Chapter Eight

I woke up while the hallway was still shrouded in the blue shadows of very early dawn, an unsurprising consequence of having fallen asleep not much past eight. I opened my eyes and blinked at the now familiar shapes around me: the looming staircase, the beams of the high ceiling. But the perspective was wrong. I was on the floor, and there was a warm pressure against my left side. Anna.

I turned my head to look at her, rolled away from me in her sleep, the blanket pulled over her naked shoulders. My first emotion was a wave of disbelieving elation as the memories cleared, accompanied by a surge of heat in my groin.

She moved slightly and mumbled something incoherent. The recollection came out of nowhere: Francesca used to talk in her sleep too. My stomach plummeted, though I fought the wave of sudden anxiety. Francesca was the last person I wanted to think about in that moment. Just one night with Anna had proved what I had already suspected, I was capable of far greater levels of passion than Francesca had ever aroused in me. Now, more than ever, I knew I’d made the right decision in leaving her.

But Francesca had appeared perfect to me once. What was to say a relationship with Anna would be any more successful? I willed my doubts not to encroach on what should have been one of the most perfect mornings of my life, but once the thoughts began, the sinking feeling was inescapable. I knew it was a direct reaction to how wonderful the night had been. Looking at Anna now, as she still slept peacefully, I could barely believe just how close to perfection those hours had been. I recalled the feel of her hands on my body, the taste of her on my tongue, and knew I wanted her again. Too badly. I couldn’t risk falling in love with Anna, lured by her captivating, hidden sensuality. The events of the past months were still too fresh to risk new pain. Besides, I had nothing to offer her. Not only was she beautiful and talented, her life was in order, it was stable. I craved the sort of stability Anna maintained, and did not want to risk undermining hers, as I found myself still hurting and vaguely bewildered by life. There was no way I could believe she saw this as more than a passing diversion. I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with that, especially not at this point in my life, longing for certainty as I was.

Feeling panic creeping from the pit of my stomach to wrap itself crushingly around my heart, I stared at the back of Anna’s neck, the tendrils of her golden hair. I wanted to reach out and touch them, so badly my fingers trembled.

As though she had pushed me, I jolted away from Anna’s side and sat up. My bare leg brushed the cold tiles of the floor and sent a chill through my whole body. I stood up, found my clothes from the evening before, and dressed quickly. I saw the evidence of our pleasures: the empty bottle lying on its side, the half-consumed box of chocolates, and the discarded clump of mistletoe. They stirred a recollection of warmth, which I suppressed fiercely.

I sat on a chair and stared at Anna as she slept. She was so perfect. Stunningly attractive, intelligent and witty, and with the promise there would always be something new to discover about her. I had no doubt I was half in love with her already. That was why I had to stop this. I’d been carried away the day before. The occasion of Christmas had made me weak, her sudden arrival caught me by surprise. Now I needed to be strong and sensible. I wasn’t anywhere near ready for another relationship, even if that was really what she wanted. And that was by no means certain anyway. Did Anna want a full-blown relationship? With the views she’d aired over the compromise of her personal freedom, were our ideas of what such a relationship involved in any way compatible? There had been a real darkness in her expression when we’d talked of relationships before. That surely didn’t bode well.

Besides, even if—unlikely though it seemed—Anna had developed real feelings for me, I had to stop leading her on. She knew nothing of me. She didn’t know that my mother’s death had terrified me with a reminder of my own mortality and made my turning thirty seem a dreadful occasion. I’d not told her I’d had only one serious relationship, and as a result of its failure, I was now questioning all of my assumptions about love, contentment, and desire. She didn’t know how thoroughly confused by life I was and how blindly I’d been seeking a new direction before Winter was presented to me.

I’d shown Anna only the side of me I wanted her to see, the Ros who could talk about architecture and history, could flirt and tease as well as she could, was enthusiastic about the renovation of Winter, and was optimistic about the future. That might be the woman I wanted to be, but it was not my truth in this moment. Anna knew nothing of me at all. I didn’t have enough certainties myself to be able to enlighten her much further. That was no way to begin a relationship. Having seen the perfection of what it could be, I knew it was too much to hope for. It was better to end it now, before things went too far.

As though she felt me watching her, Anna stirred and turned, opening her eyes to look directly at me. She’d removed her glasses as we’d begun to doze the night before, and without their hard lines, her eyes heavy with sleep, she was girlish and vulnerable. It made the prospect of disappointing her horrific, for I sensed at that moment she was not as resilient as she gave the impression of being. I knew her eyesight was bad enough she couldn’t see me clearly without her glasses and watched as she found them and put them on, waiting until she could see me properly before I said anything.

