There were many familiar faces stood outside the cathedral now as the snow fell, and many which James did not recognise or could not put a name to. One figure in particular caught James' eye, stood over by the lone, black Victorian street lantern. The figure appeared to be a woman with short, fair hair and wearing a brown, fur-lined coat. It struck James as rather odd for a number of reasons, not least because she seemed to be paying quite a bit of attention to him and had been wearing dark sunglasses even though it was the middle of February. He tried to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be who he thought it was. No. Not now. Why now?
Erika had sat quietly at the back of the service and stood outside the cathedral now just observing the proceedings. She had no real reason to stay but it had been so long since she had been a part of this world and she did not want to leave just yet. She had made a conscious decision not to approach James or any other member of the congregation. She felt, in a way, that she had no right to be there but that she had deeply wanted to pay her respects to James' parents – people who she had the utmost respect for. Secretly, she admitted to herself, perhaps she had also wanted to see James and how he had turned out. She assumed that the woman stood with him – and sat with him during the service – was now his wife. The two children were a dead give-away and her figure certainly displayed the strain of childbirth. James, however, hadn't changed a bit. As she made her observations, she noticed James begin to walk towards her. She might have convinced herself that he was heading elsewhere if he had not maintained eye contact with her throughout.
“Hello, Erika.”
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here?”
James sounded nervous.
“I came to pay my respects to your parents. I saw a piece in the newspaper and I felt I had to come to say goodbye properly.”
“Say good riddance, you mean?”
“No, not at all. You know I respected your parents and their wishes, James.”
“I know. I'm sorry. I'm just a little on edge at the moment.”
“I can imagine. So, how have you been?”
“Oh, y'know... the same old things.”
“The same old getting married and having kids things?”
Erika nodded over towards Melissa and the children.
“Well, yes. And that. And you?”
“Married. No children, though.”
James' eyebrow rose and Erika sensed his thoughts.
“Oh?”
“We lower social classes don't quite have the same focus on producing issue, y'know.”
James' eyebrow dropped and he lowered his head to look at his feet.
“James, I'm sorry. Look, I guess I'm a bit on edge too. Why don't we start again?”
“We really shouldn't right now. Look, are you around for another couple of days?”
“I can be.”
“OK. Here's my mobile number. Let's meet tomorrow night and catch up over dinner.”
“Everything OK, James?”
Erika jumped as she was stunned by the sudden appearance of Melissa. How long had she been there? How much had she heard?
“Yes. Everything's fine, sweetheart.”
Melissa looked at James, expectantly.
“Oh, this is... Umm...”
“I'm Lisa. A friend of James' from art college.”
“Oh right. Pleased to meet you. Art college you say? You must have known Erika Wall, then?”
Erika shot a glance at James.
“Uh, no, the name doesn't ring a bell.”
“I see. Probably just as well, really. From what I heard from James' parents – God rest their souls – she's better off back in America or whatever God-forsaken hole she's crawled back into.”
Erika felt fortunate that her American accent had softened sufficiently to be able to hide it convincingly in such situations.
“Well, come along, James. We've got lots of family and friends to attend to.”
Melissa forced a sarcastic smile in Erika's direction. Did she know who she was? Sometimes, Erika sympathised with those who treated the aristocracy with such disdain. When certain people acted in certain ways, she felt a similar loathing.
The snow continued to fall as James and Erika watched Melissa walk back towards the family.
“So, tomorrow night? Where are you living now, anyway?”
“I'm in Oxford.”
“Then I'll come to you. Text me with the details. How does 7:30 sound?”
“That sounds fine.”
“Great. I'll see you tomorrow.”
With that, James kissed Erika on the cheek and left. Around her, the snow melted.
CHAPTER SIX
The famous stone archway of the Randolph Hotel loomed over Erika as she walked between the hanging baskets and under the fluttering Union flags. As she entered the hotel, she followed signs for the restaurant bar and lounge. In all her time of living in Oxford, she had never visited the Randolph. James, however, had suggested it straight away. She wondered how he could possibly be familiar with it. How many times had he been in Oxford while she had been living there? The thought sent shivers down her spine.
The Maitre d' approached Erika and introduced himself as Giuseppe.
“Good evening, madam. Are you dining alone?”
“No – I have a reservation with Mr Horton.”
“Ah, I am sure the Duke will be here shortly. If I may show you to your table...?”
The Duke? How did he know James was the Duke? His reputation certainly preceded him. Erika glided through the stunning restaurant, marvelling at the upmarket, traditional English style. Oxford University crests adorned the tall ceiling; full-length windows gave stunning views of the Ashmolean. Oil paintings graced every wood-panelled wall and the fire hissed and crackled softly. One particular painting caught Erika's eye. Two large hills rolled away into the distance as a solitary wooden boat floated on the soft blue water of the lake, shimmering in the foreground. Erika was transported back to 1979 where she imagined she was sat at the side of the lake with James once again. The painting, like her memory, was fading.
