The Adulteress

The Secret Drawer

CHRISTMAS WAS ALMOST UPON us. The months after that trip to London had been sad ones for me. The forecast had been right. Jean-Louis did have a great deal of pain, and there is nothing more heartrending than to see a loved one suffer. I was grateful for the laudanum with which Charles supplied me; no doctor could have been more assiduous in his care for a patient than he was toward Jean-Louis. He would come immediately I sent for him; he comforted me, too; and Jean-Louis had such faith in him that his very presence seemed to soothe him.

Jean-Louis was stoical by nature; and it was so touching to see his attempts to hide his pain from me because he knew how it upset me to see him in that state. Charles had warned me that in the extremity of agony he might try to increase his dose of laudanum and this must never go beyond that prescribed. He had said that only I should administer it and therefore I should be able to keep a strict watch on how much he took. “Keep the bottles locked away,” he said, “and only you should have the key.”

“Jean-Louis would never take his own life whatever the provocation,” I said.

“My dear Zipporah, you don’t know the extent of the provocation.”

All this would have been unendurable if there had not been reasonably long periods when Jean-Louis was free from the pain. It could be absent for as much as a week at a time and that seemed to give us breathing space to recover and prepare ourselves for the next onslaught—and to get on with our lives.

I had engaged a governess for Lottie—rather to her displeasure. She liked her lessons with me, which were apt to be a little irregular. Now with the coming of Madeleine Carter, Lottie must be in the schoolroom precisely at the same hour every morning. She was not academically inclined and had what Miss Carter called a butterfly mind. It flitted from one subject to another. “If only it would settle,” said Miss Carter, “something might be achieved.”

Madeleine Carter was a spinster in her early thirties. She was the sister of a vicar and had kept house for him until his unfortunate and early demise which had left her stranded and forced to take on the only kind of occupation available for one in her position. She was prim, strict, very efficient; and I thought an excellent choice. It was quite clear that Lottie needed someone to curb her for she was growing decidedly self-willed, and although she was possessed of great charm she could be wayward.

The greatest piece of luck was that James Fenton was looking after the estate. He had gone home directly after our return from London to break the news to Hetty, and in view of Jean-Louis’s condition he came back to us soon afterward, leaving Hetty, as he said, to pack up.

A few weeks later Hetty came with her two children and it was good to see her again. She was happy to be back but dreaded meeting Dickon, and as he would be coming for Christmas we arranged that she and James, with their children, should spend the holiday with James’s cousin on the farm and stay there until my mother with Sabrina and Dickon had returned to Clavering. It seemed a reasonable and satisfactory arrangement.

Thus the months passed. James had been a great asset and spent a lot of time with Jean-Louis discussing estate matters and working out policy; and Jean-Louis was delighted to have someone who would carry out his wishes—and. more than that, give his wholehearted support towards what was being done. James did a great deal to raise his spirits.

My friendship with the Forsters had grown and we were often in and out of each other’s houses. Charles Forster was frequently at Enderby, and as he visited Jean-Louis at least twice a week and more often of course when I called him in during one of Jean-Louis’s bad bouts, the family had become an important part of my life.

Then there was Evalina. She had been very friendly towards me since the matter of the will. She reminded me of a contented kitten who has found a good home and intends to keep it. She was assured the comfort and comparative opulence of Grasslands: she had her baby, whom she undoubtedly loved dearly, and a good manager—and perhaps more—in Jack Trent.

It was the day before Christmas Eve when our guests arrived. Lottie and I had done everything we could to bring a festive atmosphere into the house and by great good fortune Jean-Louis was better than he had been for some time. He was able to walk a little about the room with the aid of a stick and I arranged that on Christmas day two of the men servants might carry him down to the great hall. I prayed that we could keep the pain at bay for a little while.

Lottie was devoted to him. I saw his eyes light up whenever she came into the room. She invariably brought something for him which she had picked up during her walks or rides in the fields and woods. She came in with a sprig of holly, the berries as red as her cheeks.

“This has the most berries of all we picked, papa,” she told him, “so I saved it for you.”

It was a great comfort to me to see the joy she brought him. But for what I did there could be no Lottie to brighten his days. Good out of evil. Indeed it was so.

I listened to her chatter. “This is wild clematis, papa. Miss Carter makes me learn the names. Miss Carter knows everything, but alas your daughter is an ignoramus, dear papa. Did you know that?”

He took her hand and his eyes filled with tears. He was very emotional nowadays. “My daughter is the best and dearest girl in the world,” he said.

She regarded him with her head on one side. “As Miss Carter would say, it depends on what you mean by best. Best at jumping, yes … Best at climbing, yes. Best at sums … no, no, no! And rather wicked sometimes. I fear, and that’s not best.”

Her chatter amused him and she knew it. She might be rebellious at times, wayward often, but she had a good, kind and loving heart.

Together we watched the men bring in the yule log. She and I pored over the lists of food we should need for our guests. There would be games. Lottie’s eyes sparkled at the prospect. We needed a lot of people. The Forsters would come, and what about Evalina Mather?

I said we would have open house at Christmas.

“We’ll have dancing and fiddlers. Do you think the fiddlers will come on Christmas night, mama?”

“We’ll promise them punch and Christmas cakes as well as money. In fact we’ll make it irresistible for them.”

She clapped her hands. She was so excited. Suddenly she clapped her hands to her mouth.

“What is it?” I said.

“I should love to see Miss Carter dance,” she said.