As soon as she focused, she smiled. “Good morning,” she said. She looked more closely at my expression, and her smile faded. “Or is it not such a good morning?”

“It’s not about last night.” I made my face as emotionless as I could manage, when I actually wanted to cry. “Last night was…was…so close to damn perfect I don’t have the words.” My voice wavered.

“Then what is it?” Her expression grew increasingly concerned.

“The perfection is the problem,” I said softly.

“What on earth do you mean, Ros?”

“You need to leave.” My words sounded cold, even as I spoke them. In the blue early morning, in the sparsely furnished hallway, they echoed and grew colder still.

“What?” She sounded somewhere between offended and angry in her confusion.

“You need to leave. We can’t do this—or, I mean, I can’t do this.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I just can’t.” I wasn’t sure I could sustain this resolution for long, if she didn’t leave soon. Just looking into her blue eyes, even growing increasingly hostile as they were, stirred emotions deep inside me and made me grow hungry for her once more.

“So what was last night then?”

“A perfect, wonderful mistake. Something I wanted very badly, but really shouldn’t have done.”

“It didn’t feel like a mistake. And if you wanted it, then why the hell is it a mistake?” She made my argument sound as weak as it was. But I had to be resolute.

“You don’t know me at all, Anna.”

“Is that the problem? Well you don’t know me either, Ros. I think we can remedy that quite easily. It’s called getting to know each other. It’s what happens when people like each other.” A biting sarcasm crept into her tone now.

“That’s not the problem,” I said. “At least, it’s not that we don’t know each other well enough. If you knew me better, you’d think less of me.”

“Are you a closet psychopath or something? Are you going to strangle me in my sleep as you’ve done to a whole host of women before me and bury me under the floorboards?” Her gaze challenged me to laugh and allow the situation to resolve itself. I clenched my teeth together and did not.

“No. But it won’t work out. I’m not up to it right now. You’ll think it’s all been a mistake in the end.”

“Isn’t that my decision?”

“Look, Anna, I can’t be with you. Please. You have to go.” I couldn’t take the logic of her interrogation. If she’d been softer, more sympathetic to my feelings I might have known what to say next. But her peremptory reasoning was too much for me.

In silence she stood up and began to gather her clothes. I turned away from her beautiful nakedness and the wounded expression on her face. I stared at the doorway which led through to the Blue Drawing Room. Over the past week I’d started to see it, in my mind’s eye, renovated to its former beauty and grandeur. I’d begun to see how the whole of the house would take shape. I realised now how, without my even stopping to consider it, Anna had become integral to all of those plans. Now I would have to work with her, knowing how much I wanted her and could not have her. Having had a taste of what we could be together and forced to resist the temptation. On top of that, I’d let her down, maybe even hurt her. I didn’t want to hurt her. I wanted so badly to tease those little crooked smiles onto her lips, draw out the cries of pleasure that had echoed around this hallway so short a time ago. But wanting it and being able to give it were very different things. I couldn’t prevent the tears flooding my eyes.

“So, when will I see you again?” Anna said from behind me. I heard her formal, professional tone and I winced. How would I cope with working with her in the future on such a cold, businesslike basis? I didn’t want to turn to see her eyes had frosted over again. Maybe I wanted her to ask me gentle and understanding questions. But that wasn’t Anna’s way. The lump in my throat prevented me from responding. “Ros?” Her tone demanded that I reply. I couldn’t look at her.

I heard her footsteps approaching me, and then her hand was heavy on my shoulder. “You’re at least going to look at me before I leave.” She forced me to turn around with her insistent tone. As I did, I saw the angry expression on her face change and mould itself into one of confusion and then compassion. I stared back at her through a haze of tears. My heart felt as though it imploded with the pain of wanting, of longing for something I could not have, for reasons I could not define. I shook her hand off my shoulder.

“Don’t touch me. Please, I can’t stand it.”

Anna let her hand drop, her expression puzzled. “Ros? What’s wrong?”

“Everything, Anna. Everything’s wrong. There’s so much you don’t know about me. And I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to know if I’m ready or not. How on earth will I ever be able to offer you anything you need? You deserve so much more.” I said the last words weakly, through an aching throat. The tears were running over my cheeks now. I wiped them with the back of my hand.

“And what makes you think you know me so well that you can judge what I need of you?” Anna reached for my arm and squeezed it gently.

