Forever Yours
Tomas Chevalier
Published by Circlehouse Publishing at Smashwords.com
Copyright 2011 Circlehouse Publishing
CHAPTER ONE
July 1979
The summer breeze rippled past their ears as they sat looking out over Lake Haleron. It was a beautiful summer's day in Hampshire and for James and Erika the world had come to a standstill as they sat, hands entwined at the edge of the riverbank basking in the golden sun. Life had been kind to James and Erika. When they were together nothing else mattered and as long as they had each other they had life.
Erika ran her fingers through James' wavy, wispy hair. You weren't allowed to call it ginger; it was 'strawberry blonde'. James was a well-built man, but certainly not overweight. James was not any product of 1970s Britain, however. James Horton, Marquess of Upham, and first issue of the Duke of Winchester was firmly entrenched in the British aristocracy and this matter was never far from the forefront of Erika's mind. James was like any 19-year-old man – that's what most attracted her to him. For all the peerages and country estates, James was down-to-earth and genuine. His father, as a second-cousin of the Queen was not quite so progressive of thought.
James cursed the views of his parents as he felt Erika Wall's fingers run through his strawberry blonde hair. He admired her stunning figure and long, blonde hair. Her hair had natural lowlights – something many girls of her age strived to achieve artificially but which Erika had in natural abundance. This was the case with so many of her admirable attributes. He loved her sullen doe eyes and attractive smile which caused dimples to form in her cheeks whenever he made her laugh or smile. He wasn't the down-to-earth joke-teller she perhaps thought he was – he just loved to see her smile and laugh.
“Isn't it amazing how peaceful life is sat beside a lake? It's as though the water absorbs every sound and distraction while reflecting an air of calm and tranquillity to everyone around it.”
Erika chuckled to herself as James smiled at those gorgeous dimples. She supposed that sometimes, perhaps, James did tend to give himself away as a man who was extraordinarily educated in the arts and of a completely different world to most. Every now and again he would come out with the most peculiar analogies and turns of phrase which left Erika both in awe of his style and slightly uncomfortable at the enormous social gulf which stood between them like the elephant in the room.
Erika, far from being of landed gentry, was a second-year art student at Winchester College of Art – the same institution attended by James and where they had met the previous September. Erika had been seconded to the prestigious college by her school in America after achieving outstanding academic results. Her background was a far cry from the world which James inhabited but her academic achievements had afforded her a certain comfort from those who had a vested interest in seeing her succeed.
“Everything is peaceful and calm when I'm with you – you know that.”
James smiled and reclined to lay on his back, his hands clasped across his stomach and his right knee pointing skyward. At times like this, he honestly wondered whether life could get any better. Deep down, he knew it could. His parents had reacted badly to the announcement of his relationship with Erika. To them, their son was destined for greater things than to be married to a middle-class American art student. One day, James would be the Duke and the thought of him marrying outside of his social circle was not a thought to be entertained. The British aristocracy was still careful about such matters since the small matter of the scandal that surrounded King Edward VIII and the American socialite Wallis Simpson forty-three years earlier. The social and liberal reformation of the Western world in the 1960s and 1970s had not reached some parts of Britain.
“James, it's five o'clock. I need to get back to the halls.”
Erika's halls of residence were located in the centre of Winchester – gratuitously provided by the college for overseas students whose home countries had provided academic bursaries to exceptional students who wished to study there. God knows, her parents alone could not afford the fees involved with studying at Winchester.
“Do you want me to walk you back?”
Erika smiled as she picked up on James' train of thought. She only had to be back in the hall by five o'clock. There was technically no rule against her signing in at the main desk and heading to her ground-floor room before letting James in through the window.
As they got back to the university halls, James skirted round the outside edge of the building and waited patiently between the wysteria outside Erika's window. A couple of minutes later, he heard the window catch click across and the rumble of the shutter opening. Grinning, he launched himself up and through the window where Erika was waiting for him.
His feet had barely touched the ground before Erika had thrust her hand into his trousers and had him flinching and convulsing with pleasure. They made love for almost three hours that night – time irrespective – their warm bodies intermingled in a writhing bundle of passion. Shortly after eight o'clock, they lay side-by-side, their sweat-speckled chests heaving to catch the first glorious breaths. James chuckled quietly and rolled back over.
