghutrif threw the bracelet into the air. Tahira snatched it, fastening it around her wrist with trembling fingers. The gems were a perfect match. ‘There is nothing like it in Arabia, nor even in Egypt, I am most reliably informed,’ her brother told her with another of his infuriating, self-satisfied smiles. ‘The mine will be most profitable.’
Which meant that the mine would be heavily guarded. ‘When will it become productive?’ Tahira asked, dry-mouthed.
‘Such a question from a woman. But I suppose you are concerned that there will be sufficient ore for your wedding jewellery.’
She cast her eyes down in what she hoped was a coy manner. ‘You know me so well.’
‘Full operations commence immediately after the camel race.’
Which meant they must make haste to close the tomb. Tonight. It could not wait any longer. ‘If you will excuse me, Brother, I am overwhelmed by your generosity,’ Tahira said. ‘And with only four days to prepare for my betrothal—there is much to do.’
‘Your new-found enthusiasm is as surprising as it is pleasing.’ Ghutrif eyed her warily. ‘Go and prepare with my blessing, but this time there must be no last-minute hitches. Have I made myself clear?’
‘Completely,’ Tahira said, turning her back disrespectfully on her brother and fleeing the chamber.
* * *
Never had a day in the harem passed so excruciatingly slowly, Tahira thought, as she headed across the desert towards the mine. It was a beautiful night, the air salty and damp, the sky shimmering, hazy, the stars appearing as if peeking through a gauze curtain. Would this be her last-ever night with Christopher? The crushing sense of impending doom was making her teary, and she was determined not to spoil it with tears, but if this really was to be goodbye—She blinked furiously.
She now had the final confirmation of Christopher’s amulet’s origin, in the form of the turquoise bracelet, but she couldn’t possibly show it to him because he’d ask her how on earth she came by such a thing, and she couldn’t possibly tell him the truth since that would mean revealing that she’d been deceiving him all along as to her identity.
Tahira cursed under her breath. All she had left was tonight. She would be much better served by concentrating her energies on not ruining it.
* * *
Christopher was waiting for her at the entrance to the tomb. He immediately enveloped her in a fierce embrace which left her breathless.
‘I was worried you might not be able to get away,’ he said, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘You look a little crestfallen, has something happened?’
A lump rose in her throat. Tears burned her eyes. She longed to tell him, all of it, but what good would the truth do, save to ensure that they parted on bad terms? ‘I’ve missed you, that’s all,’ Tahira said, surprising them both. ‘It has been a very long day.’
Christopher looked unconvinced. His eyes, those striking eyes, saw far too much. ‘Tahira...’
She pulled his head towards her and kissed him. It was a kiss meant only to silence him, but as their lips clung it became a desperate kiss. She truly had missed him. She would miss him terribly when he left. And Christopher, his hand stroking her hair, the nape of her neck, her cheek, she had no doubt that he felt the imminence of their impending parting every bit as much as she did. They kissed fiercely, desperately, as if they were trying to meld into one entity. When they finally stopped, breathing ragged, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with a mixture of passion and resignation, there was nothing more to be said.
‘We must seal the entrance up tonight,’ Christopher said flatly, freeing her from his embrace. ‘We can’t risk it being discovered.’
‘I’ve heard the mine will become fully active imminently,’ Tahira ventured.
‘Have you?’ He waited, but she could tell from his tone that he had no expectation of her explaining how she came to know such sensitive information. Her relief was tinged with another heavy dose of guilt. She hated deceiving him, but she had no choice.
‘I’ve been making drawings documenting the layout of the tomb. It’s taken me most of the day. It was worth the risk,’ Christopher said with a shrug at her horrified expression. ‘I wanted you to have something to add to your collection.’
Tears burned her throat again. ‘Thank you.’ Would she be able to take these with her? They belonged in the library with the rest of her modest body of work, but Tahira couldn’t imagine parting with them. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, kissing his cheek.
He caught her to him once more, resting his chin on her head. He said something she couldn’t understand beneath his breath. Then he let her go. ‘It will take us most of the night to seal the entrance. We must make a start, but before we do, I’ve been mulling something over. It’s my amulet. I’ve always assumed that I’d hand it over to a person, a descendent of whoever owned it, but why do that when the true, original owner is right here?’
