‘It’s poor, forgotten, little Maddy who paid the price for your success today and you just left her behind without a backward glance, didn’t you?’
It took everything I had not to rip his head off his shoulders. I drew a deep breath, made myself relax and stood still, eyes on the floor. For a long time, nothing happened. The only sound was our breathing.
It came to me suddenly. He knew about the wardrobe. The wardrobe where, long ago, I’d found a book about the Battle of Agincourt. The book that set my feet on the path to St Mary’s. Now I knew how it had got there. He’d left it. Somehow, he’d left it for me to find all those years ago.
I couldn’t look at him. It was taking everything I had to deal with the maelstrom of guilt, remorse, grief, rage, and hurt I was experiencing. For someone whose proud boast was that she’d never had more than two emotions in her entire life and those not for very long – this was mind-shattering. I concentrated on keeping myself together. Walking and talking could come later.
I became aware of him speaking in a low, dull voice.
‘I don’t understand you. I’m beginning to think I never will. That worthless piece of shit Sussman throws you off a cliff and you forgive him. Your father makes your childhood a living hell and you pretty well take that in your stride. But not me. I’m trying to make this right and you won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me. Why can you forgive them and not me?’
I hadn’t meant to answer him, so initially I had no idea where the voice came from. It ripped out from my clenched teeth, harsh with rejection and betrayal.
‘Because Davey Sussman and John Maxwell – they don’t matter. They’re not important. But you – you were supposed to be different. You were the centre of my world. I adored you and you hurt me, Leon Farrell. You hurt me more than anyone in my entire life. You taught me to love you and trust you and when my last barrier went down, you just killed me. You worse than killed me. I wish you’d killed me so I didn’t have to be alive and feel this pain every moment for the rest of my life.’
I stood stock-still and listened to words which should never have been spoken reverberate around the room. Neither of us moved. Neither of us knew what to do next. We listened to the rain outside for quite a long time.
He dropped his arms and let me go.
‘So,’ he said heavily, ‘where do we go from here, Max? What now? Is there any way we can make this right again?’
I found a voice. ‘I don’t think there’s any way this can be salvaged. I think the best thing to do now is draw a line underneath it and move on.’
From the way his shoulders slumped, I could see he had misunderstood me, so I added, ‘Together. Perhaps, somehow, we could start again. Maybe we could do it better next time.’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Yes, that would be good. Perhaps, in a day or so, after David’s service?’
I nodded, and because he looked so – broken – I touched his forearm gently before I left the room.
Chapter Fifteen
David’s service was very simple. Everyone attended. The Boss spoke. Outside, afterwards, I looked at all the headstones. I saw Kevin Grant, my fellow trainee who died on his first assignment. Tom Baverstock, who died on the floor of his own pod. Just their names, we never did dates. Their stones were beginning to weather. David was in front of Big Dave Murdoch and Jamie Cameron, who both died at Alexandria. It occurred to me I knew nearly as many people dead in the churchyard as I did living at St Mary’s. Peterson glanced at me, and I could see he was thinking the same thing.
The next day we got on with things again. Slowly at first, but with my office door open I could hear the increasing buzz in the hall downstairs.
It was very quiet in my office. I was not looking at the empty desk by the door.
I was dealing with my post – one of the many things David had done for me when Mrs Partridge marched in. She had ‘new assistant’ written all over her. I wasn’t sure I wanted another one.
‘Good morning, Dr Maxwell.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Partridge. What can the History Department do for you today?’
‘Well, as you’ve guessed, I’m here about your new assistant.’
I interrupted. ‘I’m not sure …’
‘Please hear me out.’ She was unstoppable. I really should know that by now. I put down my letter-opener lest I became tempted to use it and sat back to listen to her sales pitch this time.
‘There are busy times ahead as I’m sure you’re aware, and I’ve given careful consideration to your needs. You need someone efficient, dedicated, effective, organised, adaptable to a changing workload, personable, and amenable. After a lot of thought, I’ve allocated you Miss Lee.’