202. Love in the Dark

by Barbara Cartland

  Then, incredibly, so that for the moment she could hardly believe it, there was no one there but Fyfe, lying back in the armchair, his legs crossed and comfortably at his ease, but alone!

  So swiftly that her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground Susanna was beside him.

  “Where is – Papa ? Why is he not – with you?”

  Fyfe put out his hand and she laid her fingers in it.

  “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “Your father has gone.”

  “Gone? But – why? What did he say? Oh – Fyfe – !”

  The tears were back again in her eyes and now she knelt at his feet and put her face down against his knees.

  “It’s all right. I have told you it’s all right. It must have been horrible for you having to wait but I sent for you as soon as I could.”

  “What – happened?”

  It was almost impossible for Susanna to say the words, but he heard them.

  “I had a long talk with your father,” Fyfe replied, “and he has gone back to Florence where he will stay the night. If you want to see him, you can drive in now and talk to him. If not, he will leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Susanna raised her head from Fyfe’s knees.

  “I – don’t – understand. What did you – say to him – how did you make him go?”

  “That I am going to tell you, Susanna. But I wish you had trusted me and told me who you were.”

  “I did not – want anyone to – know. Did Papa – tell you why I – ran away?”

  “You told me,” Fyfe answered, “and your father confirmed that you were to make a brilliant Society marriage.”

  “I cannot marry the Duke or – any man who only wants me for my – money,” Susanna said in a strangled tone.

  “No, of course not,” Fyfe agreed. “It is a barbarous idea and absolutely impossible for somebody like yourself.”

  “Did you – make Papa understand that?”

  “Not exactly,” Fyfe replied. “I realised that he genuinely thought that such a marriage was for your own good and he would certainly not listen to any arguments on the subject.”

  Susanna drew in her breath.

  “That – is what I – thought. But how did he – find me?”

  “I am afraid that was my fault.”

  “Your fault?”

  “The reporters who were here emblazoned the story, apparently in the English newspapers as well as the American, that I was convalescing in Florence after my accident. They also said that I had been operated on in Moorfields Hospital and that I had stayed in London at 96 Curzon Street, which is a house that also belongs to me.”

  “I know what – happened,” Susanna said quickly. “James, who is one of our footmen, must have told Papa – that I went there.”

  Fyfe smiled.

  “That is exactly what happened. When he learned that you had visited anyone as important as Fyfe Falcon, he told your father where he had escorted you.”

  He gave a little laugh and added,

  “Your footman had heard of me, even if you had not!”

  “So Papa – followed us to Florence.”

  “Exactly. But he was quite surprised to find that you were earning your living as a reader.”

  “But is he really prepared – to let me go on doing so?” Susanna asked. “What could you have said to him to make him agree?”

  “As I understood that you wanted him to go back and leave you here, I said the only thing that would make him do so.”

  “What – was that?”

  “I said we were married!”

  For a moment Susanna felt she could not have heard him aright.

  Then, as she sat back on her heels, staring up at him, Fyfe said,

  “I was only anticipating to your father the proposition that I was going to put in front of you once I could see again.”

  “Prop – propos-ition?” Susanna repeated, stuttering over the word.

  He put out his hand, groping to find her, and then very gently touched the top of her head.

  “Do you really think I could possibly do without you?” he asked.

  “But – Fyfe – I cannot – ”

  Even as the words rose to her lips he sat forward in his chair and, putting his arms around her, pulled her against him.

  For a moment she meant to resist, but before she could even try to do so, she was close in his arms and, as she stared at him in bewilderment, his lips came down on hers.

  It was impossible to move or to think and then she knew that this was what she had longed for, yearned for and prayed for.

  This was love, the love that she had thought never to know and the kiss she had never expected to receive.

  Fyfe’s arms were very strong and it flashed through Susanna’s mind that he had captured her completely and she was no longer herself but a part of him.

  Then the wonder of his lips swept her into the ecstasy that she had known when she had imagined herself to be Venus and been one with the stars and the fireflies.

  But now it was more wonderful, more intense, Divine, yet human and she felt as if the rapture of it was so perfect that she would die from sheer happiness.

  Fyfe’s lips seemed to become more possessive, more insistent and more demanding, and Susanna knew that this was what she felt as if he was not only himself but also Lorenzo the Magnificent.

  It was as if they had found each other across centuries of time since they had last been together.

  *

  Fyfe raised his head and in a voice that did not sound in the least like her own, Susanna murmured,

  “I – love you! I love you – and I never thought you would – kiss me.”

  “I have been wanting to kiss you for a very long time,” he answered. “But, my darling, I meant to wait until I could offer you a whole man not a battered, eyeless creature who has to be led about.”

  “Do you – really love – me?”

  “I have loved you since I first heard your voice and thought that it was the most alluring and attractive sound I have ever heard in my life and, since we have been here together, I have loved you more every day.”

  “I love – you too,” she whispered, “but I never – imagined that you – could care for me.”

