“This is like a dream – I keep thinking that I will wake up at any moment.”
“I don't want you to go to sleep just yet,” he whispered as he pulled her into his arms. “Venice is the perfect place for lovers.”
What did he say? Lovers? Was he mocking her? It was a very misleading word to use because this trip had nothing to do with love. How many of his lovers had been here with him before?
But Sarah soon forgot the nagging thought when Carlos began to undress her, sliding the ultra soft silk lingerie away from her body as his lips found her breast.
For the next three days they did everything that tourists do when in Venice. Coffee in the Piazza San Marco, exploring the hidden churches and lively markets. They would hop on and off the water taxis; and Carlos insisted they get up early and walk the traffic-free alleys in the early morning mist. When they weren't exploring the romance capital of the world they were having sex – amazing sex which was made all the more urgent by the sense that it would soon be over. And that sense of ending was reinforced on the final day when Carlos wanted to buy her a beautiful black, leather coat.
“I don't want the coat. It is so expensive and it just makes me feel like I am a bought commodity,” Sarah had complained.
Carlos paused and stared at her in disbelief. “You won't succeed in trying to make me feel bad.” He drawled. “I warn you, don't try and lay a guilt trip on me. Our time together is coming to an end and I wanted to buy you a warm coat. That is all. You don't have one and there's a cold winter ahead.”
“Warn me?” Sarah's love turned to anger and then resentment. She felt like a Victorian urchin stood in threadbare clothes selling individual roses as the snow fell around her. “You know where you can stick your coat!” she screamed, as she turned and raced out of the shop without looking back.
He handed the coat back to the shop assistant and chased after her. He caught her arm, his face black as fury, as his fingers bit into the thin material of her coat. “How dare you!”
“How dare I refuse to be bought by you?”
“I mean how dare you make a scene in public,” he snapped. “I have a reputation to keep – even if you do not care much for your own.”
Sarah could feel her body trembling as she stared back at him. As she registered his words, her heart sank, as she asked herself how could she be so stupid? She was so attracted to his charm that she had assigned to him all kinds of attributes which only existed in her own mind.
To Carlos she was a commodity. She was nothing more than an adornment to his arm, a mistress in his bed for whom he paid the bills. He brought her to Venice, she provided sex on demand. That was the arrangement, the temporary arrangement, and there was no more to it than that.
He spoke of reputation, yet to Sarah, he had saved her reputation only to ruin it in another way. Yes, he had saved her from a ruinous return to the Lake District and being labelled a thief – but then he had persuaded her to become his mistress which was the opposite of all the things she held dear. Love and fidelity were her ideals and her dreams had been broken.
Sarah had paid a high price for what she had learnt. She had lost her innocence and seen her adventure in the big city become nothing but a sordid affair – the sooner she was out of there, the better because in return all she had learnt was that providing good sex to a wealthy man would see you rewarded with clothes and gifts worth thousands of pounds.
She came to wish she had let him buy the coat because it cast a cloud over the rest of their time in Venice. And in the extended moments of silence her mind kept looking forward to the moment of her departure, back to the Lake District. What would she say to him? What would he say to her? Prior to the scene in the shop she had hoped he would attempt to persuade her to stay on until spring.
But she no longer expected, not even in her wildest thoughts, to be asked to stay. The flight back home was mainly silent and this time there was no ice bucket with champagne. Sarah felt deflated as the limousine drove them back from the airport and Carlos vanished the minute they arrived home.
Home? It was nothing like home. It was a suburban mansion inhabited by a single, wealthy man who ruthlessly helped himself to anything he wanted. Probably because the only woman whom he had ever loved had dumped him for his best friend. He would never change and anyway why would he change?
Sarah soon booked her train ticket back to the Lake District and didn't bother to let him know. She just informed him that she would be on the train the following morning.
“You're going so soon?”
Sarah had difficulty getting the words out. “Yes. I think it's best that I go soon, don't you?”
He observed her eyes, and eventually agreed by nodding. “Perhaps. Please take my car, there is no need to go on the train.”
“Thanks for the offer,” she replied, “but I will be going by train.”
“Why?”
Sarah thought it was obvious why. Could he not see anything from her perspective? Maybe he couldn't. Perhaps the hurt was so deep, because of the betrayal, that Carlos had built bigger and bigger walls around his heart. He wasn't going to allow anybody to get inside – and because the walls were so high he didn't have a clear view of the outside world.
“I live in a small village,” she began. “If I turn up in a chauffeur driven limousine I will be the talk of Keswick for months, maybe even years.”
Carlos felt a tiny stab of guilt and a touch of sadness as he noticed the paleness in her cheeks and the darker shadowing of her soft skin underneath her eyes. At this moment he realised something had changed. He was regretting the bitter exchange they had in the shop in Venice, though maybe it had been inevitable. He had planned for a smooth, sophisticated goodbye but had realised some time ago that was probably wishful thinking – he suspected that Sarah was reading more into their relationship than was intended.
