Then all of a sudden something about the countryside and the narrow, twisting roads had made her remember a house she’d visited once as a child. Her aunt had worked as a housekeeper, performing a very similar role to Mrs Guest, and one summer, when the owners of the house were away travelling, she had invited Chloe, her sister and mother to visit.
Chloe had been absolutely entranced by the place. She had never seen whole walls made out of glass before—except in high-street shops—and she’d thought they were magical. Her sister had been scared of heights, and wouldn’t go near the upstairs windows. But Chloe had leant spreadeagled against the glass and it felt as if she were flying over the fields.
Her mum and aunt had shooed her away, worrying about fingerprints on the window, and then Chloe had heard them talking, saying who’d want such a ridiculous amount of glass to keep clean? But Chloe hadn’t cared about that—she’d simply loved the feeling of flying, and had made a wish that one day she would live in a house like that.
It was amazing that Lorenzo had remembered. And that he had taken the trouble to find this house for her as a wedding gift.
Right from the start of their relationship he had always been attentive and thoughtful. It was all those gestures that had made her believe that he loved her, even though he had never told her.
Now she didn’t know what to think. How was it possible for him to pay so much attention to little things that he knew would make her happy—yet continually throw her love back in her face? Why did he act as if she were committing some terrible moral crime, simply by having feelings for him?
Chloe ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it back off her face, and sighed. A pale hint of apricot tinged the eastern sky, and she realised the sunrise was coming. The giant window would give her an amazing view.
Suddenly it occurred to her that the birds should be singing. The dawn chorus would be underway by now, but she couldn’t hear a thing. The triple-glazed, reinforced glass cut out the sounds of the outside world as effectively as a sound-proofed room.
The thought upset her. At that moment it seemed like a terrible reflection of her marriage with Lorenzo. She had a perfect view—but she wasn’t really living it. All the birds out there were triumphantly singing to welcome in the dawn—but she couldn’t even hear the tiniest peep.
Without thinking what she was doing, she walked silently across the room to pick up her dressing gown, then went downstairs to let herself out into the garden.
But she couldn’t get out. The kitchen door was locked and she couldn’t remember where the key was kept.
She hurried through to the living room, to try the French windows, but when she got there she realised she had no idea how to open them. She knew they were motorised and she thought there was a remote control somewhere, or a panel on the wall, but she couldn’t find anything.
Tears started to flow down her face as she stared helplessly out through the massive glass doors.
Lorenzo lay awake in bed, aware that Chloe was not beside him. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well and often rose before dawn, to stand looking out at the view over the countryside. But now he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her moving around.
Suddenly he realised the room was extra-still. He could hear Emma snuffling in her sleep through the open door into the adjacent room. But he could not hear Chloe.
He sat up, and instantly saw she had gone.
His heart thudded and he lurched out of bed. She’d run away—walked out on their marriage again.
Then he forced himself to stay calm. He knew she would never leave Emma. She’d probably gone down to the kitchen to make herself a drink. He’d seen the half-drunk cups of chamomile tea beside her bed in the morning, and known they hadn’t been there when he went to bed at night.
But that morning he sensed something was different. She’d been so upset the previous day. What if she had realised she couldn’t stay in this marriage? What if she was planning to leave him?
The thought sent dread crashing through his veins once again. He pulled on his trousers and was out of the room, running down the staircase immediately.
Then he saw her. She was at the French windows, trying to find the way to open them.
‘What are you doing?’ he barked, his fear making his voice hard. ‘Where are you going at four-thirty in the morning?’
‘Nowhere.’ She turned to face him and he saw that she was weeping.
A vicious spear of agony stabbed through him. She was distraught once more—and he knew it was his fault. He was incapable of making her happy, and that knowledge was killing him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling her gently into his arms. He knew it wouldn’t make her feel better—how could it when she was so unhappy being with him? But he didn’t know what else to do.
‘I couldn’t open the doors.’ Her voice was muffled against his chest, but Lorenzo could hear the notes of agony in it.
‘If you want to leave, I won’t stop you—you deserve to be happy,’ he said. ‘But don’t run away from me again. Let me help you. Let me make sure you are all right.’
Chloe pulled away and looked up at him. His words had startled her. It sounded as if he cared about her. But at the same time it sounded as if he was offering to help her escape from their marriage.
‘I wasn’t leaving,’ she said, wiping the palm of her hand across her face. ‘I wanted to go outside to hear the birds singing—the dawn chorus.’
‘Thank God!’ Lorenzo exclaimed, crushing her against him. ‘I couldn’t stand it—I just couldn’t stand my life without you.’