He could smell the lamb cooking as he entered the dining hall. The smell of cooking lamb was one which James had always hated. He loved eating lamb but hated to have to smell it being cooked. His father shot him a knowing glance.
“Been out and about?”
“Yes, just down to the lake. The weather's lovely.”
“With that American girl, I suppose?”
“Her name's Erika, dad.”
“I don't give a damn what her name is. You know what we think of her; we've made our feelings perfectly clear.”
“And I've made mine clear, father.”
The Duke's face turned beetroot red with rage as James' mother tried to diffuse the situation.
“James, don't talk back to your father. He's uncomfortable with you seeing that girl and you know it, yet you continue to defy his wishes and see her behind his back.”
“I'm not doing anything behind anyone's back, mother. I told you were I was and I'm being open and honest. I love Erika and I want to carry on seeing her.”
Before his mother could respond, his father re-entered the conversation.
“Love? You don't know what love is, boy! When you're a part of this family, you have a certain number of responsibilities. One day, when I'm six feet underground, you will become the Duke and this will all be yours. Your wife, whoever that may be – God forbid – will be Duchess. This family has a long and distinguished history and lines that permeate through the very heart of the British monarchy and aristocracy and I will not see that scuppered with your involvement with a ten-a-penny foreign art student!”
The rhetoric was familiar to James – he could almost recite it word for word.
“She's not foreign, father, she's American. The two cultures are practically identical.”
“Practically isn't good enough. She's from a lower class family and she doesn't respect the same moral and social values as do we. It is my responsibility to ensure that this distinguished bloodline continues as it should and that it is preserved for future generations – not infected with inferior genes. I only wish you had the same sense of respect and responsibility.”
Inside, James was infuriated with his father's statement that Erika's genes were somehow inferior and likely to infect his family's bloodline. He also resented the insinuation that he did not feel the utmost respect for his background and future. The responsibility had never been lost on James. He had always deeply understood the background to his family and social standing and respected the comfort which he had been afforded as a result. To have the opportunity to be a link in this extraordinary chain was something he relished. He just wished that the aristocracy could be somewhat more modern. To refuse to bless a loving relationship purely on the basis that his choice of girlfriend came from a different social class was, to him, absurd. It had taken six months to convince his father to even meet Erika before dismissing her out of hand. It had made very little difference.
Erika admired James' father. Many of her friends in Britain found it strange that she should have such a profound sense of admiration for the man who was denying her the right to see her own boyfriend and who seemed so entrenched in ancient rituals. To Erika, as a product of the American federal system, this was exactly what made him so fascinating and admirable. The pomp and circumstance was truly awesome and the tradition and gravitas with which the members of the family carried out their everyday lives was a world apart from what Erika knew and she was awestruck by the venom with which many of her British contemporaries treated the landed gentry. To her, coming from a country without this wondrous social history, she saw it as a great shame that the British people were beginning to shun their world-admired traditions. Deep down, she knew that the Duke would never sanction the marriage of her and James and that, for that reason, it could never happen. The immense pain of this realisation was eased only – and only very slightly so – by her understanding and respect for his family and their values. Sometimes she wondered whether her understanding and acceptance in the face of such flagrant disregard said more about her upbringing than it did of James' family.
“Father, you know I have a sense of respect and responsibility and you know that I would do nothing to bring shame on this family and its history and traditions, but...”
“But nothing. You are not to see that girl if you want to remain a part of the family which you so admirably claim to respect.”
“What are you trying to say?
“I'm trying to say that if you continue to see that girl, you will be no son of mine.”
The revelation hit James like a bullet between the eyes. He knew he was facing an uphill battle to get his father to respect Erika and that one day the ultimatum would be given but he had not expected it so suddenly and so bluntly.
“You have a decision to make, James. You're nineteen years old and you need to decide what's more important to you: a pair of legs and a skirt – of which you'll no doubt see many – or your place in a rich and vibrant dynasty which spans hundreds of years of glorious British history.”
In that moment, James knew what he had to do.
