Page 120 of Never Too Late
In all the commotion, none of us had noticed that he was no longer in the room.
‘He’ll be in the rose garden,’ Isobel said, her eyes finding mine.
45
I remembered the way from earlier. The roses were in bud but it was still a little too early for the flowers to be out. Tomas had promised to bring me back when they were in full bloom. Neither of us had mentioned the fact that, by then, my six-month lease on the apartment would be coming to an end. I couldn’t live off my savings indefinitely and I’d have to make a decision about what the next step in life would be.
He didn’t turn as I approached. The borders were all artfully uplit but it was the large, bright moon that highlighted his profile against the darkness.
‘Bonsoir.’
‘Bonsoir,’ he replied, still not turning.
I walked up and took a seat next to him on the acacia wood Lutyens-style bench.
‘Thank you for accepting my mother’s apology.’
I took a deep breath of the cool night air. ‘It took a lot for her to do that. I appreciate that.’
‘Even so.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ll drive you to the station. I don’t want you in a cab alone at this time of night.’ He turned his face towards me, the jaw tight, the eyes sad. ‘I know I have absolutely no right to insist, or even ask that, but I’d appreciate it if you would let me.’
‘What’s that?’ In the low light, I could see he was holding something.
He held it up to the bright light of the moon. A torn photograph taped together, the tape now yellowed with age. Two young, laughing faces looked out of it, full of love and hope and expectations.
‘You kept this?’ I said, taking it off him carefully to look at it.
‘All of them.’ His voice was quiet.
‘Are they all repaired, like this?’
He nodded. ‘Stupid, I suppose… but it was all I had left of you. Of us.’
‘Oh, Tomas.’
He took the photo carefully back from me. ‘And now you’re leaving once more. Even I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll have a third chance.’
‘Tomas?’
His eyes remained focused on the past in his hands. ‘Yes?’
‘Tomas, look at me.’
He heaved a deep breath, let it out slowly then did as I asked.
‘I’m not leaving.’
The brow creased, eyes widened just a little. ‘Pardon?’ In confusion, he dropped back into French.
God, that accent, that language, was so ridiculously sexy. Or perhaps it was just him.
‘I’m not leaving,’ I repeated.
‘But you said… you said we should have told you. And you were absolutely right. Of course. I can see that now.’
