The Forbidden Touch of Sanguardo

She gave a half shake of her head.

‘Thank God!’ he exclaimed. He looked around. They were in a tiny hall, and he could see a sitting room beyond, through the open doorway, with the large sash windows—curtained now—that he’d seen from the street below.

He went through into it and she followed numbly. He turned back to her, having taken in an impression of simple decor, soothing and tranquil, a soft, comfortable sofa in grey fabric, and a pale oak dining table and chairs. There was a pale grey carpet, landscape prints on the walls and books stashed in an open-front bookcase against the wall. An old-fashioned Victorian iron fireplace held fat candles on its hearth.

He looked at her. Words fell from him. ‘I’ve been worried out of my mind.’

Two spots of colour started to burn in her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m...sorry.’ She paused. ‘But I...I had to go...’

‘To a non-existent modelling assignment?’ His eyebrows rose.

She took a breath. ‘No. You know that was just an excuse.’

He looked at her. Every antenna he possessed had gone on high alert.

‘So why did you leave?’ he asked. He kept his voice steady. He had to know! If it were because of Madeline then he must find a way to convince her that she meant nothing to him now!

Celeste looked away. Then back at him. ‘Would you mind if I made myself some tea? It’s been a long journey. I’ve just come back on Eurostar.’

‘Eurostar?’

‘I flew into Frankfurt,’ she said, ‘from JFK. And since then I’ve been...’ She fell silent.

I’ve been trying to find the strength to do what I must do now, and I don’t know whether I can, though I know I have to. I have to because you’ve turned up now, like this, and I’m not ready... I’m just not ready. But I’ve got to do it because it has to end now...right now. I have to end it...

She moved towards the kitchen that opened off the sitting room. It was compact, and Rafael came and stood in the doorway, making it seem smaller than ever. Making the air in it hard to breathe.

She filled up the kettle. ‘Coffee?’ she asked, trying to sound normal. ‘It’s only instant, I’m afraid. I don’t have a machine.’

Into her mind’s eye leapt the formidably complicated machine in the Manhattan apartment that only he knew how to use. That she would never learn to use now...

She tore her mind away, focussed only on putting the kettle on, getting out the coffee jar, her tea caddy. No China tea tonight—this needed strong Indian...Assam. With a strength to get her through the coming ordeal.

She busied herself with mugs, with tea and coffee and boiling water, milk out of the fridge—milk she’d bought at a late-night convenience store near the station before she’d got a taxi here. Her mind darted inconsequentially, trying to find an escape. An escape from what was going to happen.

But there was no escape. She knew that. Knew it with the certainty of a concrete weight crushing her. Crushing her in to the ground.

Burying her.

Anguish cried within her.

I thought I was free! Free of the past! Free to make myself anew! Free to claim what was being given to me! Free to take Rafael’s hand outstretched to me! Free to be with him—to hold him and kiss him and embrace him!

Free to love him...

Because she had fallen in love with him. Of course she had. How could she not? Self-knowledge sliced through her, cleaving her in two. She had fallen in love with him somewhere along the way...some time when she had lain in his arms, cherished and safe...

But she hadn’t been safe at all.

And she hadn’t been free.

‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong!’

Rafael’s voice penetrated her anguish. His accent was pronounced—a sign of the tension he was under—although he was keeping his voice rock-steady. He sat himself down on her sofa, waiting for her to sit beside him.