“I just know,” I replied, stubborn in my miserable conviction. “Everything in your life is just as it should be. You don’t need someone with my emotional baggage. You deserve someone who knows for sure where their life is going. I have no idea.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” Anna said, her tone softer than her words. “For a start, my life is far from perfect. And do me a favour and credit me with some judgement. I didn’t come here with the intention of spending the night with you just because you have beautiful eyes.” She hesitated and looked awkward, as though she wasn’t sure how to phrase the next words. “I like you Ros,” she said tentatively, “with whatever baggage you’re carrying. I want to get to know you more.” I knew she wanted me to smile, to be convinced by her words and let the tension between us thaw, but I couldn’t.

“You don’t understand. With all the stuff that’s happened lately, I have no idea where my life’s going—”

“Don’t tell me you think you’re the only one who’s ever had anything bad happen to them and struggled to cope?” Anna’s tone was sharper now, and I winced as she went on. “That’s part of life.” Her expression was pained, and I wondered what Anna had ever suffered. “But you’re no martyr, Ros. It’s one of the things I like about you. I know some horrible things have happened in this last year, and you’ve got a lot of thinking to do still. But you’ve come through it all with your sense of humour intact and the bravery to take on Winter. You’ve by no means gone under, and you don’t whine for sympathy either. I admire that.”

“You do?” I wanted very badly for her to confirm her high opinion of me. I needed more words of reassurance.

“Why should that be so hard to believe?”

“Because you handle life so well. I don’t really know why you think I have anything for you.”

Anna sighed. “It’s not about what you can give me, Ros. It’s just about you. You’re beautiful, you’re witty, you’re perceptive and sensitive, you’re brave, and you’re a bloody good kisser. I like the scent of patchouli oil. Am I allowed to find you attractive now?” The words were rushed as though she was embarrassed to say them, yet could only be genuine from the way she reddened. Her tone stopped my tears but made it no easier for me to believe she had the right impression of me. “And besides, you have no idea how I handle my life,” she added.

“Better than I do, I have no doubt,” I countered.

“For God’s sake, Ros!” Anna exclaimed, irritation creeping into her words. “I never took you as someone with a low opinion of themselves.”

“You see, you don’t know me at all!”

“Then tell me.” She took my hands in her cool fingers, with a tenderness that surprised me following so closely after her apparent annoyance. She led me towards the stairs and sat down. As she did, she was bathed in a shaft of daylight from the small window above the door and looked heartbreakingly beautiful. She indicated I should sit beside her. I obeyed her automatically, perching on the step just below her, drawn to her kindness. Why was she still here? What did it mean? “Go on, fill me in,” she urged.

“I can’t. You don’t want to hear about—”

“Tell me, Ros. I’m not asking. You owe it to me.” I considered her words. She was right. In allowing her so close I’d opened the door to a greater intimacy between us. It was unfair of me not to explain why I slammed that door closed again now. I had to do the right thing by her and make it clear to her why we couldn’t pursue a relationship.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “But I don’t know where to start.”

“At the beginning is usually best.” Her tone compelled me to speak.

“I’ve only had one girlfriend in my entire life.”

“Well, that’s hardly a problem, and it certainly hasn’t turned you into a prude or anything,” Anna said.

“That’s not what I mean. I’m saying I don’t feel like I can handle relationships very well. I told you we broke up earlier this year.” I looked up into Anna’s eyes and wanted to tell her. “I think I’d always had an idea of what our relationship was, and when I finally realised it wasn’t living up to that, I decided it had to end.”

“Were you with her a long time?”

“Nine years. But I guess the magic had gone for at least the last three of those.” I smiled wistfully. My relationship with Francesca had been on the rocks long before my mother’s death and my subsequent re-evaluation of my life and career. I’d just never forced myself to look at it honestly before.

“It’s not easy to move on from long-term relationships Ros, I don’t expect you to—”

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what else is it?” Anna looked as though she really wanted to understand. The temptation of breaking down and telling her everything I felt, seeking her sympathy and understanding, was huge. I made an effort to keep my composure and my mind on what was sensible and healthy.

“My mother’s death made me think about things so differently. She was only fifty-two. She’d never even thought about death, but she was already dying when she was diagnosed. I watched how easily a life can slip away. How a living person becomes a memory, nothing but a ghost.” It had been a real shock to my system. I’d never confronted the idea of death before. I knew it had to happen one day, but to see the reality of it shook the entire foundation of my life.

“And it made you look again at your career and your relationship and wonder whether they were really what you wanted to do with this brief life we have?” Anna was so perceptive when she chose to express her thoughts.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“But I understand that, Ros. I wouldn’t push you into anything you weren’t comfortable with.” Anna’s tone was imploring me now. I knew she wanted me to trust her, to believe her when she said she understood. Could I trust her when I didn’t even trust myself?