It took Tahira a moment to understand his meaning. When she did, to her shame, what she felt first and foremost was relief. ‘You intend to leave your amulet in the tomb?’
‘It is such an obvious solution, don’t you think? I mean, it must have been a personal piece, because if it was part of the crown jewels, it would never have been allowed to be buried with her. It seems to me that this is the perfect place to leave it. Bury the past in the past,’ he concluded with a bitter little smile. ‘I confess I find it a singularly apt solution.’
Now that she knew he would not be seeking out Ghutrif, Tahira’s relief gave way to concern. ‘Christopher, what if the painful memories you associate with your amulet refuse to be buried with it? Physical objects can be buried, emotions are more difficult to dispose of.’
‘Since when did you become an expert on the subject of burying emotions?’
‘Since I was informed earlier today that my betrothal is to be formalised in four days’ time.’
‘So soon!’ He wrapped her in his arms. She surrendered to the comfort of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, the familiar scent of him, the heat of him. His hand stroked her back as if she were a child, but his voice, like hers, was not steady. ‘You are determined to go through with it?’
‘You know I have no other option. It is what everyone wants. If I refuse, I would not only make my own life miserable, but that of my sisters too. Married, they will believe me happy and make happy marriages of their own in turn. But if I am outcast—no, it does not bear thinking about. I must set a good example.’
‘And allow your brother to blackmail you into a marriage you do not want.’
She took his hand, which was tightly curled into a fist. ‘That is between my brother and his conscience, Christopher, if he has one. I choose to make the best of a bad situation. I also choose to stop talking about an outcome I have always known cannot be avoided on this, our last night together.’
‘No,’ he said vehemently. ‘We must close up the tomb tonight, we dare not risk leaving it another day, but let us have one more night to ourselves before you bow to the inevitable.’
Her mouth trembled. One more night, just one more night. It was her heart’s desire.
‘Tahira, is it too much to ask? If you think the risk is too great so close to your betrothal, I would understand. I would not dream of jeopardising...’
‘No, it is what I desire more than anything. I assumed that you would want to leave immediately, that is all. I dared not ask you...’
‘Tomorrow then?’
Though it was only one more night, it was one more than she had expected. Tahira nodded mistily. ‘Tomorrow.’
Christopher kissed her hard, swiftly. ‘Tomorrow. Now let us make haste. We have a great deal to do before dawn.’
* * *
The silver pot and the serpent bangle sat on the shelf from which they had been stolen. Christopher carefully laid his amulet on top of the sarcophagus, placing it over the heart of the dead princess’s effigy. Once again, the relief he had anticipated feeling for nine long months still eluded him. He felt oddly bereft and had to force himself to let go of the artefact.
How odd that they kept it all these years. As always, the memory of that day, that loathsome voice, made him shudder. He released the amulet. Now there was nothing left to remind him, no object left to mock him, no evidence of his shame. Now, he was once again free to be himself. Picking up the lantern, he turned to where Tahira stood watching him from the doorway. She thought he was making a mistake, he could see it in her eyes, though she was biting her lip. She was wrong. He would not regret this. When they sealed up the entrance, that would be it. Then, surely, he would feel an enormous sense of relief.
He let her lead the way, refusing to look back. Forward, that was the direction he was heading from now on. It took them until dangerously close to dawn, but by the time he saw Tahira off on her camel the tomb was resealed. Christopher was done with the past.
* * *
Tahira rode directly to Christopher’s temporary abode the next night. After he had tied up her camel, he led her to the fire which he had lit. ‘It’s very nice but it has no magic qualities,’ he said, unrolling a rug with a flourish. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to admit defeat on the whole flying carpet thing.’
Tahira sank down, running her hand over the tightly woven silk. ‘All the same, I shall imagine you travelling on this, being carried by the winds across Arabia to Egypt. Though there’s not much room for your worldly goods. A camel and a mule would be more practical.’
‘This will suit me perfectly.’ Christopher sat down beside her, crossing his legs. ‘I always travel light, and now I don’t even have my amulet.’