So instead, he planned to give her one last night to remember. A night she could look back on and reminisce at how great it had been. She would remember Carlos and everything he had shown her – and her future husband would appreciate Sarah for being an exemplary lover.
“Then you will go by train. But right now my dear, let's go upstairs. I want you so much; I want to make love to you right now.”
“But it's only six o'clock, and Elaine will be preparing dinner.”
“Elaine has the evening off, because I wanted you on your own,” he growled.
Sarah could feel the turmoil inside. Her pride was saying no, but her pride was losing to desire. She found herself sliding her arms around his neck, lifted her face to his and in her heart she forgave him. It wasn't as if he had broken any promises. He'd never given her false hope and for that she should surely commend him. Her heart may be wounded, but that could only be her own fault for not having heeded his words.
“Then let's go up, now,” she whispered.
The last night with Carlos was both sublime and painful. Sarah mentally labelled everything as 'the last time' which made everything sad – and probably why the sex seemed more urgent and intense. From the moment dawn broke, time seemed to pass unbearably quickly as the night was now definitely over and this was the day of her departure. The last time I will see him asleep, she thought. The last time I will lay here listening to his breath. Never again will I wake to his kiss or feel his limbs entwined with mine. She thought briefly about her future and how one day she would make love with another man, but that man wouldn't be Carlos.
She barely touched breakfast and soon enough it was time to leave. Carlos kissed her for the final time and she got into the car with her solitary suitcase. She had insisted that all the clothes he had bought her should go to the charity shop – and he had looked at her in fury demanding to know why. Fighting back the tears she told him she couldn't possibly wear them back home. How could she explain thousands of pounds worth of clothing on a shop assistants wages?
Before he closed the car door, Carlos leaned in and gave Sarah a purple box with a yellow ribb
on tied round it.
“What's this?” she whispered, staring down at the box.
“It's just a small gift,” he smiled in a gentle mocking way. “It is Christmas, and that is my Christmas gift for you.”
“But I didn't get you anything.”
He looked her straight in the eye as he felt a mixture of desire and guilt wash over him, thinking she had given him the greatest gift of all – her innocence. “You've been the best Christmas present I can remember, Sarah,” he whispered. “Now don't open your present until Christmas Day.”
The limousine pulled down the driveway and Sarah's hand tightened around the box – she was subconsciously treasuring his final gift. It was only after they had pulled onto the road that she allowed the tears to fall.
Chapter 7
Christmas morning couldn't come soon enough for Sarah, she was so eager to open Carlos's present. If she felt as though her heart had been squeezed tightly and left all bruised and hurt, then clutching the little purple box went some way to comforting her pain.
She felt as though she was acting when she greeted her mother with a giant sized hug. Could her mother tell this was a different person who had returned? And as they decorated their old silver Christmas tree, she felt like an impostor. The real Sarah, she thought, had been left behind in the heavenly bliss of her lover's embrace.
Life continued in the same way it always had and Sarah tried her best to fit into the Christmas spirit. On Christmas Eve she went to the pub, Gareth was there. In fact there were many people there who she knew, yet she had a strange sensation that she no longer belonged there. It was as if Carlos had up-rooted her from her natural habitat then let her go – so she no longer felt a part of anywhere.
“No lover boy, tonight?” mocked Gareth. “Or will he be dropping in on his helicopter for a quick drink?”
Sarah put on her bravest face and just hoped it was enough. “No. We're finished, Gareth. I told you it was a temporary arrangement, that's just how it was.”
“And are you okay?” Gareth could sense that she wasn't but also knew how to be a friend and not push it.
“Yes, absolutely fine.”
That night as Sarah climbed into bed she could hear the midnight bells chiming around the village and the ever present roar of the wind racing through the valley. She could wait no longer, so she untied the yellow ribbon from the purple box and opened it. She removed the lid, causing her eyes to open wide and her fingers to fly to her lips, as she looked inside.
Sitting on the dark luxury velvet was a solitary, bright diamond the size of a small pea. The dimness in the room was still enough for the diamond to capture and sparkle the light back at her in a cascade of rainbow colours. She lifted it out-of-the-box and discovered it was set on a fine platinum chain. In a rush of excitement she leapt out of bed and sat before the mirror, so she could put it around her neck and admire her gift. But as she sat there staring at the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, her heart began to sink, realising she would never be able to wear it in public. Even to an uneducated observer, this was high quality jewellery. She would never be able to pass it off as a fake. So, on Christmas Day she wore it under a turtle-neck sweater and the cold stone dangling against her skin was a constant reminder of her time with Carlos.
The New Year arrived and Sarah found herself back at work in the tiny shop which seemed even smaller after her time in Manchester. Her normal enthusiasm was difficult to conjure up – more so when Anita, her boss, was keen to discuss her time in Manchester and her work at Puxley's. Sarah, of course, wasn't so keen on reliving her time away
. “Did you enjoy working there?” Anita questioned. “And did you enjoy Manchester generally?”