“It’s not you that’s the problem here,” I told her as honestly as I could. “It’s me. And I don’t mean that in the clichéd way either. I do really like you, Anna. But I’m not in a place where I can do this right now.” She deserved the truth. My words were the closest approximation of what that truth was I could manage.

“I think you underestimate yourself, Ros,” Anna replied. I could tell she was beginning to see how resolute I was. The compassion in her eyes was turning to something that looked a lot like pain. My lack of ability to trust her, to believe her assurances and her faith in me, was hurting her. After the clear effort it cost her to speak the words to explain her feelings she deserved more. I hated myself for causing her pain but knew I had no other option. I needed more time before I entered any sort of relationship. Being with Anna promised so much, but if I was not ready, it would be pointless and cause us both even more heartache. I had to find my own path, and be sure it was safe, before I invited someone to walk with me.

  “You might be right,” I acknowledged. “But really whether I’m underestimating myself or not, the point is I don’t know myself well enough at the moment to give you what you need.”

“You don’t know what I need,” Anna said firmly. “If that’s all that’s the problem—”

“It’s not all. I don’t know what I need either.” I said this more firmly, knowing she was still missing the point and determined she would understand me now. “You’re very kind Anna, but I’m in a place where I don’t know how I feel about my future, I even can’t bring myself to contact my baby sister because she intimidates me with her competence, and I’m not sure what sort of relationship I want to be in with anyone. I don’t know myself. How can I let you know me when I’m not sure who I am? Please understand that it’s not about you at all. But right now I cannot give you everything you deserve.” My tone was emphatic, and she winced slightly as I concluded.

“I didn’t mean to pressure you, Ros,” she said, half apologetic and half indignant. “And I’m not stupid. I understand what you’re saying, I’m just trying to tell you that I don’t see it as a problem for us to give it a go and— ”

“And nothing Anna.” My exasperation was with myself, not her, and I hastened to soften my words. “I can’t. Not right now. I wish I could tell you something different.”

Anna considered me thoughtfully for a moment, clearly slightly taken aback by my bluntness. I was half in love with her already, ludicrous though that was when I’d only barely seen beyond the surface. That in itself was proof of my vulnerable emotional state and a very good reason for me to stay firm to my resolution. My emotions would only grow stronger if I confided in her further and gave her a chance to reassure me.

More doubts began to trouble me. How did I even know for sure her reassurances were genuine? My heart longed to believe her, but my mind reminded me we’d just slept together. She could hardly run a mile from whatever I told her now without looking heartless herself. I didn’t know her well enough to know what she was really thinking. Why on earth did it seem to be such an effort to tell me how she was feeling? Until I knew her better I couldn’t allow myself to be drawn in.

Besides, even if every word she uttered was entirely honest, I needed more time, I needed more hours alone to find my way again, without the complication of falling for someone I barely knew, especially someone I already liked as much as I did Anna. Too much, too soon. I had to end this. For both of us. Now.

I forced myself away from her and got to my feet. “Look, Anna, you’re very kind. After last night, I don’t have to tell you the way I feel about you. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why it’s best you just leave now.”

Anna rose to her feet to stand next to me. I could see she was about to protest. When she reached out her hand for my arm, in one of the hardest movements of my life, I stepped away from her. “No, please. I can’t, Anna. Know that I want to, please know that. But I really can’t.”

Her eyes were keen on my face, and I saw the moment she comprehended my decision was final. Realisation was followed by something between disappointment and resentment. She was hurt I didn’t trust her, I could see it plainly.

“Okay. I can’t force anything, and I respect your choice, Ros. I clearly can’t convince you differently.” She reached for her coat and put it on. Her face had become a mask again, and her tone gave nothing away beyond a vague regret. I wanted to tear the mask away again but knew I could not. She wrapped her scarf around her neck. I watched her with misery quivering inside me, forcing myself not to reveal it to her. She turned towards the door. “Last night was pretty perfect for me too, Ros. I really thought there could be something good between us. I suppose I was mistaken, I’m sorry. I’ll call you about Winter after the New Year.”

 “Thank you,” I said, unable to look her in the eye. She let herself out of the door. I didn’t breathe again until I heard her car pull away. I sank to my knees in the middle of the hallway and sobbed until I’d made my throat raw and my eyes swollen. Anna had shown me a possible path into the immediate future, some real solid happiness. But I knew all too well the dangers of thinking I was on a sure and certain path. It could all change in a painfully short amount of time. What Anna offered was wonderful, but it would be built on a shifting and weak foundation. I couldn’t take the chance with my emotional well-being. Given time, I could contemplate a relationship again. There would be other attractive women, when I was stronger. Now, gazing through blurred vision at the wilting mistletoe and half-eaten box of chocolates, I just had to reconcile myself to my sensible decision.