CHAPTER TWO
James and Erika met again the next morning by the bank of Lake Haleron. Erika had noticed that James was unusually quiet and had guessed why but had not wanted to admit it to herself. They sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing at the clouds; Erika waiting for James to tell her what was on his mind and James willing Erika to ask him what was wrong. It was Erika who broke the silence.
“James, what's wrong, honey?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Idiot. Why the hell had he said that? He knew damn well that plenty was wrong.
“Are you sure? You don't seem yourself today.”
It's now or never.
“It's just... My father said something last night which I've been thinking about.”
Erika knew exactly what the Duke must have said but she pleaded innocence and waited for James to tell her himself.
“What did he say?”
“You don't want to hear it.”
“Try me.”
“He said if I carried on seeing you he'd cut me out of the family and the bloodline.”
James looked at Erika as he said this and she could see the tears welling up in his eyes. As much as she dearly loved James, she knew how much his class and family history meant to him and felt no anger towards him as a result of this. She knew he had an incredibly tough decision to make and loved him more than enough to not want to put any additional pressure on him.
“What will you do?”
“I don't know. You know how much I love you, Erika, but I can't afford to upset my family. I have rights and responsibilities that I need to respect. I'm so sorry.”
As soon as he had said it, James felt a deep loathing for his father and the undue pressure he had piled on him.
Later that night, Erika and James made love for the last time.
CHAPTER THREE
February 2009
The ping of the toaster snapped Mrs Fernandes back to planet Earth. As she stood in her kitchen in the Oxford suburbs, she had been daydreaming of a lost love; a love of which she often dreamed. Her husband planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Wakey wakey, love. I far prefer toast to charcoal!”
Mrs Fernandes smiled at her husband's joke. He loved her smile. His dark, flowing hair danced gently over the olive skin of his forehead. For a man of fifty who was beginning to grey at the temples, Miguel Fernandes was still an incredibly attractive man with the look of a well-worn matador. For all the love she had for Miguel, and for all his talents and virtues, he could never compare to the passionate, vibrant love she had once felt. Miguel was a safe pair of hands; a husband. He was not the fiery passion that had once burned inside her as a young woman.
She watched her husband pick up his brief case and head towards the front door.
“Oh, and Erika? Can you pick the kids up from school tonight please?”
She nodded and smiled.
Having plucked the toast from the toaster and settled at the dining room table with a hot mug of coffee, Erika picked up her copy of The Times and began to read. Her adopted English style led her to admire The Times, not for its right-leaning political slant but for its reputation as the newspaper of record. Its listings of the Royal Family's daily engagements and official record of births and deaths was a constant source of fascination for Erika. She supposed it offered regular reminders of what once might have been. As she leafed through today's edition her eyes glanced over the familiar headlines involving Iraq, politics and global warming. She spent a few minutes reading an article about a Belgian scientist who had discovered a link between grapefruit juice and a reduced risk of Alzheimer's disease. Despondent, she flicked to the safety of the Records pages.
Her eyes glazed over as she read the words for the fourth time – still unable to comprehend their meaning. The words glared at her from the page, devoid of any comprehension.
DEATHS
Philip HORTON, 14th Duke of WINCHESTER, aged 79 and Elizabeth, Duchess of WINCHESTER, aged 77, February 3rd [see page 14]. Both survived by son, James, formerly Marquess of Upham, now 15th Duke of Winchester. Funeral and memorial service at Winchester Cathedral, February 19th.
Her jaw dropped and her eyes filled with tears as she read the words over and over. How could both of James' parents have died so suddenly? It was incomprehensible. Noting the parentheses, Erika hastily turned to page fourteen. There, in the margin as some kind of late addition or mention in passing was the headline:
QUEEN'S COUSIN KILLED IN LIGHT AIRCRAFT ACCIDENT
It has been revealed that the Queen's second-cousin, the Duke of Winchester and his wife have been killed in a light aircraft accident near Southampton. Further details are not known at this point. Buckingham Palace has confirmed the deaths.
Her overriding memories of the Duke were that of a principled and honour-driven man who never shirked his responsibilities as a member of the aristocracy. The fact that he had taken from her her one true love was water under the bridge. Read the article for the fourth time, she sat and cried.