  Even as she spoke, she remembered all too clearly why she had thought that and her whole body cried out with agony because, when he saw the truth, he would no longer love her.

  ‘I shall have to go away before that happens,’ she told herself.

  Then because the thought of leaving him was like being told that she was to be executed, she pressed herself a little closer to him and felt his instant response as his lips sought hers again.

  “You are so soft and sweet,” he sighed, “and your mouth is exactly as I knew it would be.”

  “Did you – think about – kissing me?” Susanna whispered.

  “I have thought of little else these last few days since my bandages were taken away,” Fyfe replied. “I kept telling myself that I had to wait but, when your father told me that he intended to take you back to London with him, I just knew that I could not let you go.”

  “I could not – bear to think of – leaving you.”

  Then, as if she had only just thought of it, she asked,

  “Was Papa very – angry?”

  “I think he was more surprised than anything else,” Fyfe replied.

  “First that we should have met each other and then that I should have wanted to marry you not knowing who you were.”

  Susanna held her breath.

  Supposing her father had said how plain she was and how unattractive? But he had apparently not done so because Fyfe went on,

  “I could hardly tell him it was love at first sight when I was unable to see, but I told him that we had fallen in love with each other in a manner that made us absolutely convinced that the only sensible thing to do was to get married.”

  “Did Papa ask – where we were – married?”

  “As a matter
of fact he did not. He was too surprised that it had happened to ask many questions. He suggested, however, that all formalities regarding your fortune should be left in the hands of our Solicitors.”

  Before Susanna could speak he laughed.

  “At least your father could not accuse me of being a fortune-hunter!”

  “I think Papa must have been – impressed that – you are who – you are.”

  “Perhaps his surprise at our marriage was due to the fact that he had heard I was a confirmed bachelor.”

  Again Susanna held her breath.

  She knew exactly what her father had felt – surprise that Fyfe, who was so well known and handsome, should have wanted to marry anyone as plain and unattractive as herself.

  ‘Why did I not tell him from the very beginning?’ she asked herself, but knew that it was too late now to have regrets.

  Because she had a sudden terror that he might at any moment be able to see her and realise what sort of woman he had committed himself to, she whispered,

  “Please kiss me – kiss me and tell me you – love me.”

  It was all she would have to remember, she thought, but at least it was better than nothing.

  “I love you, my golden-voiced darling,” Fyfe said very tenderly. “I love your voice, your sharp, fascinating little brain and, when my bandages are off, I shall love your face.”

  He did not wait for her answer, but his lips held hers captive and she knew as he kissed her and felt the ecstasy and the wonder of it envelop her like a shining light that any pain and agony in the future was worth this wild unearthly happiness.

  ‘1 love – you! I love – you!’ she cried in her heart and felt that her love joined with his and carried them both into a cloudless sky.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I pack ze trunks, signorina,” Francesca said in broken English, which she wished to learn, as she arranged Susanna’s hair.

  “Thank you,” Susanna murmured.

  “Verry upsettin’ if ze Signorina leave. What ze Signor do?”

  Francesca received no reply, which did not surprise her as Susanna was reading.

  Some books had arrived by the noon post and she was quickly turning the pages to find something that would amuse Fyfe and spark off one of their spirited arguments.

  “What I am wonderin’, signorina,” Francesca continued, reverting to her warm eloquent Italian, “is what you will wear if you do travel.”

  Susanna caught the last words.

  “Travel? Oh, in the gown I arrived in,” she answered quickly and returned to her book.

  “But, signorina, I have not yet altered that gown,” Francesca exclaimed. “It is impossible, quite impossible, to do so quickly.”

  Then she realised that everything she said was falling on deaf ears and merely went on muttering to herself as she hurried to the wardrobe to choose a gown for Susanna to wear to go into Florence with Mr. Chambers.

  Because she had so little time to read and wanted so desperately to entertain and keep Fyfe amused, almost as soon as Susanna had arrived at the Villa and found what a competent maid Francesca was, she had evolved a routine.

  It gave her the only possible opportunity for what she called ‘her research’.

  As soon as she went to bed, she read until everything was quiet and she thought it safe to creep across the garden to the swimming pool.

  When she returned, she was usually so sleepy or else caught up into an ecstasy of happiness, which she could not break, that she went straight to sleep.

  Then she would wake early and lie reading until Francesca called her. When she rose from her bed, she put herself completely in the hands of the skilful dark-eyed maid.

  It was Francesca who arranged her hair, helped her first into her underclothes and petticoats and then chose a gown for her from the wardrobe.

  Still reading Susanna would put out one arm or raise one leg to step into her gown and, when Francesca had finished with her, without even glancing in a mirror she would go from the bedroom to the verandah where Mr. Chambers would join her at breakfast,

  It would actually have not been very helpful had she looked in a mirror because as the Villa had been decorated by a man there were extremely few mirrors and what there were, were very ancient and the glass, in most of them, had become distorted and yellowed with age.