“She might do so very well. People are full of surprises.”

“That would be the most unlikely Christmas surprise.”

“Wait and see,” I said, and we went on with our lists.

I was happy to see my mother again. She hugged me and said we had been separated far too long. I saw the compassion and dismay in her eyes when they rested on Jean-Louis and I realized how he must have changed since we left Clavering.

And there was Sabrina looking as beautiful as ever, and with her Dickon.

He was a man now. … He must be nineteen. He stood smiling at me with that rather enigmatic look which was half affectionate, half teasing.

“Well, it is good to see you, Zipporah,” he cried. “And this is Lottie. By Gad, you’ve grown.” He had picked her up and held her above his head looking up at her.

She was laughing. “Put me down,” she commanded.

“Not until you give me a kiss.”

“Oh, so it’s blackmail is it? All right then.” She gave him a peck on the forehead.

“Not good enough,” he said. “I don’t call that a nice cousinly kiss.”

“Put me down. Put me down!” shrieked Lottie.

I did not like to see her there held up in his arms and I was irritated by, the indulgent manner in which his mother and mine were regarding him.

As I started to lead them into the house I saw Lottie kissing him again.

“Now,” she said when she was on the ground, “you must meet Miss Carter.”

“Always delighted to meet the ladies,” said Dickon.

“Miss Carter is my governess.”

“That does not preclude her from being a lady.”

“Oh, she’s that all right,” said Lottie. “In fact, she’s always so anxious that I shan’t forget that I’m one she’s forever reminding me. She’s very good at her lessons.”

“I thought it was for you to be good at yours.”

“What I mean is she’s a good teacher.”

“With the naughtiest little pupil in the world, I don’t doubt.”

I was trying not to listen to their banter as I asked my mother about affairs at Clavering.

I took them to their rooms and heard from both my mother and Sabrina how absolutely wonderful everything was on the estate since Dickon had taken over.

“I was sorry he didn’t continue with his education,” said Sabrina. “But he would have his own way.”

“I think he’d always have that,” I commented wryly.

My mother said: “He thinks a lot of you, Zipporah. He’ll be in his element talking to Jean-Louis and your manager.”

“Our manager is not here at the moment. He is with his wife. It is a good thing that he is not here.”

“A good thing!” said my mother. “I thought that Jean-Louis looks so frail.”

“Our manager, mother, is James Fenton. I don’t think either he or his wife would want to meet Dickon.”

My mother looked embarrassed and Sabrina said: “Oh, that. That all happened a long time ago.”

I said: “And since it was due to Dickon it must become a sort of amusing joke.”

My mother was shocked. “I never thought it was a joke. But it is all over now. These things are natural happenings.” I could see it was no use expecting them to understand. Dickon was perfect in their eyes and it was no use upsetting everything right at the start of the Christmas holiday.

Madeleine Carter was introduced to the visitors and my mother heartily approved of her. “She seems a good sensible young woman,” she said.

Sabrina added: “Just the sort to keep Lottie in check.”

Dickon irreverently called her the Holy Virgin Madeleine, and told Lottie that he couldn’t quite detect the halo but he wondered whether her young eyes had seen it.

Lottie laughed and said: “You are not to make fun, Cousin Dickon. She’s very good.”

“And you like the good?”

“Of course I do.”

“Oh … I’m desolate. That means you don’t like me.”

Lottie pursed her lips and nodded, which sent Dickon into fits of laughter.

I could see he was charming Lottie; in fact he set out to charm everybody, even Madeleine Carter.

He certainly gave out an air of absolute joie de vivre. He was enormously interested in Eversleigh … as he had always been, but now that he was older and I suppose was able to compare the estate with that of Clavering, his interest was even greater. I was glad that he talked so enthusiastically to Jean-Louis, which seemed to do my husband good. I was grateful to him for that, but all the time I was watching Jean-Louis for some sign that the pain might be returning.

Christmas morning was bright and sparkling with frost on the roads and the rooftops, but by midday the wintry sun had melted it and as the wind had dropped it seemed quite mild. Lottie and Miss Carter went out riding in the morning and Dickon accompanied them. I heard their laughter and looked out of the window to see them ride by.

I was glad that Miss Carter was with them. I was sure she would keep even Dickon in check. Last evening he had called at Grasslands. I had expected he might stay late into the night but to my surprise he returned to Eversleigh after about an hour of his leaving. I wondered whether Evalina had not been at home.

I shrugged my shoulders. If he were going to resume that liaison it would keep him out of the house perhaps.

The carol singers came to pay us their usual visit. The riders were back by then. I knew they would be. Lottie would never allow them to miss the carols.

We all joined in and it was Lottie who helped to pass round the punch and the cake.

Jean-Louis was well enough to be brought down to the hall. I watched him closely for the first sign of the pain, in which case I decided I would give him a dose of laudanum and have him taken back to his bed. But he sat there smiling and his eyes scarcely left Lottie unless it was to look at me.

I sat beside him for most part of the time, watching him anxiously.

He knew it. He said: “Don’t worry, Zipporah. If I need a dose I’ll ask. Now forget it.”

So I tried to and I joined in the carols and took the punch which Lottie brought to me.

“You must have some, papa,” she said. “It will do you good.”

She brought the goblet to him, drank from it, smiling at him, and then handed it to him.

I heard him murmur: “Bless you, dear child.”

