by Aitana Moore
“What do we know?” Lee wondered. "We do our best, and we make mistakes."
“Perhaps.” He turned sideways to face her. “What I wanted to say is that this isn’t a mistake.”
“What isn’t?”
She could tell that it was difficult for him to put his thoughts into words, but he tried. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more horror or more relief than when I saw your hand come out of that mound of earth.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “The day I saw you in that hotel in London, it broke my heart that you thought you had to go through life alone. I only had to see you like that once to feel more for you than I’ve ever been able to feel for Mia.”
“James, you don’t know me …”
"I want to know you. I want you with me.”
The time to tell him is now. Tell him. Beg his forgiveness.
No, I can’t tell him now. Not after what he has just gone through. All the certainties of his life are gone.
When he pulled her close to him, there was his warmth, the pulse in his throat beating against her cheek, his strength. The feeling of unreality was gone because he was there.
She had a choice to make.
“I want to stay,” Lee said in a whisper.
“Good.”
THIRTY-THREE
The worst wasn’t over. The worst was telling Caitlin, and James went on his own to Oxford the very next morning, hoping that Caitlin wouldn’t read the story online or in a newspaper before he got there. Lee insisted that he travel without her, as the siblings would need their privacy. He stayed away for two days.
On Tuesday she woke up to find his car outside and went in search of him. He was at the cliff, still brooding as he stared down. He might never stop believing that he had set off the events that had killed Mia and made a murderer of his aunt.
“How is Caitlin?” Lee asked as she reached him.
James shrugged. The girl must be wearing the same white, haunted look that was on his face, and she would probably take a while to fully process what had happened.
“When I was little, Aunt Im used to come to the house just to see me,” he said. “Just to hug me, kiss me and sit in my room. I heard stories about good fairies, and I always pictured her. Even when I grew up, it was always her face I associated with kindness.”
“She is kind. She lost her head, James.”
“Yes, and I should know a bit about that. Too bad she lost it over a piece of scum.”
“Will you not go see her?”
“Caitlin is going. I said I needed some time and she understood. She thinks it’s because of Mia, and in part it is, but …” He looked at her. “I know how much it will hurt to see my aunt in prison. She doesn’t belong there.”
“No, she doesn’t. Sometimes it’s just the work of a second, isn’t it? Just seeing red.”
She shouldn’t sound as if she knew what she was talking about, but he didn’t seem to notice this time. He cradled her face between his hands. “How are you?”
“I’m all right.”
“Promise?”
She had managed to stave off the trauma of being buried alive. It would probably come to haunt her later, when there was less to deal with. Either that or she was a little too used to horror.
But Imogen's words and her sad, defeated face played in Lee's head like a film stuck in a loop. After a while we pretend to believe each other’s lies, and then we hide each other’s crimes.
Could the crazy feeling that made her long for James even when he was next to her turn into something with deep roots — something that would last and not be ugly?
How could it? James had just found out that his wife, aunt and uncle had all lied to him. He had grown to care for Lee, and she had lied every day for weeks.
There wasn’t a good choice anymore. Lee had to pick the whirlpool or the rock: which one gave her the best chance of survival? Because she had to survive, as she had always done.
Ten days after the events at Rosemount, they had returned to a semblance of normal life. The hours went by full of needs, worries and pleasures, and the evenings were still warm and beautiful in August. It seemed like a good idea to go listen to a famous actress read poetry at the ruins of an abbey nearby.
“Summer is almost over,” James said as they lay in bed. “The days will get shorter.”
“It’s not over yet,” Lee said, trying to hold on to what was slipping away, a minute at a time.
“I’ve never liked September,” he said, caressing her back. “It always feels like a time for serious decisions.”
He would have to decide whether he wanted to help Imogen and Robert’s defense, for one, by paying for their legal expenses. The paparazzi were already after him and Caitlin, and his life would once more become a circus.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply.
If she were truly Vivien, she would stand by his side, under the savage scrutiny of the press.
How long would it be before some nosy journalist dug up her fake identity? How long before her photograph was reproduced so often that a mark from her past recognized her?
As he got into the shower, James didn’t sing as he sometimes did. He was sad, and Lee would have done anything to take his sorrow away, but she could only add to it. How long would it be before he found out that she had infiltrated his home under false pretenses?
It would be better if he found out from her, but she could never sit there and tell him her whole story, watching disgust replace tenderness. It would be impossible for her to get the words out, one after the other, that made up a tale of deceit and greed.
The only thing that might save her was his anger.
Lee got up and went into the dressing room, taking a cloth bag from a drawer. The corridor was empty; none of the staff would be on the second floor in the evening. She ran to his safe on silent feet and opened it.
The diamonds were there, strewn in confusion, but Mia’s note was gone when she lifted the tray. Had James destroyed it, knowing now that it was a note of betrayal, not of suicide?
It was the note of a woman who hadn’t been worth his consideration or his forbearance — perhaps not even for a moment.
Lee took the tray and tipped the diamonds inside the cloth bag. She wasn’t careful about how she replaced it. If James opened the safe, he would immediately see that the jewels were gone. She locked the safe again.
The cloth hung from a string, bumping against her calf as she walked back to the room. It felt light, considering there were approximately twenty million dollars inside it. She couldn’t have taken only the ring; James might not notice it was gone, if he opened the safe that day. She had to take everything.
He stuck his head out of the bathroom, his hair and face wet.