“Oh, it was great.” Sarah spoke truthfully. It had been great, but it wasn't so great for her having to carry around the memories of her time in Manchester. And imagine if Anita was aware of the truth – that she had been accused of theft and then sacked; all because she'd met a man with black seductive eyes and allowed her concentration to fly out of the window.
And it wasn't as if the shame of losing her job had any significance to her. The sharp, searing loss which haunted her every moment was caused by the pain she felt at missing Carlos. Her only comfort was to tell herself that over time, she would get over losing him. It might be a while, but nobody ever died of a broken heart.
Sarah threw herself into work and volunteered to do everything, anything to keep her mind occupied. She did a full stock-check, re-dressed the shop window and cleaned every nook and cranny in the shop. Anita was delighted with the results giving praise and the promise of a pay rise in the spring. Sarah tried to keep her mind on the thought that the winter evenings were shrinking and that soon the bright yellow heads of the daffodils would be pushing their way through the cold earth.
One more irritation that had crept up on her was a queasy stomach she felt each morning as she woke up. Initially she put it down to her overindulgence during the holiday period. Wolfing down blocks of chocolate and dipping in to the huge tin of sweets that had been there since before Christmas. Her lack of appetite for normal food she blamed on missing Carlos. Denial is easy, when what you seek is comfort and safety. Blotting things out takes little effort when you don't want to face the truth.
Then one morning she was physically sick – retching quietly in the bathroom, fearful that her mother would hear her and guess at the suspicion which was growing daily in Sarah's mind.
She visited the chemist and waited until her mother was out before she dared to do a test. She persuaded herself that it had to be negative, that they had used contraception every time they had made love so it couldn't possibly be. She refused to even consider the alternative; the result just had to be negative!
But it wasn't. To Sarah's horror it was glaringly positive.
For the next few days she tried to carry on as normal as if attempting to convince herself there had been some mistake, but deep within she knew there was no mistake. And she knew she had to tell Carlos.
She had been thinking of Carlos ever since leaving him, and a small part of her had hoped he would contact her. Realising that Carlos had meant what he said made the phone call to him all the more difficult. There had been no change of heart from him and she had been sorely disappointed in her ex-lover. Not even a call on Christmas Day, no emotional message on New Year's Eve either telling her how much he missed her. If he didn't contact her on those sentimental days then she knew that he meant what he said. It was over – there was no plan for him to see her again.
Having waited for a time when her mother was out again, she couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone and call him. What if he didn't answer? She couldn't tell him in a recorded message. Then in a flash, her instinct taking over, she picked the phone up and dialled. She held the phone in her hand, not sure if she was going to put the receiver back down at any moment. Answer! Answer the phone!
“Sarah?”
The sound of his voice made her speechless as she was reminded, by a hundred different emotions, of her time with Carlos. She was hit with feelings of longing and sadness made all the more acute by the sound of wariness in his voice. A tone which made it clear to her that her call was not a welcome one. Had she been calling on the hope that she could reignite the relationship then she would have ended the conversation quickly – because it was already clear that wouldn't happen. But that was not the reason for her call. But how could she begin to tell him?
“Carlos, I need to speak with you.”
On the other end of the phone, Carlos was about to get into his car after a physical training session. As her name flashed on the screen of his phone, Carlos frowned. Why had she abandoned the pride he so admired, and rung him? What flimsy pretext had she concocted as an excuse for calling? Had she left something behind at his house? In any event he was convinced this was a ploy to get back into his life and into his bed – and if it was, he was so very tempted to indulge her taste for more, sensual adventure. He had
missed her, her warmth and beautiful body wrapped in his arms. Her intoxicating, sweet smile, greeting him when he got home each day.
“Carlos, are you there?”
His frown deepened as he noticed there was no courtesy or affection in her voice. This was not the sycophantic tone of a woman willing to abandon her pride. She wasn't using charm and sweetness in an attempt to wheedle her way back into his life – his instincts were alerted.
“You are speaking to me.” He spoke coldly.
. “I mean... I need to speak to you in person.”
“It will be difficult, I just don't have the time.” An image of her firm young body travelled through his mind. He thought of her deep blue eyes, her long flowing blonde hair and rose red lips. The temptation to agree to seeing her was there, she was such an agreeable mistress. But what would be the point of seeing her again because, for all kinds of reasons, she was not a suitable consort in the long term. A relationship with Sarah wasn't going anywhere, and maybe he needed to make that very clear.
“I have a busy schedule right now, too many games to play and business things to deal with. My time is just too tight, Sarah – I'm sure you understand.”
Sat alone in her small stone cottage, Sarah winced, regretting that she hadn't just come right out and told him her news. Because if she had told him already, she wouldn't have had to endure the cold and heartless way he had just dismissed her. And in her heart she knew that she had hoped there would be a part of him which regretted letting her go. She felt she was in a fairytale, the dream of a little girl, where she held tightly to the small hope that he might want her back in his life. But her fairytale seemed hopeless, nothing more than a foolish fantasy. Meanwhile, back in reality, she still needed to tell him.
“I'd rather not tell you on the phone.”
“Tell me what?” His words making a mockery of her words.
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