We had eaten and the festivities had begun. The great hall was crowded. The farmers on the estate, with their families. had come according to tradition and they would all join in the dancing when the fiddlers started to play. I had been right in my prophecy that they would come if the rewards were sufficient and they were pausing between dances to drink their punch.

The Forsters came with Charles and the farmers on their estate, as did the one or two from Grasslands: for Eversleigh was the manor house and the custom for years had been that everyone came to dance at least one measure at the Court on Christmas Day.

Evalina arrived looking happy in a rather secretive way. I saw Dickon watching her, but she seemed to be unaware of him. Jack Trent was with her.

I danced with Charles Forster. He was no great dancer—very different, I thought, from Dickon, who won the admiration not only of my doting mother and his own but that of the whole company by his cavorting. He took no one partner for the evening but danced with a different one every time, which was what would be expected of the host. I realized with vague annoyance that he had taken on that role. I was touchy. Of course he did. He was one of the family and Jean-Louis was unable to perform the duty.

Charles talked of Jean-Louis and said how pleased he was to see him in the hall.

“Do you think I was right to have him carried down?”

“Indeed I do. The more normal the life he leads the better.”

“I couldn’t have borne it if he had been ill tonight.”

“He’s in one of his quiet periods. I can see.”

“I do wish they would continue.”

“They might, and the longer time between each attack the better. When he is free of pain he has a chance to regain a little strength.”

“It is such a comfort that you are near.”

He pressed my hand. “It’s a comfort to me to be of use.”

We were smiling at each other and I was only half aware of Dickon’s flashing past with Evalina.

Charles returned me to Jean-Louis and stayed to chat with us. Jean-Louis told him how much better he felt. “The laudanum seems to give me strength,” he said.

“What it does,” said Charles, “is give you a respite from pain and that helps to build up some resistance to it.”

“Then it’s good for me.”

“In small prescribed doses, yes. I am sure Zipporah has told you you must never exceed the dose.”

“She guards the bottle like a dragon breathing fire.”

“That’s as it should be,” said Charles.

Evalina came up and said: “I want to ask you something.”

Charles slipped away and she went on: “I know it’s something I ought to do in my own home. But everyone’s here tonight and I want them all to know. I know there’s some who will say it’s too soon … but well, what’s the sense in waiting?”

“You don’t mean …” I began.

She gave me a wide smile. “Yes, I do. It’s Jack and me … well, we don’t see why not. It’s just right, isn’t it? He manages the estate. It’s my estate. He doesn’t mind that. We’ll share it. But I think it’s best to make it all regular. So would you mind?”

I looked at Jean-Louis and he smiled.

At that moment Dickon went dancing by. His partner was Miss Carter. She seemed to be dancing very gracefully. She looked quite unlike herself. One lock of hair had broken free.

Lottie came running over.

She gripped my arm; she was laughing so much that she was quite incoherent. “Did … you see Miss Carter?”

I laughed back. “I told you so. But listen, Evalina is going to make an announcement.”

Lottie clapped her hands. “Oh … what fun. Is it … that she’s going to marry Jack Trent?”

I was surprised. I hadn’t thought she would know of such matters.

I realized that I had to face the fact that Lottie was growing up.

I stood up and clapped my hands. There was a silence throughout the hall.

I said: “Mistress Mather wants to tell you all something.”

Evalina went forward dragging Jack Trent by the hand.

“I know there’s been a bit of gossip about us,” she said. “Well, now you’ll know there’s going to be an end to all that. Jack and I are going to be married.”

There was a short silence and then someone started to clap.

Dickon cried out: “This calls for a celebration. We must all drink their health.”

There was a bustle while glasses were filled all around.

Dickon was standing close to Evalina. He held his glass high and looked at her. I saw the expression in her face as she returned his glance. I thought it was one of triumphant defiance. I saw too the glitter of amusement in Dickon’s eyes.

The musicians started to play “Heart of Oak,” which seemed somewhat inappropriate.

Dickon duly departed with my mother and Sabrina. Lottie clung to them all and tried to urge them to stay longer.

Dickon said: “My dear cousin, I have an estate to run. I can’t stay away too long.”

My mother held her tightly and said: “We must see each other more often. I will not endure these long separations.”

I felt relieved when they had gone and we settled down to the normal routine. A few days after their departure James and Hetty returned and Lottie ceased to miss them but turned to Hetty’s children, to whom she had taken a great fancy.

The winter was a hard one and Jean-Louis’s pain seemed to come more frequently. Charles was often at the house and our friendship deepened. Sometimes I felt it was deeper than friendship. I began to experience great pleasure in his presence. It was ironic that when he came it was because Jean-Louis was suffering. Sometimes I went into the town to collect the medicines. Charles didn’t want to hand them to anyone but me. I became familiar with the house where he had his surgery. I thought it rather cheerless. He had a housekeeper—an elderly woman who I knew was most careful of his comforts. That was good, for he was the kind of man who would neglect himself.

Evalina married Jack Trent at Easter. There was a touch of spring in the air. Oddly enough it did not cheer me. A terrible depression settled on me as I saw Jean-Louis’s condition deteriorating. I slept in the dressing room now. Often in the night I would get up and give him a painkilling dose. That cupboard with the key which I kept in a secret drawer in a small desk by the window haunted my dreams. I would dream that I had lost the key and was searching frantically for it. Sometimes I was riding through the night to Charles. I would cry out: “I’ve lost the key.” The sound of my own voice often woke me and so vivid would the dream be that I would get out of bed, light my candle and open the secret drawer. The key was always there. “It’s only a dream.” I would say—and how many times did I say it during that long winter!