‘Our princess is keeping it safe for eternity,’ Tahira said. ‘It is such a shame that we’ll never know who she was, what tragedy resulted in her being buried nameless and alone.’
‘But we can deduce something of her life from the artefacts buried with her—the silver pot, the serpent bangle, and my amulet. And we also have the drawings from the tomb now, to keep her memory alive.’
‘So even though she has no name, she lives on, in a fashion.’ Tahira’s smile was tinged with sadness. ‘Were we wrong to cover her tomb up?’
‘No!’ Christopher took her hand, twining his fingers through hers. ‘Definitely not. In Egypt, the tombs which are being uncovered are no longer sacred. They are stripped of all that is of value and then abandoned, or used to house livestock, or more often than not, left open to the elements. Perhaps there will be a time in the future when people value the history of these tombs, but for now—no, I think we did the right thing. In fact, it gave me an idea.’
Christopher was looking decidedly sheepish. ‘I wanted to commemorate our time together here by burying something, a record of our brief history,’ he said. ‘I like the notion that someone like us, with a fascination for the past, might uncover it, in a hundred, a thousand years from now. Only we know what we’ve shared, and when we are gone—it’s a fanciful notion, I know, but I hoped you’d understand.’
‘I do, I don’t want tonight to be the end,’ Tahira said softly, touched to her heart. ‘Even though we will never see each other again—you want us to leave some sort of clue—to bury some sort of artefact, so that a part of us will always be together?’
‘Yes.’ Christopher flushed. ‘I did not think I was the sentimental kind, but...’
‘It’s not sentimental. It’s—it’s the most perfect—it is perfect.’ She kissed his hand. Hot tears dripped on to his knuckles.
‘I didn’t mean to make you cry.’
She shook her head, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her tunic, smiling mistily. ‘I’m not. I won’t. What did you have in mind?’
Christopher reached behind him to produce a silver casket, the kind used to contain scrolls, and indeed inside there was a scroll. ‘Look and see,’ he said, taking it out and handing it to her.
There were two sheets rolled together, both drawings. The first was of the rock formation which housed the turquoise mine and the princess’s tomb, the distinctive shape, like the battlements of an ancient castle perfectly depicted, the vertical striations of the rock cross-hatched in pencil. The second drawing was of the inside of the tomb, showing the princess’s sarcophagus, the shelf containing the silver pot and the serpent bangle, and over the heart of the effigy, Christopher’s amulet.
‘The place which brought us together, the site of our princess’s tomb, the beginning and the ending of your quest.’ Her eyes were tearing up again. ‘It is perfect,’ Tahira said.
‘That’s not all. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.’ The object he gave her was heavy, lumpy. ‘Now look.’
Horrified, Tahira stared at the piece of ore which he must have taken from the mine either last night or tonight. In its natural state, the copper streaking the turquoise was more pronounced. Though the mineral was unpolished, it was still a stark contrast with the rough stone which encompassed it.
‘As you can see, it is an exact match for the turquoise in the amulet,’ Christopher said, grinning.
‘If they had discovered you in the mine—if you had told me that you needed further proof, I could have—’ She bit off the remainder of her words, colouring brightly. Shock and alarm had made her indiscreet.
‘Your brother is an investor in the mine, isn’t he?’ Christopher said. ‘Don’t worry, I had deduced as much. It was the only reason I could think of which would explain your inside knowledge.’
‘Yes,’ Tahira agreed gratefully, for it wasn’t exactly a lie. ‘But what possessed you to take such a risk?.’
‘It simply felt right, somehow.’
She had the strangest feeling, breathless and giddy, looking at him. ‘It is right, I do see what you mean, though to have risked so much—but it’s done now.’
She placed the lump of ore carefully inside the silver casket. ‘The clues to our meeting and to our find, but I think...’ Reaching behind her, Tahira undid the clasp of her gold chain. ‘Yes, this feels right too. I would like to leave something of myself with the rest.’
‘No, you can’t bury that. It means so much to you.’
‘That’s exactly why I want to put it in here.’ The little token her mother had given her all those years ago was warm from her skin. ‘The Bedouin star,’ she said, kissing the trinket one last time. ‘My nights of wandering under the stars are over, I don’t need you any more.’