CHAPTER FOUR
James buried his head in Melissa's shoulder as his pained sobs echoed through the drawing room at Winchester Manor. Her hair tickled his face as the pain of losing both his parents in such tragic circumstances seared through his heart like a dagger. He had his parents had had their differences but when all was said and done they had enjoyed a good relationship and he had marvelled in seeing them enjoy old age as happy and healthy people. Now, one tragic moment had taken them both away from him.
“They say it was very sudden, sweetheart. They won't have felt any pain.”
What did it matter? He certainly felt plenty of pain right now. He had not felt this sort of pain since he had been forced to abandon Erika all those years ago in order to retain the love and respect of his parents. Now, though, they were gone too.
A thousand thoughts went racing through his head. His parents had both died and he was the Duke of Winchester. Melissa was his Duchess. Somewhere deep inside he wished it had been Erika. Erika and he had enjoyed a passionate, deep relationship. The first fruits of young love which had been unavoidably and horribly cut short by the very people he was now mourning. Make no mistake – James loved Melissa. She was warm, loving and caring. She was safety. Her middle-aged, pear-shaped figure showed that childbirth had not been forgiving and he assumed that old age would be less forgiving still but James knew he was not nineteen any more.
James had told Melissa about Erika and the love they had shared. He had also told her about his parents and the way in which they had forbidden him to see her. Melissa knew, deep down, that James still carried a flame for Erika. She did, however, revel in the safety that the aristocracy afforded marriage and loved James no less for it. They had shared two beautiful children together and they were both happy. She sobbed now as she realised that she would have to tell her children that their grandparents had both died very suddenly and in the most horrible way.
CHAPTER FIVE
The snow fell delicately outside Winchester Cathedral as James and Melissa stood solemnly next to the frozen fountain as various friends and family offered their respects. The large, looming Gothic cathedral stood over them as the snowflakes landed gently on the ground. The service had been a beautiful one: James had read a fitting tribute to his parents and his son had read a poem entitled To My Grandparents. The hymns had been beautifully song by the choir with Ave Maria bringing most of the congregation to floods of tears as the bodies of the Duke and Duchess were carried out of the cathedral and into the waiting hearses.
There were many familiar faces stood outside the cathedral now as the snow fell, and many which James did not recognise or could not put a name to. One figure in particular caught James' eye, stood over by the lone, black Victorian street lantern. The figure appeared to be a woman with short, fair hair and wearing a brown, fur-lined coat. It struck James as rather odd for a number of reasons, not least because she seemed to be paying quite a bit of attention to him and had been wearing dark sunglasses even though it was the middle of February. He tried to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be who he thought it was. No. Not now. Why now?
Erika had sat quietly at the back of the service and stood outside the cathedral now just observing the proceedings. She had no real reason to stay but it had been so long since she had been a part of this world and she did not want to leave just yet. She had made a conscious decision not to approach James or any other member of the congregation. She felt, in a way, that she had no right to be there but that she had deeply wanted to pay her respects to James' parents – people who she had the utmost respect for. Secretly, she admitted to herself, perhaps she had also wanted to see James and how he had turned out. She assumed that the woman stood with him – and sat with him during the service – was now his wife. The two children were a dead give-away and her figure certainly displayed the strain of childbirth. James, however, hadn't changed a bit. As she made her observations, she noticed James begin to walk towards her. She might have convinced herself that he was heading elsewhere if he had not maintained eye contact with her throughout.
“Hello, Erika.”
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here?”
James sounded nervous.
“I came to pay my respects to your parents. I saw a piece in the newspaper and I felt I had to come to say goodbye properly.”
“Say good riddance, you mean?”
“No, not at all. You know I respected your parents and their wishes, James.”
“I know. I'm sorry. I'm just a little on edge at the moment.”
“I can imagine. So, how have you been?”
“Oh, y'know... the same old things.”
“The same old getting married and having kids things?”
Erika nodded over towards Melissa and the children.
“Well, yes. And that. And you?”
“Married. No children, though.”
James' eyebrow rose and Erika sensed his thoughts.
“Oh?”