  Even at home Susanna looked in a mirror as seldom as possible and she wanted, while she was at the Villa, to forget her appearance completely.

  She wanted to go on thinking of herself as the Venus she pretended to be when she was in the swimming pool and because everything around her was so beautiful she could not bear to see herself fat and plain and so spoiling it all.

  She read now as she walked along the passage and only when she reached the hall where Mr. Chambers was waiting for her did she put the book down on a table and take the sunshade from him that he held out for her.

  “It’s very hot today,” he said in answer to the question in her eyes, “and you will need it if you don’t wear a hat.”

  “I hate hats, as you know,” Susanna replied, “and I love the feel of the sun on my head.”

  “But you must not burn yourself.”

  “Is Fyfe – asleep?”

  She had hoped that she could have kissed him goodbye, even though they would be in Florence only for a few hours.

  “Clint has put him to rest and I think he would be very angry if you disturbed him.”

  Susanna gave a little sigh.

  It was an agony, she thought, to be away from Fyfe even for a few minutes let alone half the afternoon.

  When she had gone into him this morning feeling that it was hard to believe that she had been dreaming yesterday when he said he loved her, he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her until the whole room spun around her and everything she had wanted to say was forgotten.

  She could only whisper, as she had done before,

  “I love – you!”

  “And I love you, my darling,” Fyfe said. “Last night I lay awake for a long time thinking that I am the luckiest man in the world.”

  “You are so wonderful – so magnificent.”

  He gave a little laugh.

  “Am I really reaching the heights of Lorenzo? I thought that adjective applied only to him.”

  “That is what you are – and so much more,” Susanna said passionately.

  He kissed her again and then said,

  “Clint has been angry with me for getting so excited about you that I did not sleep as well as I usually do.”

  “Oh – I am sorry! And I could not sleep either – thinking that I must have been dreaming.”

  “I will make you believe it is no dream unless I am dreaming too,” Fyfe in his deep voice.

  “You must rest,” Susanna said quickly, “and you are not to get overexcited.”

  “I am over excited,” he said. “How could I be anything else when I can touch you and kiss you as I have wanted to do for so long?”

  His words made Susanna feel as if she were walking on clouds of glory, but she said,

  “We must be sensible until you are really well, Fyfe, I could not bear that you should be ill again now when you have seemed so fit in every way.”

  “I promise you,” he replied, “that I will try to sleep this afternoon.”

  Susanna felt a little stab of regret because she could not be with him, but she said softly,

  “That is wise and I will not disturb you.”

  “You do that whenever I think of you,” Fyfe said with a smile.

  Because she loved him so overwhelmingly Susanna slipped her hand into his as she said,

  “You must go to sleep – but please can – I stay with you – until then?”

  It was as if she was a child, and he lifted her fingers to his lips before he answered her,

  “I can assure you that I have no wish to be away from you even for five minutes, but because it would be difficult for me not to send for you if you are in the Villa
, I want you to go into Florence with Chambers and see some of the treasures of the City.”

  He paused before he added,

  “I feel very neglectful as a host that you have not seen San Lorenzo, San Marco, Giotto’s Campanile, the Palazzo Vecchio or the Bargello.”

  Susanna gave a cry.

  “Stop! Stop! If I see all those, I shall be away from you for weeks!”

  “I was only teasing, but you must see Michaelangelo’s David and Cellini’s Terseus so that you can tell me if you find them more attractive than Lorenzo and, of course, me!”

  “You know the answer to that already,” Susanna replied.

  “And while you are there you had better have just one quick look at Botticelli’s Venus and Lippi’s Madonna before I am in a position to tell you which you resemble.”

  Susanna stiffened.

  “Do you – know when the doctors are – going to take off – your bandages?”

  It was difficult to say the words and they came hesitatingly from her lips.

  To her relief Fyfe shrugged his shoulders.

  “I told Chambers to find out when they intend to do so,” he replied. “He thinks it might be in several days or perhaps another week.”

  Susanna felt the relief sweep over her.

  She had not to leave him just yet.

  She could still see him and talk to him, he would kiss her and she could live for a little longer in the special Heaven that seemed to envelop them both with a blinding light.

  Because she could not help herself, she moved a little nearer to him asking,

  “Tell me exactly how – soon I can come back from – Florence and be with you again.”

  “Shall we say five o’clock?” he answered.

  “So long?” Susanna exclaimed.

  “I find it very difficult to argue with Clint when he is bullying me into taking care of myself,” Fyfe smiled. “He always has very convincing arguments as to why I should do what he wants. Today it is because I must be well for you.”

  “In that case,” Susanna said in a small voice, “Clint is – right. Of course I love you too much to do anything – to make you ill.”

  She spoke as if she was convincing herself, knowing despairingly that once Fyfe was really well she would never see him again.

  ‘When he can see,’ she thought, ‘I will still be in his mind as he imagined me, like Simonette Vespucci or Lucretia Buti and he will never, never know what Susanna Laven was like in reality.”