He glanced over at Dora. She would give everything to love. She would do it for Archie, for him. But life had already taken more from her than it had given and, loving her like he did, he couldn’t bear to strip her of everything he loved about her: her impulsiveness, her spark of defiance, her candour.
He handed the microphone back to Arnaldo and turned towards her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, and then, ignoring the murmur rising up around him, he spun round and walked away.
Dora gazed after him in shock. She felt Archie shift against her, his eyes following Charlie out of the room.
Around her the guests were turning to one another, their voices low but their confusion audible. It was a sound she recognised—one that was imprinted on her brain from that night in the club.
It was suddenly difficult to breathe.
He had left her. Charlie had left her. She felt her body start to fill with a jagged sadness that blotted out everything, even the muscular panic squeezing her throat.
For a moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t think or even see, and then slowly faces came into focus. Lei’s face. Nuria’s face. And with them came words—Della’s words, from what felt like another lifetime.
‘I wish I’d done more, Dora. To fight for him, to fight for us. Whatever the outcome, I should have done that.’
Turning to Lei, she pushed Archie into her arms. ‘Look after him for me.’
‘Take as long as you want.’ Lei’s eyes met hers. ‘As long as you need.’
Lifting up the hem of her dress, Dora walked swiftly between the clumps of guests. In the foyer, there was no sign of Charlie and, taking a deep breath, she turned in a circle. And then suddenly she knew where he would be and, heart beating hard, she began moving more quickly.
The boat felt like the Marie Celeste and, listening to the dull slap of waves against the hull, she worried that she had got it wrong.
And then she saw him.
He was leaning against the handrail, gazing out across the ocean, and something in the stretch of his shoulders made her square her own.
He turned, and the expression on his face almost made her resolve falter.
‘Charlie—’ she began.
He shook his head. ‘It’s over, Dora.’
‘It is not over.’ She stopped in front of him, her heart hammering against her ribs. ‘It’s not over because I love you.’
‘I know.’ His eyes found hers. ‘And I love you. But that’s why it has to end now.’
Now it was her turn to shake her head. ‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘Only because you don’t understand what’s going on here.’
He looked away, his face tightening, as if it hurt to say the words out loud.
‘So tell me, then.’
Charlie looked down at her wide, determined eyes, his chest aching.
‘Do you remember when I had the stylist send over those dresses? You got upset. You said they were worth more than your salary.’
‘I remember,’ she said quietly. ‘And you said that was what being a Lao meant.’
‘I did—but I lied. Being a Lao means putting the family above yourself. We do whatever it takes, make any sacrifice. It has to look perfect. That’s the price you pay for admission. I don’t want that for you, and I don’t want that for Archie. You deserve better—you both do.’
‘So do you.’
The ache in his chest was spreading. It was a gaping wound now.
‘No, I don’t. I’m not a good man. I’ve spent my life putting business and power before everything else, and particularly my family. My sisters, my mother—’