“We lower social classes don't quite have the same focus on producing issue, y'know.”
James' eyebrow dropped and he lowered his head to look at his feet.
“James, I'm sorry. Look, I guess I'm a bit on edge too. Why don't we start again?”
“We really shouldn't right now. Look, are you around for another couple of days?”
“I can be.”
“OK. Here's my mobile number. Let's meet tomorrow night and catch up over dinner.”
“Everything OK, James?”
Erika jumped as she was stunned by the sudden appearance of Melissa. How long had she been there? How much had she heard?
“Yes. Everything's fine, sweetheart.”
Melissa looked at James, expectantly.
“Oh, this is... Umm...”
“I'm Lisa. A friend of James' from art college.”
“Oh right. Pleased to meet you. Art college you say? You must have known Erika Wall, then?”
Erika shot a glance at James.
“Uh, no, the name doesn't ring a bell.”
“I see. Probably just as well, really. From what I heard from James' parents – God rest their souls – she's better off back in America or whatever God-forsaken hole she's crawled back into.”
Erika felt fortunate that her American accent had softened sufficiently to be able to hide it convincingly in such situations.
“Well, come along, James. We've got lots of family and friends to attend to.”
Melissa forced a sarcastic smile in Erika's direction. Did she know who she was? Sometimes, Erika sympathised with those who treated the aristocracy with such disdain. When certain people acted in certain ways, she felt a similar loathing.
The snow continued to fall as James and Erika watched Melissa walk back towards the family.
“So, tomorrow night? Where are you living now, anyway?”
“I'm in Oxford.”
“Then I'll come to you. Text me with the details. How does 7:30 sound?”
“That sounds fine.”
“Great. I'll see you tomorrow.”
With that, James kissed Erika on the cheek and left. Around her, the snow melted.
CHAPTER SIX
The famous stone archway of the Randolph Hotel loomed over Erika as she walked between the hanging baskets and under the fluttering Union flags. As she entered the hotel, she followed signs for the restaurant bar and lounge. In all her time of living in Oxford, she had never visited the Randolph. James, however, had suggested it straight away. She wondered how he could possibly be familiar with it. How many times had he been in Oxford while she had been living there? The thought sent shivers down her spine.
The Maitre d' approached Erika and introduced himself as Giuseppe.
“Good evening, madam. Are you dining alone?”
“No – I have a reservation with Mr Horton.”
“Ah, I am sure the Duke will be here shortly. If I may show you to your table...?”
The Duke? How did he know James was the Duke? His reputation certainly preceded him. Erika glided through the stunning restaurant, marvelling at the upmarket, traditional English style. Oxford University crests adorned the tall ceiling; full-length windows gave stunning views of the Ashmolean. Oil paintings graced every wood-panelled wall and the fire hissed and crackled softly. One particular painting caught Erika's eye. Two large hills rolled away into the distance as a solitary wooden boat floated on the soft blue water of the lake, shimmering in the foreground. Erika was transported back to 1979 where she imagined she was sat at the side of the lake with James once again. The painting, like her memory, was fading.
As she waited for James, she glanced at the cocktail menu. Her eyes widened as she saw the prices of each of the drinks on offer. Out of the corner of her eye she sensed the Maitre d', Giuseppe approach the table.
“Would you care for a drink, madam?”
“Umm... No, I think I'll wait until...”
“Don't be so silly. We'll have a bottle of Dom Perignon, please, Giuseppe.”
Erika smiled as James came into view and sat at the table.
“Nice to see you still have expensive tastes, James.”
“Well, where's the fun in being part of the landed gentry if you can't enjoy a bottle of Dom P in the Randolph occasionally?”
Erika smiled and James' heart filled with warmth as he saw those dimples once again.
“What's so funny?”
“I'm not laughing; I'm smiling. I always loved the way your cheeks dimpled when you smiled.”
Erika smiled again.
“Stop it! You'll make me blush.”
“Sorry. So, how has life been treating you? You mentioned a husband.”
Why? Couldn't we just talk about us?
“Yes. His name's Miguel.”
“Ooh, exotic. Spanish?”
“Portuguese.”
“I see. And no children, you say?”
“No. No children.”
