Page 69 of The Last Kiss

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

Ash woke before dawn on Monday morning. More accurately, he opened his eyes because he’d barely slept a wink.

He’d spent all of Sunday knotted with anxiety, jumping at every sound outside and praying it was Harry. Even now, he struggled to accept that he hadn’t come. All his hopes lay dashed in that dank London alley and he found it impossible to believe that they’d stay there forever.

But Harry hadn’t come, he hadn’t changed his mind. Today, Ash would leave London after a scandalously short honeymoon to start work on restoring Milford Cottage, while Olive set about following her dream at the Royal Free Hospital School of Medicine for Women.

Perching on the edge of the bed he’d shared with Harry, he stared at the dark curtains and considered whether to stay another night. Give Harry more time. Perhaps visit him again and —

“No.”

His voice sounded loud and rough in the silent room. Harry had made his position clear and Ash would respect it no matter how unbearable. Christ, but he’d had so much hope. When he and Olive had finally made it to London, he’d hardly been able to wait a day before tracking Harry down to tell him the news. What he’d thought to begoodnews.

We can be together.

Stupid of him not to consider Harry’s concern for his sister, how the risk they ran could affect her and Harry’s ability to provide for her. Easy for Ash to think it was a risk worth taking, especially now he was protected by his marriage and no longer subject to his father’s whims. But Harry’s position was more precarious, and Ash had been a bloody fool not to recognise that.

Knowing that Harry thought him a privileged, cavalier bastard hurt like the devil. Knowing that he was right hurt worse. Ash had asked too much.Wantedtoo much. And thought too little. His eyes filled and he pressed the heels of his hands into them, sick of tears. He’d spent the night weeping, curled up around the desolate hole in his chest, and he felt as wrung out as mangled laundry.

Today he would leave and spare himself the agony of hoping that at any moment Harry might knock on the door and walk back into his arms. Although how he’d live in Milford Cottage, his bricks and mortar castle in the air, without Harry at his side he didn’t know. But he’d endure. God knew, he’d learned how.

At some point, the sun must have risen because grey light started bleeding into the room. Twitchy with lack of sleep, heavy with distress, Ash reached for his crutches and made his way into the bathroom. He washed and shaved at the basin, the bath looming in the corner of his eye, full of memories so tender they hurt.

I’d marry you, in that world, Ash. If you’d have me.

But that world would never exist, not for them. Ash had to set down his razor and suck in a breath against the crushing pain in his chest.

I’ll love you forever, he’d once told Harry.Whatever happens.

Then, he’d thought it a romantic promise. Now, he knew it to be a curse. Because hewouldlove Harry forever, and he’d never see him again.

Grabbing his towel, he dried his face — and his eyes, again — and made his way back to the bedroom to dress. His case sat in the corner, mostly packed. He’d only bought a few things with him, unlike Olive who was planning a residence of some years in London. Ash pulled on his travelling clothes, combed his hair, and regarded himself in the mirror. Wan cheeks, red sleepless eyes, grim expression: hardly the picture of newly wedded bliss, but he and Olive had decided from the outset not to play those roles. Let the world think what it would about their marriage, they’d never explain nor apologise.

When he reached the parlour where they took their breakfast, Olive was already eating. She was so excited about her new life that she’d spent all of Saturday buying medical text books and all of Sunday flicking through them with a mixture of hope and awe. He had to admit that the subject matter looked intimidating, but if Olive couldn’t manage it then he didn’t know who could.

This morning, she looked up from her breakfast with a smile that instantly faded. “Ashleigh,” she said, lowering her toast to her plate. “You do look miserable.” Not having the voice to answer, he just shrugged and came to sit opposite her at the table, watching while she poured him a cup of tea. “And you’re still determined to leave today?” she said, sliding the cup toward him.

“I — ” He cleared his throat and more firmly said, “Yes, it’s for the best.”

“Are you certain? What if I went to see West? Perhaps if I explained — ”

“No. Olive, you must promise me you won’t. It would look very peculiar, you going to see him. And the last thing he wants is his sister to know” — his voice broke on the pain of it — “about me.”

With a sigh, she sat back in her chair. “I hate to see you like this.”

“It will pass.” He tried for a smile. “I expect.”

“At least eat some breakfast,” she said, setting a piece of toast on his plate and pushing the butter across the table.

“I will if you’ll tell me your plans for the day.” This time his smile felt less forced. “Remind me who it is you’re meeting?”

Olive glowed. “Dr Mary Harding at the Royal Infirmary. Major Edwards introduced us. She graduated from the Royal Free hospital at the start of the war and she’s going to help me with my application. According to Major Edwards, she’s terribly influential — she’s publishing a book about diphtheria.”

“Is she? Heavens.”

“She’s what’s called an epidemiologist.” Olive smiled. “My appointment to see her is at eleven. When’s your train? I could drive you to the station.”

“Half-past ten, but don’t bother. I can easily take the tube. I shouldn’t risk being late, if I were you.”

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