In Bed with Her Ex. Nina Harrington

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      Then Cassie took over, calling up photographs of Marcel that went back several years. Few of them were close-ups. Most had been taken at a distance, as though he was a reluctant subject who could only be caught by chance.

      But then she came across a picture that made her grow tense. The date showed that it had been taken nine years ago, yet the change in him was already there. Shocked, she realised that the sternness in his face, the heaviness in his attitude, had settled over him within a year of their separation. This was what misery had done to him.

      She reached out and touched the screen as though trying to reach him, turn time back and restore him to the vibrant, loving boy he’d once been. But that could never happen. She snatched her hand back, reminding herself how much of the tragedy was his own fault for concealing the truth. She must cling to that thought or go mad.

      She came offline. But, as if driven by some will of their own, her fingers lingered over the keys, bringing up another picture, kept in a secret file. There they were, Cassie and Marcel, locked in each other’s embrace. She had many such shots, taken on a delayed release camera borrowed from a photographer friend.

      ‘I want lots of pictures,’ she’d told Marcel, ‘then we’ll always have them to remember this time when we were so happy.’

      ‘I won’t need help to remember you,’ he’d told her fervently. ‘You’ll always live in my heart and my memory as you are now, my beautiful Cassie. When I’m old and grey you’ll still be there with me, always—always—’

      Gently he’d removed her clothes.

      ‘This is my one chance to have a picture of you naked, because I couldn’t bear to have any other photographer take them. Nobody else must ever see you like this—only me. Promise me.’

      ‘I promise.’

      ‘Swear it. Swear by Cupid and his bow.’

      ‘I swear by Cupid, his bow and all his arrows.’

      As she spoke she was undressing him until they were both naked, and he took her into his arms, turning her towards the clicking camera so that her magnificent breasts could be seen in all their glory.

      ‘This is how I’ll always see you,’ he murmured. ‘When we’re old and grey, I’ll show you these to remind you that in my heart this is what you really look like.’

      ‘You’ll have forgotten me by then,’ she teased.

      To her surprise, he’d made a sound of anger. ‘Why do you say things like that? Don’t you know that we must always be together because I will never let you go?’

      ‘I don’t want you to let me go.’

      But he hardly seemed to hear her.

      ‘Why can’t you understand how serious I am? There is only you. There will only ever be you. I’ll never let you go, Cassie. Even if there were miles between us I would still be there, holding onto you, refusing to let you forget me. You might try to escape but you won’t be able to.’

      What mysterious insight had made him utter those words, so strangely prophetic of what was to come? Miles and years had stretched between them, yet always he’d been there as he’d promised—or was it threatened?—always on the edge of her consciousness until the day he’d appeared again to reclaim her.

      There it was again, the tormenting question. Had he recognised her, or had she only imagined that he’d called her Cassie?

      And his remark that the decision had already been taken, had she not simply read too much into it? Was she hearing what she wanted to hear?

      But there was more. Just before she’d left him that morning there had been another clue, if only she could remember what it was. She’d barely noticed at the time, but now she realised that his words had been significant. If only—

      Frantically she wracked her memory. It was connected with the cellphone number—something he’d said—something—something—

      ‘What?’ she cried out. ‘What was it?’

      She dropped her head, resting it on one hand while she slammed the other hand on the table again and again with increasing desperation.

      A few miles away someone else was conjuring up pictures online. The one word, ‘Cassie’ brought her before him in a website that analysed the careers of models who were no longer around.

       For two years she rode high and could have ridden higher still, but suddenly she gave up modelling and disappeared from sight. After that she was occasionally seen in luxurious surroundings, places where only rich men gather. And always she seemed weighed down with diamonds.

      Why hadn’t he seen it happening? Her choice of himself over wealthy admirers had made him love her a million times more, but it had always been too good to be true. It was a game she’d played, until she’d succumbed to the lure of serious money. While he’d thought he was her true love, he’d been no more than her plaything.

      He should have known when she’d failed to visit him in the hospital. He’d lain there in pain and anguish, certain that she would be here at any moment. Every time the door opened he’d tensed with longing, which was always crushed.

      He’d clung to the fragile hope that she didn’t know what had happened to him. If only he could reach her, all would be well. But her cellphone was switched off. When he’d called her apartment the phone rang and rang, but was never answered.

      He’d known then, known with such certainty that he’d torn up the letter she’d sent him without even opening it. Who needed to read her miserable excuses?

      He’d seen her just once more, the day he’d left for Paris. There she’d been at the airport with her new lover, as he went into the departure lounge.

      ‘You!’ he’d spat. ‘The last person I ever want to see.’

      She’d held out her arms, crying frantically, ‘Marcel, you don’t understand—please—please—’

      ‘I loved you,’ he raged. ‘I trusted you—now I can’t bear the sight of you!’

      ‘Marcel—’

      ‘Get out of my sight! Whore!’

      He’d turned and ran from her. He remembered that afterwards with self-disgust. It was he who had run, not her. But there would be no running now. The time had come.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      WHEN she rose next morning her mind was firm and decided. Today she would start working for Marcel, getting close to the man he’d become, watching to see where the path led. And, wherever it led, she was ready to explore.

      Now she was glad that his younger ghost haunted her. Far from trying to banish that spectre, she would enlist him onside and make use of his insights to confront the present man.

      She made coffee and toast and sat eating it by the СКАЧАТЬ