“He’ll be better when the spring comes,” I used to say; but in my heart I knew that his condition had nothing to do with the weather.

Later I was to blame the strain for what happened. I remembered how on another occasion I was ready to blame something other than the needs of my own nature. Then I had tried to convince myself that a long-dead ancestor had taken possession of me. What nonsense! It was I who had lain in that bed with Gerard and listened to the strains of music coming from the fair as I made passionate love with a man not my husband.

Now I said: “It is the tension … the strain … the fact that I have to watch Jean-Louis—whom I love—deteriorating.

One night I heard him move. I was like a woman with her baby. If he stirred I was usually awakened out of my sleep.

He was sitting out of bed in his chair … I was amazed. His hands covered his face and his shoulders were shaking.

“Jean-Louis,” I cried running to him, “what are you doing?”

“Oh … I have awakened you. I tried to be so quiet.”

“I hear every movement.”

“It is selfish of me.”

“I want to hear,” I cried. “I want to be with you if you need me. What is it? Is it the pain?”

He shook his head.

“It’s … the uselessness,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I lie in bed … or sit in this chair and think: What use am I? They’d be better off without me.”

“Don’t dare say such a thing,” I cried.

“Isn’t it true? I am a constant anxiety to you. You admit you cannot sleep deeply. You are with me all the time … I am useless in every way.”

“Jean-Louis,” I said, “it hurts me when you talk like that.”

I knelt beside him and buried my face in his dressing gown. I couldn’t stop thinking of how I had deceived him.

I cried out: “I want to look after you. Don’t you understand? That is my life. It’s what I want.”

“Oh, Zipporah, Zipporah,” he murmured.

“Please understand, Jean-Louis.”

“I would always understand,” he said. “No matter what … I would always understand.”

What did he mean? Had he some second sight? Did he know of that passionate love between me and Gerard? Could he possibly suspect that Lottie was not his child? I felt a sudden urge to open my heart to him, to tell him what had happened.

I stopped myself just in time. Suppose he had no suspicion? What would the discovery do to him in his condition?

He said: “I have seen the pain in your eyes … when I have an attack. It hurts me, Zipporah … more than the pain of my body.”

“Oh, dearest, of course I suffer. I wish that I could take over some of the pain. I wish that we could share that together.”

“Bless you, my darling,” he said. “You have given me everything … you and your mother. In the past I often thought of what might have happened to me if she had not kept me. My own mother did not want me. I wanted to stay.”

“Yes, I remember hearing how you refused to get up in the morning and would not let your nanny out of your sight.”

“I came to look on you as my charge … and it’s been like that every since. It’s been a happy time together, hasn’t it, Zipporah?”

“Yes,” I said. “Oh yes.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I want you to have happy memories. That’s why I am afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“That there might be unhappy ones if this goes on. I have sometimes thought … suppose I doubled the dose … trebled it. … What would it be like? Sleep! Blessed sleep! When I have one dose you can’t imagine the relief. It makes me sleep. doesn’t it? Sometimes I feel that I would like to sleep and sleep … and never wake up to pain.”

“Oh, Jean-Louis, you must not talk like that. It’s as though you want to leave us.”

He stroked my hair very tenderly. “Only because I cannot bear to see you suffer, my dearest one.”

“And do you think I should not if you … went into that deep, deep sleep?”

“For a while. Then you could be happy again.”

I shook my head.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Oh yes.”

“I will not listen to such talk.”

“You make-me feel … wanted.” he said.

“How could you ever feel otherwise?”

“Because I am ungrateful. I am surrounded by loving care … and why should that be given to me? I am useless … whichever way you look. Zipporah … I am useless.”

“Please stop such talk immediately. I will not have it. If you can get the better of this wretched pain you can enjoy so much … all the worthwhile things. And the longer we can keep the pain at bay the more chance you have of strengthening yourself. Isn’t that what Dr. Forster says?”

“You’re right. Zipporah. But if it should ever be that it is hopeless … and there is nothing left to me but pain … well, who would blame me … ? Zipporah, would you help me, if the pain gets too bad?”

“Oh, please don’t talk of such things.”

“I think of them. Escape is in that bottle. … If it became unbearable … a little help …”

“Let me help you to bed. Let me lie beside you and hold your hand. Let me try to make you understand all you mean to me.”

I stayed with him for the rest of the night lying beside him, holding his hand until he fell into a peaceful sleep.

There was a letter from my mother. We corresponded regularly for she was eager to hear of Jean-Louis’s condition.

“I know that you cannot come to us and leave Jean-Louis.” she wrote, “and if we come to you that disturbs the household, but why should not Lottie visit us? That nice sensible Miss Carter could come with her. We do so long to see her.”

When Lottie heard she was eager to go. Dear child. I think she was beginning to be affected by Jean-Louis’s illness. I thought it would be a good idea for her to get away for a while.

So she left at the end of June.

I watched her leave in the company of Miss Carter and six grooms and I gave them instructions that they were to send the grooms back the day after they arrived so that I should know they had reached their destination safely.

Then I went back to Jean-Louis.

He was lying in bed. He smiled when he saw me.

“I’m glad she’s gone,” he said.

“Oh, come,” I answered, “you hate to lose her.”

“I miss her,” he said. “But it’s good for her not to have to see me.”

“Don’t talk like that, Jean-Louis,” I begged.