“Ah. I've got two, myself. Alexander and Emma. Alexander's at university in Oxford so I know the area quite well.”
“Wow. He must be, what, twenty?”
“Nineteen. The same age we were when we... Well, when we last saw each other.”
“You must have had him quite young.”
“I was thirty.”
“Yes, I suppose you must be right. In my mind you've always been nineteen.”
“Don't worry about it – in my mind I've always been nineteen!”
The couple chuckled and sipped the freshly poured champagne.
“So, what is he studying?”
“Mmmm?”
“Alexander. You said he was at Oxford University.”
“Oh yes. He's studying Classics.”
“A literature fan, like his father.”
Erika recalled James' love of literature – all forms of it. She remembered those summer days sat at the lakeside as he read her poems by Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes and the winter nights when they sat by the fire reading H. P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allen Poe. James had always made her feel a million dollars; as if those great works of literature had been written specially for her.
“Not a cute card or kissogram; I give you an onion. Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips, possessive and faithful, as we are, for as long as we are.”
“Carol Ann Duffy. I love that poem.”
“Me too. Although we can hardly claim to have been possessive and faithful.”
Erika reflected on the fierce kiss that stayed on her lips but decided against commenting on it.
“Are you happy, Erika?”
The directness of the question caught her unawares. Even more startling was the realisation that she had to think about the answer.
“Yes, I think I am. Are you?”
“I'm content.”
James had always loved word play and now Erika searched for the hidden meaning in his choice of word.
“But not happy?”
“Are we ever truly happy? We all lose something important to us at some point in our lives. Simple mathematics tells us that losing a positive, relatively speaking, gives you a negative, so can we ever truly be happy?”
“I guess not. There's a saying I heard recently – It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”
“Wise words indeed.”
“Although I lost you, James, I'm eternally grateful to have loved you. And I mean that.”
“You didn't lose me, Erika. I pushed you away. I had to make that decision and it's a decision which has haunted me every waking hour since. Not a day goes by when I don't wonder whether I made the right decision.”
“And do you think you did?”
“How will we ever know? Whichever world I chose, I was only ever going to experience the fall-out from that one. There's no way I could have ever had both in order to compare.”
“You got married.”
“So did you, Erika. And you know why as well as I do. That's what people do. We get married to the person everyone else thinks we're suited to. We pop out a few sprogs, wait for them to grow up and then dictate who they marry. Then we rot into the ground and the whole filthy cycle starts again.”
Throughout the evening, James and Erika discussed the last thirty years of their lives in great detail over a meal consisting of roast loin of Highland venison with chestnuts and seasonal vegetables and fillet of seabass with langoustine sauce. The sumptuous food melted in Erika's mouth as James' words melted her heart.
“Thankyou for tonight, James. It's been wonderful catching up again.”
“It's an absolute pleasure. We should do it again some time.”
Erika smiled and her cheeks dimpled. Acting on the urge, James leaned in and kissed her passionately. As Erika's hand reached around the back of his head, the couple were transported back to the lakeside thirty years earlier; the warm summer breeze rustling through their hair. No sooner than the kiss was over, they were back in the hotel restaurant in freezing cold 2009.
“I never stopped loving you, Erika. I hope you know that.”
“James, you can't. We're both married now.”
“That's what people do. Of course I love Melissa and you love Miguel but you can't deny that it's nothing like the love we had – have – for each other.”
He was right. She couldn't deny it.
“It's not the right time any more, James. It's not 1979. I do love you, of course I do, but we need to move on. Please. Call me.”
With tears in her eyes, she placed one last loving kiss on his lips and left the Randolph Hotel.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The front door of 32 Portly Street clicked shut as the latch snapped into place. Erika leaned back against it, rested her head and let out a deep sigh.
“Everything OK, darling?”
“Fine. Just hard work walking back up the hill in the snow.”
“I can imagine. Portuguese blood isn't made for snow – that's why I hibernate during English winters!”
Erika smiled and her cheeks dimpled. Miguel always found that very attractive.
“You didn't tell me you were going to the Randolph.”
Erika froze.
“Sorry? I went out for a meal with Victoria, like I said.”