‘Then I too want to leave something precious to me.’ Christopher brought out the pouch which had once contained his amulet, tipping the lonely contents on to his palm. His Roman coin glinted dully in the firelight, the base metal almost black. Like Tahira, he placed it to his lips, before returning it to the pouch. ‘May I?’
When she nodded, he put her necklace in beside it and retied the pouch before placing this last item in the casket and closing the lid.
‘Where should we bury it?’ Tahira asked.
‘Over the centuries this well and its buildings will fall completely into ruin as the desert reclaims it. One day, far in the future, someone like us might carefully sift through the foundations, looking for relics.’
‘And then they will scratch their heads and wonder how it came to be that a Bedouin necklace and a Roman coin were buried together,’ Tahira said, beguiled by the image. ‘But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘Come and see.’ He led her into the well-keeper’s house, where a deep hole had been dug just inside the main wall. Together they placed the casket inside. ‘One last thing,’ Christopher said, producing a neatly carved stone cat in a sentinel pose, just like the ones in the princess’s tomb, setting it at the head of the precious box. ‘To keep the contents safe.’
Tahira watched, quite overcome with emotion as he made light work of filling in the hole. How many years before it was uncovered? Who would find it? What would they make of it? How many times over the years to come would she ask herself those questions? A piece of herself and of Christopher, held safe together. Their secret, waiting to be uncovered long after they themselves had been confined to history.
* * *
‘I don’t want tonight to end,’ Tahira said, as they sat back down on the rug laid out in front of the fire underneath the starry sky. ‘If this really was a magic carpet, that’s what I would wish for, to stay right here always.’
Christopher had not thought beyond this moment. All the effort he had put into the burial of the casket, he’d told himself was for Tahira, but as he pulled her into his arms, he could admit to himself that it was for him too. His own way of preserving these forbidden moments for ever. Stupid thought. Mawkish. But somehow right.
Like their kisses. The most natural thing in the world to kiss her under the desert stars. The taste of her had become so achingly familiar in such a short time. Days. Not even enough weeks for the moon to turn full cycle. He ran his fingers through the heavy silkiness of her hair. She had tied it back loosely tonight, held only with a silk scarf which came easily free, allowing him to spread the rippling waterfall of it over her back. Jasmine. How would he ever smell jasmine again without thinking of her? Her hands fluttered over his shoulders, her fingers tangled in his hair. Her kisses were the heat of the desert, the glitter of the stars, the sultry, heavy air of the desert night.
They sank back together on to the rug and their kisses merged one into the other, drugging and rousing. She whispered his name as no one ever had. Her eyes, heavy-lidded but watching him, reflecting his passion, her skin hot under his touch, the same fire in her blood that heated his. He drank deep of her mouth, then trailed kisses down her throat, to the tempting valley between her breasts. Her fingers plucked at the buttons of her tunic, and when they were open, at the buttons of his. Her hands were on his chest, flattened over his nipples. His mouth on her breasts, and his hands. Soft moans. His own breath, fast and shallow.
Emotion surged with the blood to his groin. Tenderness, wanting, a deep-seated, primal need to be one with her. Her voice urged him onwards, her hands on his back, on his buttocks. And his hands, over her, inside her. The sweet, hot wetness of her desire for him. The hard, driving need of his desire for her. Like nothing before.
Their mouths met again. Such kisses, spinning them to new heights. Her hands on his shaft now as his touch brought her to her climax, as she unravelled beneath him, gloriously naked, unbearably vulnerable, he wanted to gather her to him, to keep her safe, to make her one with him, to complete what they had started, what he so urgently needed.
Completion. He kissed her deeply. She arched under him, her body melding to his, her legs twined around his. Possession. To be hers. He wanted to be hers. He wanted, needed, to be hers. It was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that was right. He could feel her, the tip of his shaft just touching the sleek, hot, wetness of her, the rippling of her climax, the soft, pleading sound of her voice, the heady, deep kisses, her hands on his buttocks, and the primal need to thrust inside her took over. He had never felt anything so perfectly right.
And so irretrievably, unbearably wrong.