“It’s true,” he said, a little harshly. There was a faint irritation in his voice—so unlike him, but I knew that it was the herald of pain.

“We must face the truth,” he said. “I’m a depressing object.”

“Nonsense. Do you feel like a game of chess?”

“And you …” he went on, “you should be going with them.”

“I prefer Eversleigh. I have no desire to go to Clavering. You know how I dislike Dickon. And as for my mother and his, they talk Dickon all the time.”

“I hope Lottie won’t get tired of the subject.”

“She has her lessons. Madeleine Carter will never allow her to evade them … much as she might like to.”

“Madeleine Carter is a stern taskmaster—or, I should say, mistress.”

“I hope not too stern. I think she does preach a little hell fire to poor Lottie now and then. I don’t want the child thinking her immortal soul’s in peril because she commits some little peccadillo.”

“Is Madeleine so upright then?”

“Completely so. She lives by a set of rules all laid down in her interpretation of the Bible. It makes life easy.”

“Perhaps she has never had the temptation to be other than good?”

“Well, let’s accept her for the good woman she is. I don’t suppose Lottie will be any the worse for her discipline. I’ll get the chessboard.”

It was when we were in the middle of the game that the attack began. I hastened in to the dressing room and took out the bottle and gave him a dose with a shaking hand. His talk had unnerved me. I put the bottle on a table and made him lie down. The effect was miraculous. He opened his eyes and smiled on me and then I saw his gaze rest on the bottle.

“Try to sleep,” I said. “I shall sit here until you do.”

He was soon sleeping peacefully under the influence of the laudanum.

I picked up the bottle, and seeing that there was very little left, I decided that I would go straight over to Charles and get more.

We must not be without it.

I locked the bottle in the cupboard, put the key in the secret drawer and, putting on my riding habit, I went to the stable, saddled my horse and rode into town.

I was relieved to find Charles at home. He took me into his sitting room and I told him why I had come.

“I gave him a dose before I came out,” I explained. “He is sleeping peacefully now.”

“He will do so until morning.”

He was looking at me intently. “You look worn out,” he said.

I raised my eyes to his. The compassion and tenderness I saw there unnerved me. I turned away but he was beside me, gripping my shoulders, turning me round to face him.

“Oh, Zipporah …” he said; and I was lying against him and his arms were round me. He was kissing my hair.

“I can’t bear it,” I said. “It gets worse.”

“It’s inevitable.”

“Is there nothing … nothing …”

“Only what we are doing. There is nothing wrong with him organically. Constitutionally he is strong.”

“I don’t think he can bear these violent attacks of pain.”

“It’s tragic. I would do anything … anything …”

“I know,” I said. “I know.”

“You know I love you.”

I was silent. I did know it. I had known it for some time. Did he know that I loved him, too?

I stammered: “You have been so good.”

“If there were only something I could do.”

“You have sustained me with your care of him … and for me. Oh, Charles, how long can it go on?”

He was silent.

Then he said: “I’ve told you at last. If only … you were free … If only …

“Come and sit down. We are alone here, Zipporah. Mrs. Ellis is out.”

I felt my heart beating fast. I was elated in a way and at the same time horribly depressed. To be loved by such a man, whom I admired above all others, could not help but bring me joy; and on the other hand Jean-Louis was uppermost in my mind, his dependence on me, his abiding devotion.

I said I should go. “Give me the medicine and I will leave.”

“I want to talk to you first,” he replied. “It is no use shutting our eyes to what is and cannot be denied. I love you and you love me. I believe that to be so.”

“And if it is … we must forget it.”

“Forget it? You cannot push aside the truth and forget it.”

“There is nothing we can do about it.”

His hand closed over mine and gripped it tightly.

“We can be together,” he said.

“And we shall know that the other is there, caring.”

“Waiting,” he said.

“Waiting.”

“One day you and I will be together, Zipporah. It must be so.”

I was silent. I couldn’t bear it. It was talking of the time when Jean-Louis would no longer be there. It was like waiting for him to die … hoping he would.

I said: “I could never be happy. If Jean-Louis… died I would remember him forever and that I had not been true to him.”

“These things pass,” he said.

“Do they? Does one ever forget?”

“No, you’re right. We can forget for periods at a time and then our guilty secrets raise their heads when we least expect them and we are caught unawares to discover how vulnerable we are.”

“I must go,” I said. “Give me the laudanum and I will leave. It is better so.”

He shook his head. “What harm is done by your staying awhile? Jean-Louis is sleeping. He would not know if you returned. Stay awhile with me, Zipporah.”

He came toward me but I held him off. I was afraid of my emotions. I felt again that familiar desire which I had known with Gerard. It was there, I knew, ready to flare up and consume my resolutions. I knew that if I were not on guard all the time I should be swept away into the overwhelming need to slake my passion as I had done before.

There could not have been two men more unlike than Gerard and Charles and yet they both had this effect on me, this demanding, seering passion which I had never felt with Jean-Louis. Gerard had been so lighthearted, so ready to laugh, treating life as a joke. Charles was somber, weighed down by secrets, a man of deep passions when they were aroused, I was sure. Gerard’s I fancied could be easily aroused but Charles would give long consideration to such matters and would not lightly fall in love.

I must be careful. I could not believe that I would be caught up in a whirlwind of passion while Jean-Louis lay ill—and yet thinking about it over the years I could feel the same irresistible impulses.

