Kane remained absolutely still for one moment and then his arms came out to pull her close, only for him to wince with pain as his broken ribs made themselves felt. ‘Damn it.’ It was a whisper. ‘I’ve waited to do this for years and now look at me.’
‘Oh, Kane, Kane.’ She was half-laughing, half-crying. And all the laws of propriety went out of the window as she murmured, ‘I love you, I love you so much and I’ve been so frightened I wouldn’t get the chance to tell you. And it’s my fault you nearly got killed, trying to save me. If I hadn’t gone on the tour, if I’d stayed here and faced what my heart was telling me . . . Oh, Kane . . .’
She was sobbing in earnest now, the pent-up anguish of days pouring out as she half-bent, half-lay on the side of the bed, wanting to hold him but terrified she’d inadvertently hurt him.
‘Ssh, ssh.’ Oblivious of the pain in his chest he folded her against him, his mouth seeking hers so the first real kisses they exchanged were salty from her tears. His lips covered her face in small burning kisses a few moments later as he murmured passionate words of endearment between each one, words which Sophy repeated as her hands came up to cradle the rough, pock-marked skin of his cheeks.
It was minutes before, still within the circle of his arms, Sophy whispered, ‘Do you forgive me?’
‘Forgive you?’
‘For nearly getting you killed, for avoiding you and running away, for – for being such a coward.’
‘That you have never been.’ As she sat up, rubbing at her wet face with the back of her hand, he smiled at her. ‘And although I didn’t like it, the fact of you running away, as you put it, gave me hope that you might be beginning to see me as a man at long last, rather than some old gentleman on the perimeter of your life.’
‘You’re not old.’
‘I’m forty-seven, Sophy.’ His face was straight. ‘Seventeen years older than you.’
‘What does age matter?’
‘A great deal when you are still an active and beautiful woman pushing an old man in his bath-chair.’
‘Kane, I wouldn’t care if you were twenty-seven, thirty-seven years older than me.’ Her voice was soft, as were her eyes. ‘I love you.’ She could see he was exhausted and knew it was painful even to breathe. ‘Go to sleep now and I’ll be back later.’
‘Sophy?’ He held out his hand and she put her fingers into it. ‘When I can walk out of here, and I will walk again, whatever the doctors say, believe me, I will ask you a question. But I won’t ask lying on my back. Can you wait for me?’
‘Forever and a day.’ Her smile was luminous. ‘And when you ask your question, my answer will be yes.’
Sophy didn’t have to wait forever and a day – just four months, in fact. On a mild but windy day towards the end of October, Kane left the hospital on his own two feet, flatly refusing a wheelchair or crutches although he did compromise by having a walking stick. Edgar Grant had predicted Kane might be walking again in nine months initially when Sophy had asked him, then Ralph had suggested that knowing ‘the boss’ as he called Kane, it would be more like six – and Kane did it in four. He was still in considerable pain most of the time, although Edgar Grant had assured him that would diminish over the next six months as muscles and sinews strengthened, but the bones in his legs had knit together extremely well. He would always walk with a stick, the surgeon had told Kane, but he would walk. They both agreed it was an excellent outcome.
Sophy and Kane had talked frankly during the time he had been incarcerated. She had told him about her dreams of opening a theatre run mainly by women, and as they’d discussed the possibilities, the idea of returning to the north-east had evolved. Sophy’s cousins and their families were there, and Kane had no family ties of his own; furthermore, Sunderland was a fast-growing town which had absorbed many of the small villages on its outskirts into the fold. The town centre, with its fine buildings, busy shops and urban streets, along with the beaches, piers and promenades and bustling docks, meant the music halls and theatres would find plenty of customers. And, although neither of them voiced it, London held too many painful memories for Sophy.
But all these plans and discussions had been somewhat abstract. The all-important question still had to be asked. So it was, on the morning he left the hospital, standing on the Infirmary’s steps with his head lifted to the windy sky and racing clouds, Kane told Sophy he was taking her out that evening, refusing to listen to her protests that he should rest on his first day at home.
The Hippodrome was no longer a variety theatre after its reconstruction the year before, and he told her he had tickets for the Russian Ballet performing there, after which they were having dinner at a secluded little restaurant in Leicester Square. Ralph had arranged it. It was done and dusted. No argument.