“Then what is the matter?” she asked, hating the piteous tone in her voice.
“I can’t . . . the thing is, I can’t offer you anything else. Anything more. Not now, at least.”
“You don’t want me? In that . . . in that way?”
“Of course I want you. You know I do. But it would be wrong of me to expect anything more, not when I . . . I wish I could explain.”
“We could be lovers. I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”
Her words hung in the air between them, as vivid and unsettling as a neon sign. For long seconds Sam just stared at her, his eyes darkening, his face pale but for two flags of color high on his cheekbones. He took a step back, looked down, and scrubbed his hands roughly over his face.
“No,” he said, and he shook his head vehemently. “No. I want to—if you only knew how much. But it wouldn’t be right. It would be the farthest thing from right. I wish there was a way to make you understand.”
“But I do,” she said, and she did. He desired her, but not enough to act on it. He liked her, but couldn’t conceive of a future with her.
“I hope you can forgive me,” he said quietly. “I never meant to act like this. I never meant for you to be hurt.”
“And I’m not,” she insisted, wishing her voice didn’t sound quite so wobbly. “We were friends before, and we’re friends now. That’s all that matters.”
“Well, then. I guess I had better go. Good night, Ellie.”
“Good night.”
She couldn’t bear to watch him walk away, so she went inside and crept into bed, her chest so bound by dread and disbelief that she could scarcely take a breath. Dawn came, and she was still awake, shivering under her eiderdown, her eyes hot with unshed tears, the words of that singular poem beating an endless refrain in her head. I was born to be lonely. I am best so . . .
They were true, the truest words ever written, for she was alone now, as she had always been, and perhaps, as the poet had said, it was best that she be so.
PART THREE
Love consists in this: that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.
—Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
Chapter 22
Tuesday, 24 February
Dearest Ellie,
Wonderful news—I know that in my last letter I complained that there was no hope of my escaping the winter this year, but the Delamere-Strathallans have taken a villa in Biarritz for the season and Violet has invited me to stay! As you know I cannot bear the thought of a sea voyage that lasts one minute longer than necessary, so I shall be taking the train from Paris—and (if I have read the timetables correctly) that means I shall have nearly twenty-four hours in the city to visit with you! I arrive in the early afternoon Tuesday next and depart late the next morning.
I do realize it is terribly short notice but I am so looking forward to seeing you and meeting your new friends. Do you recall the day we spent together when we were girls, just before my debut? We had such fun—and though I’m rather long in the tooth for such antics it would be so lovely to wander around Paris together and see the sights.
Do let me know if this is convenable, as the French say—I shall cable you the exact details of my arrival as soon as I hear from you—
With much love,
Your devoted sister,
Amalia
Helena did recall their long-ago day together. It had been the spring of 1909, a bare month or so before Amalia’s debut, and they’d come to Paris so the final touches might be put on her sister’s gowns for the Season. Their elder sisters, Sophia and Bertha, had made their debuts already and had been duly married off to men who were so little known to Helena that she always had trouble recalling their names. Although Amalia was five years older, they had always been close, and the thought of being left alone in the nursery until her own debut had been weighing upon Helena for some months.
A day or two before their departure for home, Mama had canceled their engagements, for reasons Helena couldn’t now recall—likely she’d had a headache, or something of the sort. It had been a beautiful day, so bright and warm that it was a shame to stay inside, and Amalia had asked if they might go for a walk with Bessie, their mother’s maid. Rather to their surprise, Mama had agreed, insisting only that they return in time for tea at four o’clock.