His curses rang out into the desert night as Christopher flung himself away, jumping to his feet, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with horror. ‘Dear God in heaven, what am I doing.’ Grabbing his tunic, he pulled it over his head, tugged on his trousers, panting, cursing, heart hammering, threw her clothing at her. ‘Put these on. I cannot—I am—put these on, for the love of God, put them on.’
He couldn’t breathe. Tahira was staring at him uncomprehending, but his Arabic had deserted him. What had he done? What had he done? What had he done?
He pulled at his hair viciously. Tahira sat up, staring at him wide-eyed. Her mouth was opening and closing but he couldn’t hear her for the roaring in his ears. He couldn’t stay here and look at her, so gloriously naked, so painfully naked, the evidence of his shame, the evidence that despite everything, the blood which ran in his veins defined him after all.
Shaking his head, he ran for the well house. The first bucket of icy-cold water over his head made him gasp. Another bucket brought him back from the abyss, but only to the edge. One tiny iota of self-control had prevented him from catastrophe. One tiny last iota. He drank from the third bucket, hands shaking, but his breathing slowing.
Tahira.
‘Oh, God, Tahira.’
Rushing back out, he found her, fully dressed, huge-eyed and frightened. ‘Christopher, what on earth...?’
His grasp of her language returned. ‘I’m sorry. By the stars, I am so sorry. I did not mean—I would never—I thought I would never—did I hurt you?’
‘Hurt me? No! You frightened me. What happened, Christopher?’
‘What I promised I would never do. I am so sorry.’
‘But it didn’t—you didn’t.’
She tried to put her arms around him, but he shrank back. ‘You can’t trust me. I cannot trust myself.’
‘No more can I, it seems.’ Her hair was still loose, a wild tangle of curls that she now tried to tie back but failed, her fingers shaking. And her knees, it seemed. ‘I have to sit down.’
‘I’ve frightened you. The last thing in the world—’
‘Christopher!’ The shock of her sharp reprimand startled them both. ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot—it was not only you. I was every bit—if you had not stopped, I would have—we would have—but we did.’ She laughed, a strange shaky sound. ‘We did stop, I’m still fit for my wedding night, thanks to you.’
‘You give me too much credit. I wanted—I always thought that there was a line I could not cross, but blood will out.’ With a racking, dry sob, he dropped on to the mat and covered his face with his hands. Shame and horror sent his mind lurching into a terrible dark place he had never inhabited before.
‘Christopher, please, there is no need...’
‘There is every need. You don’t understand.’
‘What don’t I understand?’
‘I am my father’s son after all. Base-born, base of blood and equally base of mind. I thought myself better than he. Tonight, I’ve proved myself every bit as vile.’
‘Base-born? No, I don’t think you mean what you say. You are so upset, I think you are using the wrong words. Base-born means...’
‘I am a bastard,’ Christopher said, dropping his hands, using the crudest translation of the word he knew. ‘My father was not married to my mother. I am a bastard, the product of an act such as I so very nearly—you understand now, Tahira?’
But she shook her head, her mouth trembling, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. ‘You speak in riddles. I don’t understand any of it. I feel as if I don’t know you at all.’ A tear splashed on to her cheek. She shook it away violently. ‘This is our last night together. Don’t let it end like this, Christopher. Whatever it is that has made you—I don’t understand, but I want to. Won’t you tell me? Please?’
He opened his mouth to deny her, but the words would not come. ‘I have never spoken of it.’
‘You think I won’t keep your secret?’
‘I think my secret will make you despise me.’
‘I couldn’t. It is simply not possible.’
‘You can’t be certain of that.’
‘Is there anything I could tell you which would make you despise me?’
He answered without thinking, ‘Nothing.’
Was that relief on her face? Had it been fear? He had no idea. He couldn’t think straight.
‘Then tell me, Christopher. Trust me. Please.’
It was all too much. He had neither the energy nor the will to resist her. For so long he had kept it all pent up inside him. No hope of relief. No hope of understanding. The need to unburden himself was overpowering. Christopher shrugged fatalistically, closed his eyes, let himself fall back to that day, nine months ago, and began his tale in a hoarse whisper.
