I was surprised, staggered even. Couldn’t he read me better than that?
‘Weren’t you?’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You really don’t know?’
He was the picture of woe.
‘After what I did to you … I didn’t want to hope.’
‘Joss, are all your instincts dead when it comes to human relationships? Do you really think it’s possible to fake the way you’ve made me feel? And the kinky sex! Who would put themselves through it if they weren’t into it? If they didn’t love you?’
‘Do you love me then?’
I shook my head but only because I was beyond words. I worked on sucking in some air and forming some coherent thoughts for a while before asking, ‘Are you really asking me this? Are you really, seriously, in doubt?’
‘I didn’t know what love looked like. At least, I know what it’s supposed to look like. I’ve faked it quite convincingly myself at times. But that’s what’s so confusing.’
‘Oh, Joss …’
‘My parents didn’t love me. Do you want to know something really funny? I used to be jealous of you, when we were kids. Jealous. Because, although she was a bit clueless, your mum obviously loved you, and you loved her. There was this thing between you – warmth. Acceptance. You were good enough for her. I wanted to feel good enough but I never did.’
‘They must have loved you in their way? Maybe that cold, upper-class way one hears about? You know – undemonstrative, but it doesn’t mean they don’t feel anything for you.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I saw plenty of parents like that when I stayed with schoolfriends, but their sons weren’t like me. They took it for granted that they were wanted.’
‘The ironic thing is, I was unplanned,’ I said.
‘But your mother loved you, once she had you.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, she did.’ I had no doubt about this and I suddenly had an inkling of how dark and destabilising it must be to have no such certainty in life.
‘After you,’ he said, looking out at the lush green slopes of the estate as if it were bleak and parched, ‘there were other girls. Lots of others. But it was never the same. Something about you, and the way you were with me was different. I could never put my finger on it, but I fucking hated myself for losing it.’
‘Maybe because I knew you. That I loved you despite myself and despite the way you’d treated me. P
erhaps that gave you a clue that it was real.’
‘Yes,’ he said, considering this. ‘I always felt it was real.’
‘And it’s real now,’ I told him. ‘Realler, because I’m older and less gullible and starry-eyed.’
‘I had this nightmare,’ he said. ‘That you were only with me for revenge. That you and Voronov were lovers.’ He swallowed hard and I could see the shine in his eyes, presaging tears.
‘Hey.’ My hand was on his arm. I could feel the little tremble under my palm. ‘It was just a dream. Joss.’ I took a breath. ‘Would it be such a terrible thing to sell the house?’
He shut his eyes and the tears spilled out, gliding along his cheekbones. He shook his head.
‘I hate the fucking place,’ he said with a strangled little laugh and a gasp for breath. ‘Always have done.’
Chapter Seventeen
So now we were free, free of Willingham Hall and the old iron grip of his late father and the taunting leasehold of Arkady Voronov – well, almost.
We decided to put the place on the market once he’d had a chance to speak to Voronov. The trouble was, this proved difficult. He was constantly ‘unavailable’.
The morning of his next visit dawned without Joss having reached him. It was also the day of Jamila’s wedding, which I was to attend with mum.
I woke up first and experienced the joy of finding him beside me, which had still not worn off. He had one arm flung over the side of the bed while the other rested on his chest. His legs were scissored wide – luckily the bed was vast – and he exhaled a gentle semi-snore. His eyelashes fluttered, casting shadows on his cheekbones as he dreamed. I wondered if he dreamed of me and, when I looked down at the rudely tented blankets, I wondered still more.