As she waited for James, she glanced at the cocktail menu. Her eyes widened as she saw the prices of each of the drinks on offer. Out of the corner of her eye she sensed the Maitre d', Giuseppe approach the table.
“Would you care for a drink, madam?”
“Umm... No, I think I'll wait until...”
“Don't be so silly. We'll have a bottle of Dom Perignon, please, Giuseppe.”
Erika smiled as James came into view and sat at the table.
“Nice to see you still have expensive tastes, James.”
“Well, where's the fun in being part of the landed gentry if you can't enjoy a bottle of Dom P in the Randolph occasionally?”
Erika smiled and James' heart filled with warmth as he saw those dimples once again.
“What's so funny?”
“I'm not laughing; I'm smiling. I always loved the way your cheeks dimpled when you smiled.”
Erika smiled again.
“Stop it! You'll make me blush.”
“Sorry. So, how has life been treating you? You mentioned a husband.”
Why? Couldn't we just talk about us?
“Yes. His name's Miguel.”
“Ooh, exotic. Spanish?”
“Portuguese.”
“I see. And no children, you say?”
“No. No children.”
“Ah. I've got two, myself. Alexander and Emma. Alexander's at university in Oxford so I know the area quite well.”
“Wow. He must be, what, twenty?”
“Nineteen. The same age we were when we... Well, when we last saw each other.”
“You must have had him quite young.”
“I was thirty.”
“Yes, I suppose you must be right. In my mind you've always been nineteen.”
“Don't worry about it – in my mind I've always been nineteen!”
The couple chuckled and sipped t
he freshly poured champagne.
“So, what is he studying?”
“Mmmm?”
“Alexander. You said he was at Oxford University.”
“Oh yes. He's studying Classics.”
“A literature fan, like his father.”
Erika recalled James' love of literature – all forms of it. She remembered those summer days sat at the lakeside as he read her poems by Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes and the winter nights when they sat by the fire reading H. P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allen Poe. James had always made her feel a million dollars; as if those great works of literature had been written specially for her.
“Not a cute card or kissogram; I give you an onion. Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips, possessive and faithful, as we are, for as long as we are.”
“Carol Ann Duffy. I love that poem.”
“Me too. Although we can hardly claim to have been possessive and faithful.”
Erika reflected on the fierce kiss that stayed on her lips but decided against commenting on it.
“Are you happy, Erika?”
The directness of the question caught her unawares. Even more startling was the realisation that she had to think about the answer.
“Yes, I think I am. Are you?”
“I'm content.”
James had always loved word play and now Erika searched for the hidden meaning in his choice of word.
“But not happy?”
“Are we ever truly happy? We all lose something important to us at some point in our lives. Simple mathematics tells us that losing a positive, relatively speaking, gives you a negative, so can we ever truly be happy?”
“I guess not. There's a saying I heard recently – It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”
“Wise words indeed.”
“Although I lost you, James, I'm eternally grateful to have loved you. And I mean that.”
“You didn't lose me, Erika. I pushed you away. I had to make that decision and it's a decision which has haunted me every waking hour since. Not a day goes by when I don't wonder whether I made the right decision.”
“And do you think you did?”
“How will we ever know? Whichever world I chose, I was only ever going to experience the fall-out from that one. There's no way I could have ever had both in order to compare.”
“You got married.”
“So did you, Erika. And you know why as well as I do. That's what people do. We get married to the person everyone else thinks we're suited to. We pop out a few sprogs, wait for them to grow up and then dictate who they marry. Then we rot into the ground and the whole filthy cycle starts again.”
Throughout the evening, James and Erika discussed the last thirty years of their lives in great detail over a meal consisting of roast loin of Highland venison with chestnuts and seasonal vegetables and fillet of seabass with langoustine sauce. The sumptuous food melted in Erika's mouth as James' words melted her heart.
“Thankyou for tonight, James. It's been wonderful catching up again.”
“It's an absolute pleasure. We should do it again some time.”
Erika smiled and her cheeks dimpled. Acting on the urge, James leaned in and kissed her passionately. As Erika's hand reached around the back of his head, the couple were transported back to the lakeside thirty years earlier; the warm summer breeze rustling through their hair. No sooner than the kiss was over, they were back in the hotel restaurant in freezing cold 2009.
“I never stopped loving you, Erika. I hope you know that.”
“James, you can't. We're both married now.”
“That's what people do. Of course I love Melissa and you love Miguel but you can't deny that it's nothing like the love we had – have – for each other.”
He was right. She couldn't deny it.
“It's not the right time any more, James. It's not 1979. I do love you, of course I do, but we need to move on. Please. Call me.”