I was in love with Charles. I had been in love with Gerard. I loved Jean-Louis, too; I was weak, I realized that. So I must tread very carefully.

He said: “I want to talk to you. I have never felt for anyone before what I do for you. I had a wife once. You knew that, did you?”

I shook my head.

“I thought perhaps Isabel had told you.”

“Isabel has talked of you a good deal … but she never really told me anything about you which I did not know.”

“Zipporah, I want you to know about this part of my life. Come and sit down. I’ve wanted to talk to you so often. I’ve wanted to tell you … to explain why these moods come upon me at times. I can never, never escape from my guilt. Whatever I do … it is there. I want you to know everything about me. Zipporah … I want to take you into those secret hiding places because I want you to know me for what I am. There must be no secrets between us.”

I sat down beside him.

He went on: “It happened a long time ago … ten years to be exact. I was young and ambitious then … rather different from what I am now. Events change us more than time, perhaps. I was a doctor in fashionable London. My patients were among the rich; my reputation was growing, and then I met Dorinda. It was at the theater. She was a passionate theatergoer, and so was I. I was constantly at the Haymarket Theater and Dairy Lane or Covent Garden. It was during a performance of King Lear, with Garrick magnificent in the leading role, that I was introduced to Dorinda.

“She was very beautiful—fair-haired, blue-eyed like an animated doll. She was high-spirited, full of vitality. I was completely enchanted. She enjoyed the company of actors and as I discovered later helped many of them financially. She had inherited a large fortune from her father, who had doted on her during his lifetime. Her mother had died soon after her birth.

“You can imagine what happened. I must have seemed something of an oddity to her. I was serious, the ambitious doctor; her life had been spent among stage people or those who never worked but were intent on the pursuit of pleasure.

“I could not understand why she accepted me, but she did. I think it was a sort of novelty. It was only after our marriage that I discovered my wife was one of the greatest heiresses in the country and her upbringing had made her highly unsuitable to be the wife of a doctor. She could not understand my desire to work. There was no need to work, she declared. She had never thought of money. It was something which was just there. As for work … My patients, she said, were all malingerers. They fancied being ill for a while and thought it made them rather interesting. She found my absorption rather a bore.

“I realized within a month or so that I had made a great mistake. I used to go for long walks in the evenings into the poorer districts. That was when I went into Whitefriars. I told you about that. I had the feeling then that I wanted to get away from my work in fashionable London. I wanted to do something worthwhile.

“I tried to explain to Dorinda. She was skeptical. I had been noticing for some time strange things about her. And there came one night … I had been out looking after a poor woman … one of the servants of a wealthy family who had called me in. The woman was suffering from an incurable disease and I had been with her some time so that I was too late for the theater performance to which we had arranged to go.

“When Dorinda came back that evening she was in a bad mood and it was then that I had the first real glimpse of the violence in her nature. She abused me in a loud and hectoring manner. Then she threw a statuette at me. It missed and went into a mirror. I can still hear the sound of cracking glass as the splinters fell over the carpet. Then she picked up a paper knife and came at me. It was not a sharp weapon but there was murder in her eyes. She could have killed me. I was stronger than she was and managed to get the weapon away. She collapsed suddenly and I gave her a sedative.

“I was so disturbed that I went to a cousin of hers—her nearest relation—and he told me that I would have to take care. Her mother had had to be, as he said, “put away.” There was madness in the family. Her grandmother had committed murder. There was a long tradition of insanity which seemed to be passed down through the women. They had hoped Dorinda had escaped because the violence had not begun to show in her until she came into her teens and then the attacks were not frequent. They had thought marriage would cure her.

“I said: ‘Why did no one warn me?’”

“The cousin was silent. I think they had wanted someone to take the responsibility from them. Dorinda had a large fortune and I think they believed that that would be the compensation.

“You can imagine my feelings. I had already begun to know that my marriage was a great mistake. What I had felt for Dorinda was infatuation and I was not experienced enough to recognize it for what it was. And now to learn that I was married to a mad woman was the greatest blow imaginable.

“‘You are a doctor,’ the cousin had said. ‘We had thought that marriage with you was the very best thing that could happen to Dorinda. We thought you would be able to treat her and she would be under your constant supervision.’

“I cannot tell you the terrible depression I suffered at that time. I saw myself as a prisoner bound to this woman … this mad woman … for the rest of my life. Then I was presented with the most fearful dilemma. Dorinda was going to have a child. I pondered this; I spent sleepless nights asking myself what I should do. If Dorinda bore a girl that baby would be tainted … doomed to madness if the pattern persisted as it had for generations.

“I was a doctor. I had it in my power to terminate Dorinda’s pregnancy. I wrestled with myself. It was in a way taking a life, but surely that was better than allowing some maimed creature to come into the world. What was I to do? I had means at my disposal. I knew how. …The right dose of a certain medicine and the chances were that I could bring about a miscarriage.

“Well, I made the choice. I terminated the pregnancy … but I must have made a mistake for, at the same time, I terminated Dorinda’s life.

“That’s my story, Zipporah. I can never forget it. I could not let that child live. And yet … has anyone the right to take a life? I thought at the time I was doing what was best … what was right. I did not know that there would be complications … that Dorinda was not fit to bear children. … I tell myself that had the child been allowed to be born in the normal way its birth would very likely have killed Dorinda. I don’t know. All I do know is that the child died, that Dorinda died and that there was a scandal concerning her death.”

“Oh, Charles, how you must have suffered! But you did right. I am sure you did right.”

