'You'll find someone else.' She stared at him, her eyes huge. 'Like… like Jasmine.' It was unreasonable, wickedly unreasonable, in the circumstances, but the redhead's presence in his life still had the power to unnerve her.
'Jasmine?' He shook his head slowly. 'Annie, Jasmine is the wife of Idris's cousin, and even if she wasn't I wouldn't touch her with a bargepole. The relationship is, as they say, purely platonic' He eyed her soberly. 'I came to Morocco to see you and you only after I discovered your whereabouts. There was no business trip or planned holiday; I just dropped everything and got my tail out here.'
'No… ' It was the last thing she'd expected.
'Yes.' His mouth twisted in a wry smile. 'And it'd help if you looked less horrified. I love you, Annie, and I want you in my bed, my home, my life, my soul, but not for a month or a year. I want to marry you, and this is the last time of asking. Whatever you say now, I shan't ask again. I'll be there for you, I'll take anything you can give and make it work, whatever's happened in the past, but I don't intend to keep on asking. I love you, and I know, whatever you say and whatever you've done, that you love me. I don't understand you but I love you. Well?'
He paused, his eyes dark with emotion and his mouth taut 'What's it to be?' he asked quietly. ' A future together or goodbye?'
She stared at him, the colour coming and going in her face and the faintness in her head making her dizzy. Oh, Hudson, she thought, I love you so much. Please try to understand, my love. You will meet someone else; there are hundreds of women out there who would give everything they possess to be your wife, so there's got to be someone you could love in return. But it can't be me. Not if you want it all. With me it's a choice, and if I made you make that choice, forced you to give up everything you love, you'd begin to hate me. Perhaps in a year, maybe five, but eventually…
'Goodbye, Hudson.' She stood up slowly, and this time he made no effort to restrain her as she reached for her bags. 'You might not believe this right now but I want you to be happy,' she said tonelessly, forcing all emotion out of her voice as she said what she had to say. 'And I know you wouldn't be with me, whatever you think.' There was an unnerving silence while she waited for him to speak, but he said nothing, his eyes unreadable as they searched her pale face in which all vestige of colour was gone, and he still said nothing as she walked out of sight.
The next two or three weeks were the sort of nightmare Marianne wouldn't have wished on her worst enemy.
She returned from Morocco utterly worn out and emotionally drained, her anguish increasing rather than lessening as time went on.
She worked all hours of the day and night, but still found it difficult to sleep despite a grinding exhaustion that showed in a dramatic loss of weight and deep blue-mauve shadows under her eyes. But she resisted sleeping pills—they wouldn't help what ailed her. She knew Keith and the others were worried about her, one or two friends even taking it upon themselves to call round to her flat and gently enquire as to what was wrong, but her pain and confusion were too deep to discuss. She felt bereft, without hope, and the future stretched ahead like a great black chasm in which there was nothing but despair and a terrifying loneliness.
It was in the middle of her third week back in London, when she had struggled to work on a rainy, cold morning that resembled October rather than late June, that Keith called her into his office, his voice excited and shrill.
'What do you know about an organisation called Major Promotions?' he asked before she had even got through the door. 'They're based in the States but have subsidiaries in Canada and Australia. Have you ever worked for them in the past?'
'Major Promotions?' She tried to force a vestige of interest and intelligence into her voice. 'I don't think… '
'Think, Marianne, think.' Keith was all but dancing. 'A name, someone you've met at a shoot or perhaps socially, a friend of a friend? You must know someone connected with them?'
'I'm sorry, Keith, but Major Promotions does nothing for me,' Marianne said quietly. 'Is there any reason why it should?'
'Well, they certainly know you.' Keith waved her to be seated, his voice gleeful. 'Or of you at least. And what they know they like. I got a letter this morning. Here, read that'
He flung a piece of paper across to her and she saw it was a letter on beautifully embossed thick notepaper of the finest quality.
'They're interested in us, or rather you, covering a project they're doing with some of the top names in advertising in the States,' Keith continued before she had had time to read a word. It's all on conservation, but just read some of the names who are involved with it—go on, read them—'
'Keith, give me a minute, would you?' Enough was enough—she couldn't think straight with him chirping on like that.
'Oh, yeah, right, sorry. Read on.' He sat back and waited.
It was quite clear-cut. They wanted Marianne Harding and they were prepared to pay for the privilege—from the generous offer outlined in the document in front of her it appeared money was no object And the project was indeed a mind-blowing one, as were the celebrity names connected with it. What it didn't say—Marianne's brow wrinkled—was how they had heard of her in the first place. Keith she could have understood, but Marianne Harding? Who was Marianne Harding to these sorts of people? She asked Keith the same question, her voice perplexed.
'I thought you'd be the one to tell me that.' He stared at her puzzled face. 'You mean you really don't know where the link is?' he asked after a few seconds had ticked by.
'Not a clue.' She had been racking her brains to no avail.
'Oh, what does it matter anyway?' Keith said briskly. 'The point is they've heard of you and they want you, and that can only spell opportunity to you and the business. They want you to fly over at the end of the month—that's not a problem, is it? I've got to fax them with our acceptance and then set the ball rolling.'
'But… but do you think I'm up to it?' Marianne asked anxiously as her stomach began to turn over. 'It sounds like a massive project.' She glanced at the letter again.
'Of which you will be merely a tiny cog,' Keith said reassuringly. I've worked on things like this, Marianne; you won't be the only photographer, believe me. They often have several different things going at the same time and they always cover themselves for unforeseen difficulties. There'll be back-up, not that you'll need it,' he added encouragingly. It'll be a great experience for you.'
She nodded slowly. A few months, even a few weeks ago an opportunity like this one would have had her delirious with excitement, so why couldn't she feel even a tiny grain of enthusiasm now? she asked herself irritably. Why didn't it matter—even a little bit? But it didn't. She felt apprehensive that she might not be up to scratch, but beyond that—nothing.
Oh… She physically shook her head, disgusted at herself. She couldn't go on like this. She had to pull herself together, look to her career and her future—it was all she was ever going to have, after all. That thought did nothing to lessen the black cloud that was permanently in place these days.
'So… I'll fax them, shall I?' Keith sounded put out.
It was clear Keith couldn't understand her lack of enthusiasm, and she really couldn't blame him, Marianne thought miserably. She didn't understand it, or herself, either. Somehow it was as if the lights had been turned off deep inside—everything was dark and shadowy and pointless—and it scared her, because even in the worst days during the time after she had first left Hudson two years ago she hadn't felt quite like this.