With tears in her eyes, she placed one last loving kiss on his lips and left the Randolph Hotel.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The front door of 32 Portly Street clicked shut as the latch snapped into place. Erika leaned back against it, rested her head and let out a deep sigh.
“Everything OK, darling?”
“Fine. Just hard work walking back up the hill in the snow.”
“I can imagine. Portuguese blood isn't made for snow – that's why I hibernate during English winters!”
Erika smiled and her cheeks dimpled. Miguel always found that very attractive.
“You didn't tell me you were going to the Randolph.”
Erika froze.
“Sorry? I went out for a meal with Victoria, like I said.”
“Yes, I know you did, darling. You didn't tell me it was at the Randolph, though. Gareth from next door saw you go in.”
Erika's heart resumed its normal rhythm.
“Oh. No, well it was only a last minute decision. She's had a big promotion at work and she wanted to treat me. I told her I'd take her to Burger King next time.”
“The last of the old romantics, you are!”
If only you knew the half of it.
“Yeah, well. Treat them mean; keep them keen.”
“Oh, how was the meeting in London yesterday? I didn't get a chance to ask you properly this morning.”
“It was fine. Just the usual boring stuff.”
“Not life or death, then?”
Miguel was developing a habit for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
James sat in his armchair in one of the vast living rooms in Winchester Manor with a large glass of whisky. On his lap lay a photograph album containing images from his college days. He rested his head back against the chair as he swallowed the last drop of whisky and transported himself back to the lakeside. The sun was beating down on him as the warm breeze rustled through the trees and led his hair to dance across his face. When he was back in this place, everything was good in the world.
“James, have you...”
Melissa walked into the room and saw that James had drifted off to sleep. Quietly, she walked over to him. On his lap lay a photograph. A beautiful summers day. Two lovers sat at the edge of a lake.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was pleasantly warm for a February afternoon. The skies were blue and the sun shone in its uniquely harsh winter fashion. The ground had softened underfoot as James ambled slowly across the field. All trace of snow had gone and James felt as though the frosty winter had well and truly been left behind.
As he reached the lakeside, it struck James that he had not been here in almost thirty years. Last night's meal with Erika had left him with many thoughts and feelings which needed to be addressed. Spiritually, those feelings belonged here, at the lakeside. To burden his marital home with such thoughts and feelings would be inappropriate. Sitting down on the dry grass, he looked out over the water and admired the lone wooden boat which bobbed on the surface at the far side of the lake. Two swans swam lovingly side by side, gliding gracefully across the water, reminding James of one of his favourite poems, The Wild Swans at Coole by William Butler Yeats.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
The poem's ironic significance was not lost on James as he sat gazing out across the lake. Had his love for Erika really flown away or was it just a relic of a long-gone era? The fact that their love did not belong in the present did not in any way diminish its intensity or significance. The love he felt for
Melissa was a different love; that was true, but that too should not be diminished in intensity or significance. It struck James that the two types of love were not only different, but not mutually exclusive. Each had served its purpose. The burning, passionate love he had felt, and still felt, for Erika had ignited his love for life and his ferocious desire to enjoy every moment of his being. The compassionate, love of a wife bestowed on him by Melissa was something entirely different but equally special. That he was married did not mean his love for Erika should die.
As he lay pondering, the sweet smell of perfume wafted past his nose.
“I thought I might find you here.”
“Erika! I was just thinking about you. What's with this?”
“Well, I knew exactly how you would be feeling after last night. You also told me you hadn't visited this place in almost thirty years. In a way, I knew exactly where you'd go.”
“Even after thirty years you can still read my mind.”
“I can. And I know what you're thinking even now. What we had was special – is special – but our adult lives are more special still. I firmly believe that there are many types of love; each with its own place and time. Now is not the time for ours.”
As the sun sank behind the clouds, the solitary wooden boat bobbed out of sight.
CHAPTER NINE
James sat in the drawing room at Winchester Manor staring at the blank sheet of cotton-laid paper, twiddling his Mont Blanc fountain pen between his fingers. He recalled a mantra taught to him by his lecturer at art school: No matter what you write, write from the heart. He brought the pen down to meet the paper and wrote.
Dearest Erika,
Meeting you again after all these years has been wonderful. For the past thirty years I have often wondered where you were; who you were with; whether you were happy.
I realise that we can never hope to reignite our love as it once was all those years ago but I treasure the memories fondly and love you dearly, as I always shall.
I am pleased that you are happy and that you are leading a good life. Now I feel as though my heart can truly rest.
The tears welled in Erika's eyes as she read the letter. In the warmth of her Oxfordshire cottage, her heart burned stronger. She knew the two types of love were not mutually inclusive but that one must prevail. She loved James no less for it and smiled as she read his closing words.