‘Or maybe he’d just seen that the book was special to you somehow.’
‘I kept it on my desk for a long time. It’s possible he knew it was special to me.’ The anguished look comes back. The one I will forever associate with Evelyn. ‘Eddy said things hadn’t been easy for him. That’s because by the time he wrote this, he’d have split up with your mother. Everyone would have known . . .’
‘But he was trying to say that, despite the enormous price he paid, you were still worth it.’ I gently stroke her slender forearm.
‘At that point he didn’t even know that the worst was to come.’
‘No. But he said that he regretted nothing, and neither should you. No matter what happens.’ I grip her hand. ‘Perhaps it was prophetic of him. You have to believe it. Personally, I do.’
Evelyn shakes her head. I can tell she recognises the time has come for her to stop tormenting herself, as have I: to put the past in the past and close a door. ‘I always imagined he wished he’d never set eyes on me . . . I held on to that idea for years.’
‘It’s amazing what we assume, and how wrong we can be. I, for one, will never assume what I can’t possibly know.’
‘He said he was going to try to put things right, as best as he could.’ Her eyes brim with wonderment and tears. ‘But he never could. Circumstances didn’t allow him to!’
‘Maybe not. But you did. You put it right for him. You helped him do what he couldn’t do himself. Isn’t that the measure of true love?’
Evelyn’s eyes go back to the letter. I watch her. I can’t take my eyes from her. It’s the face of that young, go-getter girl that Eddy talked about, reading her very first love letter.
When she looks up again, she is flushed.
‘He forgave me,’ she says.
I smile. ‘Of course he did.’
FORTY-FIVE
Before She Left
Evelyn
Northumberland. 1963
They had just entered the church. Evelyn’s eyes were still adjusting from the bright sunshine to the dim, dust-mote-filled interior. She had noticed him immediately. Noticed him in the way that a young, single woman is always subconsciously sifting through the gravel hoping to come across a diamond. It was second nature to look without necessarily expecting to find. So, on finding, her faculties had taken a short holiday.
She was aware of her friend Elizabeth prodding her. A young usher, who appeared overly keen on doing a good job, was waiting to escort them to their seats. It was a small gathering, at this point weighted to the bride’s side. The robust scent of lilies still couldn’t overpower the musty smell of church that always turned Evelyn a little morbid. She could see hats, some with more feathers than a peacock, others like colourful flying saucers. But who cared about hats? She was pleasantly thrown by something else she was seeing.
He was standing by the altar, almost with his back to her. He was tall and broad, with a thatch of dark, healthy hair and, from what she could see of him side-on, there was something disarming about his smile. He was standing with a shorter, stocky, ordinary-looking lad – presumably the groom, judging by the aura of tension around him. The usher led them to their row. The pianist was playing one of those classical tunes you often hear at weddings, only Evelyn couldn’t say what it was called. Catching sight of him had stormed her senses. She was aware of the guests glancing up as they arrived, giving their outfits the eye. But every cell in her body was wired to the man up at the front. Once she’d sat down in their pew, she could observe him at leisure, while Elizabeth muttered in her ear.
A heart rush. A tingle of promise to the day. She hadn’t really wanted to come, given that she had never met the bride, or her intended, and she knew no one except for her friend.
He was joking around with the groom. It was amazing what you could tell about someone’s personality by just observing them. She found herself inwardly smiling when she sensed he was being funny, warmed by him, as though she’d known him for years. Then, he ran out of steam and solemnly bowed his head.
She had yet to see him face-on. It was becoming an exhilarating tease. Only when the pianist launched into ‘Ave Maria’ as the bride arrived did he finally turn around. Then everything faded into the background, except for his face. She watched him, slowly, if you could watch someone that way, acutely aware of trying to prolong her pleasure. So when he happened to look over, perhaps sensing someone’s eyes on him, Evelyn had already contained her surprise.
He blushed, deep red, a colour that intensified the more he looked at her. Neither one could pull their eyes away, until Evelyn absolutely had to, because she was about to burst.
The ceremony passed. She heard low voices, the distant repeating of vows. At one point, right after he’d handed the groom the ring, he looked back at her and seemed to blush again.
‘If I told you that every time I look at you, I think I’m going to bungle it before I even speak, would you decide I was undeserving of you?’ he asked her a few hours later.
The first thing he ever said to her. This was after confetti on the church steps, after pink fizz by the tennis courts with a cluster of Elizabeth’s friends – he’d gone off for photos with the wedding party. She looked him bluntly in the eyes, determined to deliver her reply without a smile. ‘No. I’d decided that before you even spoke.’
She had played a deliberate game of cat and mouse with him – moving to chat with someone else the second she sensed he was coming to talk to her. Finally, she’d positioned herself alone, by a window. He had followed, on the button.
His smile gleamed. There was no end to the amusement in his eyes. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked, burning with her awareness of how fanciable he was.
‘Like what?’