Page 63 of The Last Kiss

Harry touched his cap as they drove past. Olive Allen would be Ash’s future, he realised. Her, or someone like her. That had been inevitable from the start and he’d been a fool to forget it, whatever wild dreams Ash might have harboured.

Boyd was right, he had to leave. Walk away. Their parting had been fated from the moment their lips met and they’d both known it, even if they’d chosen to pretend otherwise.

He pulled his arm out of Boyd’s grip and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Alright,” he said, turning his back on the man he loved and facing the long road leading him away. “I’m going.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

How long Ash lay on his bed, mired in misery, he didn’t know. But that was how Olive found him later that morning.

Her brusque knock, followed immediately by the opening of his bedroom door, didn’t even give him time to sit up, let alone make himself respectable for a lady’s company. He just stared at her and Olive stared back, closing the door behind her with a soft click and leaning against it as if barricading them both inside.

“Well,” she said, after a moment of close scrutiny. “Sir Arthur said you were indisposed, but... Whatever’s wrong, Ashleigh? You look awful.”

He sat up, acutely aware of his bare chest. Olive seemed indifferent to his state of undress and he supposed she’d seen worse. “I — ” But what could he say?I’ve lost the man I love. I’ll never see him again. I’m heartbroken. His throat thickened around the unutterable words, unmanly tears choking him. “I c-c-can’t...”

Olive crossed the room in two swift steps, snatched his pyjama top from the chair by the window and draped it around his shoulders. “Put that on,” she said briskly, and he obeyed the order like a good soldier. Her hand went to his forehead. Then she sat next to him on the bed and took his arm, turning it over to press two fingers to his wrist. “No fever, but your pulse is racing. Do you feel ill?”

He shook his head. “It’s n-n-not that.”

“Have you eaten today?” She glanced around the room, looking for evidence. “Not even a cup of tea?”

“Olive — ” He stopped, unable to continue. His truth was literally unspeakable. “You sh-sh-shouldn’t be in here. M-M-My father w-wouldn’t — ”

“Oh, hang your father,” Olive said with a belligerent tilt of her chin. “And mine too, while you’re at it. What have they to do with the price of fish?” Her expression narrowed. “I passed West on my way in. It looked like Boyd was turning him off…”

Oh God, Harry wasgone. He buried his face in his hands, breath hitching loudly in the silent room, and struggled to control his overwhelming emotions.

Eventually, after an uncomfortable silence, Olive said, “What happened? Was he stealing or — ?”

“No.” Ash jerked up, scrubbing at his blurry eyes. Is that what everyone would think? That West had been turned off for larceny? “Of course not.”

“But he…hurt you?”

He shook his head.

“You’re upset.”

“Olive — ” Hiding the truth was agony, it burned like betrayal. “I c-c-can’t explain.”

“He looked like he’d been in a scrap. Did you fight? I know you were friends, but if he struck you — ”

“We were lovers.”

His rasping confession expanded to fill the room. Silence fell, hushing the world outside until all Ash could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. He fixed his gaze on the bedspread, afraid of seeing revulsion in Olive’s eyes. But whatever she thought of him, it was a relief to speak those words aloud. Sir Arthur might force them apart, might keep them apart forever, but he couldn’t force Ash to deny Harry West. “My f-f-father discovered us together. That’s why Harry’s g-gone.”

After a long silence, Olive said, “I see.”

Ash didn’t look up, so he felt rather than saw her rise and walk to the door. Well, it was no surprise. Any young lady would be shocked by such an admission, even one as forthright as Olive. But he risked a hesitant glance when he heard her open the door and request a tray of tea from the maid. She returned his look with a strained smile. “Do up your buttons,” she said, nodding at his pyjama top, and proceeded to open the curtains properly and pile his pillows behind his back as if he were one of her Chewton invalids. Too drained and miserable to protest, Ash succumbed to her care and watched when she took the tea tray from the maid and dismissed the girl with a nod.

Once the bedroom door was closed again, Olive poured two cups of tea and gave one to Ash before she sat down in the chair by the window with her own.

Ash took a sip and grimaced; the tea was far too sweet.

“The sugar is for the shock,” Olive told him. “It’ll revive you.”

“Sh-shock?”

“I think we both need it.” Her cheeks reddened and she set her tea down on the windowsill. “We had a patient at Chewton last year, Ashleigh. He refused to speak. There was talk of sending him to Craiglockhart — you know, the hospital for shell shock cases? But Major Edwards had another idea.” She folded her hands nervously in her lap, unfolded them again. “Turned out the poor chap had seen his pal killed right beside him and he couldn’t talk about it because” — her gaze briefly touched his before skittering away — ”because they’d been like you and West. And he was afraid people would find out.” She cleared her throat and continued more forcefully. “Major Edwards loaned me a book about it —The Intermediate Sexby Edward Carpenter. You probably know it?”

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