“You see, she had this large fortune … and it came to me. It was well known that Dorinda and I were not on good terms. Everyone understood that. So many of them knew of Dorinda’s strange behavior. There was sympathy for me … oh yes, I had that … but the smear was there. Dorinda was dead. I was a widower … a very rich widower whose worldly possessions were far greater than that of the needy bachelor who had married Dorinda.”

We were silent for a while. I was seeing so clearly the people who would whisper about him; the horrible suspicion that surrounded him and most terrible of all the fact that he had brought about Dorinda’s death.

“My close friends knew that I had never been greatly interested in money, that the fact of Dorinda’s wealth had been a surprise to me. But that did not stop the whispers. There might have been an inquiry but her cousin did not want that. He was naturally anxious that the fact that there was madness in the family should not be brought into the open. He managed as much as anyone to hush up the matter. But you can imagine how it was with me. There were times when I would rather they had investigated. I would have been ready to admit that I had attempted to kill the unborn child rather than condemn it to its inevitable inheritance. I did not know that Dorinda was not fit to bear a child. I was ready to stake my defense on that and the almost certainty that had the child grown to its full size she would have died in giving normal birth to it. So I left London. … And the money came to me and with it, as you know, I built and maintained my hospital.”

“I understand and I am glad you told me. I think you blame yourself too much. What you did may well have been right. You had to make a decision and you took that one.”

“I took a life,” he said, “two lives.”

“But if it is better that a child should never be born …”

“Who is to be the judge of that?”

“Surely there are times when we have to make these decisions.”

“I am sorry for anyone who does. Life is sacred. It is not for us to decide whether or not to destroy it.”

“But we destroy flies, rats … vermin that carry disease. That is life surely.”

“I am thinking of human life.”

I said: “I am unsure. I think you did right. You acted out of no desire for personal gain. You did not know Dorinda would die. Your thought was to prevent a baby being born who was almost certainly doomed to madness. You were right.”

“It is murder.”

“The law commits murder … on people whom it says are a menace to the community. Yours was the same sort of killing. You must see that.”

“I never shall. All I can do is try to expiate my sin and … forget.”

“How many lives have you saved in your hospital?”

He smiled tenderly at me. “You are trying to comfort me. I knew I should find comfort with you. You are in my thoughts all the time. I believe that one day …”

I shook my head. “Don’t talk of it,” I said. “I cannot betray Jean-Louis … twice.”

Then I told him of that period when I was Gerard’s mistress and how ever after I had been unable to forget.

It was his turn to comfort me. He was not shocked as I feared he might be. He said: “It was natural. You are a warm-blooded woman. Do you think I don’t know that? You need fulfillment of your emotions. … For a time you achieved that.”

“I deceived my husband.”

“And you loved him all the more because of it. You were more tender, patient. Nobody could have been a better nurse to Jean-Louis. He knows it and is grateful.”

I said: “You are trying to comfort me. You do not know that Lottie is not Jean-Louis’s child.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as a woman can be. Jean-Louis is incapable of begetting children. As soon as Gerard and I were together … it happened. I could never bear Jean-Louis to know. … He adores Lottie. He is so proud of her. He wanted children always.”

Charles took my hands and kissed them.

“We are a pair of sinners weighed down with guilt. Is that what makes us attractive to each other? What you did has in fact brought happiness to Jean-Louis.”

“I am sure your action was right. But I know mine was wrong. ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery.’ How many times did I write that out in the schoolroom? The Ten Commandments. I had no idea what it meant. To me it was just number seven in those days.”

“And thou shalt do no murder.”

“It wasn’t murder, Charles. You must stop saying that.”

“How wonderful it would be if we could put the past behind us.”

“Do you think we shall ever do that?”

“Yes,” he said. “I will teach you how to … and you will teach me. We need each other, Zipporah, and one day we are going to be together.”

Then he held me fast in his arms and I clung to him.

We heard a step in the hall. The housekeeper had returned.

I suppose it was inevitable. I think we both knew it. I fought against it until our resistance crumbled. Our need was too great and we both desperately wanted to be happy even for a brief moment. We wanted to escape together to that bliss which we knew we could give each other.

It was a matter of waiting for the opportunity and I knew it would come.

The housekeeper had gone to visit her sister and was to be away the entire day. He did not tell me this. The fact was that she paid these regular visits about once every two weeks so it was certain to happen that on one of her days of absence I should call to have my bottle replenished.

The house was silent. I knew as soon as I entered that we were alone.

There was an air of excitement about him—almost gaiety. It seemed as though he had cast away his cares. I found that I was doing the same.

In the world beyond this house I had my duties, my unsatisfactory life to lead, my fears, my sadness, my terrible pity when I sat beside my husband’s bed … but here in this small house, in those rooms over those in which he saw his patients, I could be happy.

He said: “Zipporah … we can’t go on holding back what must be”

I shook my head: “I must go home,” I said.

But he took off my cape and held me against him.

He said: “Surely we can have this.”

I said again: “I must go.” But there was no conviction in my voice.

I allowed myself to be led upstairs. I allowed myself to be disrobed not only of my clothes but of my honor. I shared with my lover that burning desire; again I knew the feeling that everything else must be forgotten, shut away to satisfy this need.

I was a deeply passionate woman; Charles was a deeply passionate man. We loved each other. I tell myself that what happened was inevitable.

And for the second time I became an adulteress.