“Yes, I know you did, darling. You didn't tell me it was at the Randolph, though. Gareth from next door saw you go in.”
Erika's heart resumed its normal rhythm.
“Oh. No, well it was only a last minute decision. She's had a big promotion at work and she wanted to treat me. I told her I'd take her to Burger King next time.”
“The last of the old romantics, you are!”
If only you knew the half of it.
“Yeah, well. Treat them mean; keep them keen.”
“Oh, how was the meeting in London yesterday? I didn't get a chance to ask you properly this morning.”
“It was fine. Just the usual boring stuff.”
“Not life or death, then?”
Miguel was developing a habit for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
James sat in his armchair in one of the vast living rooms in Winchester Manor with a large glass of whisky. On his lap lay a photograph album containing images from his college days. He rested his head back against the chair as he swallowed the last drop of whisky and transported himself back to the lakeside. The sun was beating down on him as the warm breeze rustled through the trees and led his hair to dance across his face. When he was back in this place, everything was good in the world.
“James, have you...”
Melissa walked into the room and saw that James had drifted off to sleep. Quietly, she walked over to him. On his lap lay a photograph. A beautiful summers day. Two lovers sat at the edge of a lake.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was pleasantly warm for a February afternoon. The skies were blue and the sun shone in its uniquely harsh winter fashion. The ground had softened underfoot as James ambled slowly across the field. All trace of snow had gone and James felt as though the frosty winter had well and truly been left behind.
As he reached the lakeside, it struck James that he had not been here in almost thirty years. Last night's meal with Erika had left him with many thoughts and feelings which needed to be addressed. Spiritually, those feelings belonged here, at the lakeside. To burden his marital home with such thoughts and feelings would be inappropriate. Sitting down on the dry grass, he looked out over the water and admired the lone wooden boat which bobbed on the surface at the far side of the lake. Two swans swam lovingly side by side, gliding gracefully across the water, reminding James of one of his favourite poems, The Wild Swans at Coole by William Butler Yeats.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
The poem's ironic significance was not lost on James as he sat gazing out across the lake. Had his love for Erika really flown away or was it just a relic of a long-gone era? The fact that their love did not belong in the present did not in any way diminish its intensity or significance. The love he felt for Melissa was a different love; that was true, but that too should not be diminished in intensity or significance. It struck James that the two types of love were not only different, but not mutually exclusive. Each had served its purpose. The burning, passionate love he had felt, and still felt, for Erika had ignited his love for life and his ferocious desire to enjoy every moment of his being. The compassionate, love of a wife bestowed on him by Melissa was something entirely different but equally special. That he was married did not mean his love for Erika should die.
As he lay pondering, the sweet smell of perfume wafted past his nose.
“I thought I might find you here.”
“Erika! I was just thinking about you. What's with this?”
“Well, I knew exactly how you would be feeling after last night. You also told me you hadn't visited this place in almost thirty years. In a way, I knew exactly where you'd go.”
“Even after thirty years you can still read my mind.”
“I can. And I know what you're thinking even now. What we had was special – is special – but our adult lives are more special still. I firmly believe that there are many types of love; each with its own place and time. Now is not the time for ours.”
As the sun sank behind the clouds, the solitary wooden boat bobbed out of sight.
CHAPTER NINE
James sat in the drawing room at Winchester Manor staring at the blank sheet of cotton-laid paper, twiddling his Mont Blanc fountain pen between his fingers. He recalled a mantra taught to him by his lecturer at art school: No matter what you write, write from the heart. He brought the pen down to meet the paper and wrote.
Dearest Erika,
Meeting you again after all these years has been wonderful. For the past thirty years I have often wondered where you were; who you were with; whether you were happy.
I realise that we can never hope to reignite our love as it once was all those years ago but I treasure the memories fondly and love you dearly, as I always shall.
I am pleased that you are happy and that you are leading a good life. Now I feel as though my heart can truly rest.
The tears welled in Erika's eyes as she read the letter. In the warmth of her Oxfordshire cottage, her heart burned stronger. She knew the two types of love were not mutually inclusive but that one must prevail. She loved James no less for it and smiled as she read his closing words.
Forever yours,
James.