“Did you get hungry?” he asked.
“No.”
Standing in a T-shirt, Lee held the bag in plain sight. He gave it a cursory glance before he said, “Don’t spoil your appetite. I’m taking you somewhere nice for dinner.”
“I won’t.”
James turned back inside, and Lee walked through the hot steam from the bathroom and on to the dressing room. If he heard her opening the suitcase, he might ask what she was doing. If he saw it, he might ask her if she was planning to leave again.
She opened the case and threw the cloth inside.
There was no excitement; she wasn’t even afraid.
She wasn’t afraid when she walked downstairs and he kissed her. He liked her red dress and smiled at the diamond brooch on her shoulder.
“Your hair smells so good,” he said, his lips against her head.
They drove for an hour with the top of the car down, and still Lee’s mind dwelt on details. She found herself calculating how long the light would last. She wondered where they would eat. She wondered what poems the actress would read, and whether she would know them.
She didn’t think about the fact that she had no exit strategy; that she didn’t even know where she would go when she left
Deerholt; that Quinn knew nothing of what she was doing and would be appalled; that she shouldn’t involve him.
She thought instead of the gray of James’ suit — it was dove gray — and of how white the cuffs of his shirt looked. She thought of his dark hair, blowing in the wind, of the line of his cheek, always of his hands.
On the radio Ella Fitzgerald began to sing,
Come to me, my melancholy baby
Cuddle up and don’t be blue…
James turned with a smile, and his smile was like a spear through her neck, making her unable to speak. He sang along with Ella, and Lee looked out at the countryside flying by, so green.
A darkness was coming, as if a soft hood were being pulled over her head by an executioner. James wasn’t going to notice what she had done. He wasn’t going to stop her, scream at her, demand the truth. He wasn’t going to forgive her, because he didn’t know he needed to.
He had survived a bad childhood, like she had, and had fought to become a decent man rather than the botched product of others’ neglect. She hadn’t done as well.
He was looking for the absolute, not for the worthless.
The old abbey appeared in the distance, standing on a green knoll, and Lee knew there was nothing she could do to make him understand he needed to stop her. They would sit at the reading and then at dinner. They would go home and make love again, and he wouldn’t ask her anything. He wouldn’t open the safe.
She would dissolve sleeping pills in a glass of water, hand it to him and he would drink it — although he knew she had drugged him before.
James would do all that because he trusted her. Her hand shot up for a moment, ready to grab his arm. She would ask him to stop there, on the side of the road, and with the bright sun of evening on her face she would confess.
But he misunderstood the gesture and took her hand, and she didn’t say anything. She would rather die than see the revulsion in his eyes.
After a while we pretend to believe each other’s lies, and we hide each other’s crimes.
Would he hide hers? Did she have the right to expect it of him?
Three of the walls of the old abbey still stood, but the high curved arches held no roof. As they parked and walked through the door, Lee thought of people in the Middle Ages, building churches they hoped would reach the sky — as if they could bridge the distance between themselves and heaven.
There were candles everywhere, and chairs had been placed in a semi-circle around a slab of stone that was once the altar, although time had eroded it.
How sweet it was that James’ hand should be on the small of her back, his body close to hers, as he led her to their place. It was so sweet, so sweet.
They sat down on the second row of chairs, and when James kissed the corner of her lips, as if no one else were there, she wanted to cry. She didn’t cry easily, unless she had the mean old blues.
It was a keen pain to have him next to her and know it was only for a few more hours. Yet Lee seemed serene as the famous actress took her place behind the microphone at the altar. The audience clapped with enthusiasm until the actress nodded, asking for silence, and began to read in a melodious, trained voice. Lee held James’ hand. It was the last little bit she would have of him.
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear
James, I’m not worth possessing. You are, and that’s why I can’t have you.
…Gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.
Lee could do this for James: steal from him, run away and make him angry. She would make him hate her, and eventually she would just be the half-forgotten thief who had been there to make things worse when he had discovered terrible things about his family.
Wasn’t it best to have all the pain at once?
The actress began another poem; it was also by Sara Teasdale. How funny to listen to a sad poet from Missouri in an old English abbey.
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea …
James listened closely, his eyes on the ground, until he raised them.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright
His eyes were sharp. Did he know that she was going to run?
There was still a chance that he would force everything out into the open. There was still a chance.
Would he ask her: What’s the matter?
If he asked, would she lie?
James, I am so scared of staying. I’ve never been so scared of anything.
Why, Vivien?
My name isn’t Vivien …
The actress went on, captive to the drama of the words and oblivious to theirs,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
We hope you’ve enjoyed Broken Waves.
James’ anger will ignite the plot of Lives Undone, Book 2 in the Deadly Lies trilogy, as they have to face more danger and mystery — and as he realizes he will do anything to keep Lee safe from her own worst impulses…
Here’s what readers are saying about Lives Undone:
“To say I liked the story would be an understatement. What a breathtaking experience to be Lee and James. Just when I thought I had it figured out, it would change direction ...”
“Ms. Moore makes me feel things with every word like I'm experiencing them for real.”
“I read a lot of books, and this has gone up to the top of my list!”
***
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Other books by the same author:
Historical romance as Lara Blunte:
The Last Earl
The Abyss
True Born
To Be King
(Winner of the Wattys 2015)
Contemporary romance as Lara Blunte:
A Man in Africa
