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‘Grinning and bearing up?’
‘Well, that’s harsh but yes, that’s the truth. I’m not saying she is privately celebrating Ed’s passing but fate has stepped in, hasn’t it, to deliver to Beth her whole life’s dream? She didn’t make this happen but she’s sure as hell not going to let you go.’
He nodded. ‘That’s the sum of it. Now it’s my turn to grin and bear up.’
‘Don’t do it, Harry. I am living proof of what a waste of life it is – two lives – and if children are involved, then they too are surely going to be enmeshed in something that is false.’
‘I fear Beth would never recover.’
Alex gave a light scoffing sound. ‘Is it not having you, or is it losing connection with the family?’
‘It’s both.’
‘She will not have to relinquish your family friendship even if you walk away.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘No, you are making it too complicated. You don’t love her, which means you’ll be a desperately bad husband; you’ll have affairs, you’ll not mean to but you’ll always treat her with a slight contempt that she forced you into this loveless situation and you’ll make her cry herself to sleep. Oh, you’ll be kind in your own way, perhaps even tender at times, certainly generous to her, but you’ll never be able to give her what she wants most, Harry . . . your love with all of your mind and a body that desires her. The marriage will have a schism from its first day – I know about this because I live it. You can at least prevent making the error I did.’
‘If you know all of this, why on earth —?’
‘Don’t. I have perspective now that I can pass on to you that I didn’t have the benefit of in 1915. Back then it was a means to an end. To be fair, Matthew has kept his side of the bargain. It’s I who falters as I realise I want so much more out of our lives than just material pleasures. Frankly, I would live in a cottage in the middle of nowhere if I could make my chocolates and come home to a man whose eyes light up at the sight of me. Not just any man . . . you! I could almost wish you’d never come hunting for Tom’s sweetheart because until I met you, falling in love was just this girl’s fantasy and I didn’t have to face that there was a genuine alternative and all of its resulting pain.’
‘Love is enough? Do you really believe that . . . I mean, about the cottage and the simple life?’
‘I believe it. That would be all I’d ever need from the marriage – trust, shared affections, laughter, a child or two born into love so they could always feel secure. Money just doesn’t rate against that.’
‘Unless you don’t have it.’
She cut him a glance, unsure of his meaning. ‘Are you saying —’
‘I’m saying it’s easier to be philosophical about marriage when money isn’t a factor. You’re in a privileged position but others can’t be quite so dismissive of the allure of material wealth. I wonder how you’d get on in that cottage of yours with no running water or electricity that you now perhaps take for granted, having to heave coal or wood around to warm yourself, washing your clothes in a basin of freezing water, eating only what you can grow rather than what you feel like, having the choice of two or three outfits – one of them kept for Sunday best – worrying about how to clothe, warm and feed your children through a harsh winter.’
Alex swallowed, surprised by his attack but feeling appropriately admonished. ‘I . . . I’m sorry, I —’
Harry sighed. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. I’m the one who is sorry. I’ve seen too much that is ugly, Alex. It’s made me unsympathetic at times . . . like now. I have no right to criticise you.’
‘Actually you do. I am behaving like the spoiled daughter I try so hard not to be.’
‘All I’m saying is that it’s easy to be dismissive of Bethany but neither of us know what it’s like to love someone so much and yet be invisible to them. The fact is we’d be lying if either of us said we’d ever had to look far for attention.’ He lifted a forefinger to qualify his claim. ‘And by that I mean from family as much as from affectionate admirers.’ She closed her mouth to clamp down on the words that had wanted to spill, knowing he was right. ‘Bethany did precisely what you speak of. She helplessly fell in love with the wrong person. Now she’s determined to manoeuvre her life around that wrong person simply because he is unattached and rather ridiculously feels a sense of doomed obligation because of a brother he loved.’
‘So you’re prepared to be viciously unhappy for the rest of your life?’ she asked, aghast.
‘No, my point is she is prepared to be unhappy for the rest of my life because she’s resigned to take me on any terms. She believes that by marrying me, she can own me. She’s convinced that being my wife in a legal sense is enough for both of us because she’s wanted it for so long. Meanwhile, I’ll likely be her Matthew. Dutiful, charming, mostly absent.’
Alex’s eyes watered unexpectedly. ‘Your honesty hurts.’
‘Since meeting you I realise I’ve never loved anyone in the same way, and we’re relative strangers in terms of how briefly we’ve been acquainted, but I know I would never want anyone else in the life I fought to preserve. I sometimes wonder why I did.’ He sighed. ‘Now I just sound morbid. Look, Alex, I can’t have you but I can give you my truth . . . it’s as good as giving you my love.’
She backhanded away the treacherous tears. ‘Sorry.’
He shook his head and said nothing but passed her his handkerchief. ‘I hate to make you cry but there’s no future for us, unless we want to be hateful cheats.’
‘I’m already one of those.’
‘And that’s my fault, not yours. Don’t cry on my account. I’m not worth it.’
Alex sniffed. ‘You are worth it, Harry. Don’t sell yourself short. I think you talk in this manner simply as a mechanism of defence.’ She sniffed, faking a brighter tone. ‘So, this is Cambridge Street, one of the main thoroughfares. Betty’s is over there.’ She pointed. ‘I’m going to tell you about it and you’re going to listen because it stops us talking about being in love. It’s called a confiserie and café apparently. The man who brought it to England is Fritz Belmont, who is originally Swiss, I gather. He has an interesting history – something to do with being an orphan, auctioned off to a farmer, then becoming a baker – but held little interest in breads. He was more engaged in the aristocratic art of the chocolatier.’ She sighed. ‘Mr Belmont used his training as a baker to blend pastry making with chocolate making and business to achieve this,’ she said, waving a hand towards the café. ‘I do admire him.’
