‘I do.’ She remained across the room. It seemed better that way. She didn’t know what he would do when he heard the truth, but she felt certain he wouldn’t want to be near her. ‘You see … I just didn’t think about it at the time. I was only eighteen.’
‘Eighteen?’ he repeated, perplexed. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘An abortion,’ she said. She went no further. She knew she would not have to. He would complete the rest of the story himself.
She saw him do so quickly. He flinched. His face blanched. He stood abruptly.
‘I couldn’t tell you, Simon,’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t. it was the only thing you never knew. So many times I wanted to … but I knew what it would do to you … what you would think. And now … Oh God, I’ve destroyed us.’
‘Did he know?’ St James asked numbly. ‘Does he know now?’
‘I never told him.’
He took a single step towards her. ‘Why not? He would have married you, Deborah. He wanted to marry you. What would it have mattered to him if you were pregnant? He wouldn’t have cared. He would have been overjoyed. You would have been giving him exactly what he wanted in the first place. Yourself and an heir. Why didn’t you tell him?’
‘You know why.’
‘I don’t.’
‘It was you.’ She broke. ‘You know it was you.’
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded.
‘I loved you. Not Tommy. I loved you. Always. You know that.’ Sobs grew, leaving her incapable of speech. Still, she tried. ‘I thought … it wasn’t real to me then … and you were always … I wanted … you were the only one … Always. But I was alone … and those years when you wouldn’t write to me … So he came to America … You know the rest … I didn’t … he was someone …’
She heard him move then, heard his uneven footsteps rapidly strike the wooden floor. For a moment she thought he was leaving the room. It was, after all, what she deserved. But then he was next to her, pulling her into his arms.
‘Deborah. God. Deborah.’ His hands were in her hair, pressing her head against his shoulder. She felt the forceful pounding of his heart. His words were ragged. ‘What have I done to you?’
She could only say, ‘Nothing. Nothing.’
He held her fiercely. ‘I did everything wrong. Everything backwards. And you bore the brunt of it all. my fear, my confusion, my doubt. All of it. For three rotten years. I’m so sorry, my love.’ And then again, lifting her face, ‘My love.’
‘The photograph …’
‘It meant nothing. I know that now. You were looking at the past. That has nothing to do with the future.’
It took more than a moment for the import of his words to strike her. His hands were on her face, his fingers wiping away her tears. He said her name. it was a shaken whisper.
Her eyes filled again. ‘How can you forgive me? How can I ask that of you?’
‘Forgive?’ He sounded incredulous. ‘Deborah, for God’s sake, that was six years ago. You were only eighteen. You were a different person. The past is nothing. Only the present and the future matter. Surely you know that by now.’
‘I don’t see … How can we ever be what we were to each other? How can we go on?’
He pulled her close. ‘By going on.’
