A Whisper of Disgrace

He was silent for a moment. How eccentric the memory could be, he thought. How was it that something which you’d blocked for over thirty years could suddenly reappear in your mind, as crystal clear as if it had happened the day before? Were these things he remembered himself, or things he had been told? Or maybe they were just a combination of things he had pieced together after the event.

‘We were driven out to Saxrasahl—a very famous dried-out plain which was once an oasis and is surrounded by intricate rock formations.’

Rosa nodded. She wanted to say that it sounded beautiful, but this was something she could never say, for his voice was leaden with the sound of approaching doom and she knew he would never associate such a place with beauty.

‘We ate our food, but I was eager to play and there was nobody to play with. My mother’s headache had grown worse and the driver and the bodyguards were too hot to join in with me. My mother told me to stay within eyeshot, but I remember being engrossed in my game. I remember climbing to the top of a rock, but the dryness of the terrain meant that it started to crumble. I … screamed.’ He closed his eyes and his heart began to pound. ‘And I heard my mother’s voice calling my name—and soon after that, I saw her face appear, for she had climbed the rock to find me.’

He stared down at his hands, as if he might find some comfort in those tight, clenched fists. The silence seemed to go on and on until Rosa reached out and touched one shoulder which was so hard and unyielding that he might as well have been carved from stone.

‘And then?’

He lifted his head and it was as much as she could do not to recoil from the heartbreak written in his eyes. ‘Her foot slipped. The bodyguard yelled—for he was only feet away from her—but it was too late. She fell.’

She forced herself to ask the painful question, because what else could she have said in the circumstances? ‘And she died?’

He shook his head. ‘Not straightaway. She was airlifted to hospital but she never came out of the coma. She slipped away two nights later, with my father holding her hand.’ A father who had never really forgiven him and a brother who had returned from Europe to accuse him of putting their beloved mother in danger. Later, both men had done their best to try to make up for the words which they’d uttered in the depths of their own grief, but it had been too late. And no blame or accusation had ever been more condemnatory than that which Kulal had directed at himself.

As his voice died away, Rosa stared at him, wondering what on earth she could say to a tortured man who had just bared his soul. What words could possibly bring him comfort? She thought about everything he had missed—all the cuddles and the warmth and knowing that somebody who loved you more than anyone else in the world would always be there for you. And then she felt a sharp and bitter pang of understanding, because she’d never had a mother like that, had she? She moved closer, her arms slipping around his neck as she offered him all the comfort in her heart.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘So very sorry.’

He tried not to flinch but the warmth of her body was irresistible. He had told her more than he’d ever told anyone. His playboy mask had slipped and she had glimpsed the real and ravaged face behind. He felt raw and he felt vulnerable. He felt all the things he had vowed never to feel again.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said unevenly.

‘Of course it matters.’ She saw the bleakness etched onto his features as she dared to bring up the one glaring omission from his story. ‘When your mother died, did you never think that perhaps her headaches might have been contributory? Was a post-mortem ever done?’

‘No!’ Her questions only added an extra layer of pain to his bitter memories and, pulling away from her, he steeled himself against her look of concern. Did she think that he was regularly going to bare his heart to her and subject himself to this kind of pain? And if that was the case, then surely it was his duty to enlighten her.

‘That’s it, Rosa,’ he said flatly. ‘We’ve had this conversation because maybe it was necessary, but we won’t be having it again. We’ve looked inside our individual wardrobes and seen all the skeletons hanging there, but now we’re closing the door on them. Do you understand?’

She heard the finality in his voice. ‘If that’s what you want.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, it’s what I want, but maybe it’s not what you want. Because this wasn’t what you signed up for, is it?’

‘I don’t think either of us really knew what we were signing up for.’