Afterward we lay side by side on his bed and my thoughts went back over the years so that I could almost hear the sounds of the fair.

Gerard had been lighthearted, reaching out for pleasure. Charles was different. He was so serious. He would never have come to this if he had not cared deeply for me. He was serious-minded. This was not a lighthearted moment of joy. Was that what it had been with Gerard? This was solemn, binding. Charles and I were, apart from according to law, man and wife.

I felt that and so did he, I know.

“One day,” he said, “all will be well. Won’t it, Zipporah?”

It was in a way a promise … a bond. We did not want to mention Jean-Louis for only his death could make our marriage possible. But as we lay together we were as one and we knew that what had passed between us had bound us together for as long as we should live.

Now that we had become lovers our passionate need for each other had been sparked into a mighty conflagration. We no longer waited for opportunities: we made them. There were the days when the housekeeper visited her sister. But there were other occasions besides. We met sometimes in woods not too near the houses and we would lie together in secluded spots and talk endlessly and sometimes make love.

Charles had changed. There was a hopefulness about him which I felt must be noticeable. The gloom had lifted. He was like another man. I wondered if I had changed also.

Sometimes I noticed Isabel watching me covertly.

She said: “You’re looking better, Zipporah. I’m so glad. You began to look quite seedy.”

“I’m getting used to things,” I answered. I hope there wasn’t a lilt in my voice. I couldn’t help it. I knew I was wrong, but I was so happy at times. At others I would sit by Jean-Louis’s bed and then a terrible sense of guilt would weigh me down. Once he opened his eyes and I found him regarding me steadily.

“You’re so good to me, Zipporah,” he said. “You’re so patient always. I’m afraid I get irritable. I’m always waiting for the pain. It’s like a monster waiting to leap on me. Then I see you … and I feel I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Oh, don’t … don’t,” I cried. And I was near to breaking down. “What I do for you I want to do. I want to be with you … to make you happy.”

Then he closed his eyes, smiling, and I thought: Insincere woman, wicked Zipporah, adulteress!

Once when Charles and I were returning from the woods we met Evalina. She came upon us suddenly as we were brushing the leaves from our clothes. I trembled to think that she might have come a little sooner. She looked plump and contented.

She hailed us. “There’ll be lots of blackberries later on,” she said. “Look at these bushes.”

We looked.

“Taking a stroll in the woods?” she said. “So was I. Beautiful this time of the year, aren’t they?”

Was her gaze a little malicious? I told myself she had changed but she was still Evalina.

“And how is your husband?” she asked.

Was there a certain emphasis in her words?

I said he was as well as we could hope. If he had four days free from pain that was very good.

She nodded; then she smiled suddenly. “Nice for you to be able to get out a bit. We all need it. I’m expecting again. Well, not for some time … but it’s so.”

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Well, good day to you … doctor … Mistress Ransome.”

“What’s wrong?” said Charles when she had gone.

“I think she was spying on us.”

“No, she was just walking.”

“I remember her when she was at Eversleigh with her mother.”

“She’s changed now. She’s become the lady of the house. She is a good mother to her little boy and she and Trent seem made for each other.”

“But she saw us together.”

“Why shouldn’t we walk in the woods?”

“I suppose I feel guilty.”

“Dearest Zipporah, please don’t. You’ve made me so happy.”

“I’m glad,” I said. “I’m being foolish. I’m trying hard to forget what I’ve done. I want to be happy. Do you know, I think that the only way I can live through all this is by being happy for a time. It’s like the laudanum … it gives me respite and then I can go on and fight.”

He gripped my hand. He understood.

Lottie had come back from Clavering in high spirits. She had had a wonderful holiday and chattered to Jean-Louis about Sabrina, Clarissa and Dickon. He liked to hear her and I was sure he was better for her presence.

I tried to prevent her—and so did he—seeing the pain. I felt she was too young to be disturbed, as she undoubtedly would have been.

It was a great joy to have her back. She was running about making sure that her dog and horse were all right. She must go over to see Hetty Fenton and the children. She had brought jars of my mother’s jams and preserves for Hetty and little gifts for the children—a chocolate mouse and ball and skittles.

She played with them, and was always welcome, I knew, at Hetty’s house.

Miss Carter seemed primmer than usual.

“Miss Carter is so good because she believes that if she’s not she’ll burn forever,” Lottie told me.

“Poor Miss Carter,” I said.

“Why poor Miss Carter? She’ll go straight to heaven. It’s the rest of us who she thinks are going to burn in hell.”

“My dear Lottie,” I said. “I am sure none of us is going to burn in hell.”

“Not even the wicked ones? Miss Carter says that’s God’s words.”

“I’m sure it’s her way of interpreting it. If you repent you’ll be forgiven. That’s in the Bible, too.”

“Sometimes I think Miss Carter would be disappointed if people didn’t burn.”

“Look here,” I said, “you stop worrying about it. You be good and kind and thoughtful … which you are most of the time … and you’ll be safe from the fires of hell.”

She laughed with me, but I did wonder whether Miss Carter was too fanatical to have the care of a young girl.

I should have liked to talk to Jean-Louis about it but of course I could not worry him with such matters. I had to confess that when I was with Charles there were so many other matters with which to occupy ourselves. I did discuss it with Isabel, who thought that it was probably good for Lottie to think about the way she was acting.

Hester came over often to help me. I became very fond of her; she was a gentle person and I think that perhaps because of her experiences I felt at ease with her.

One day I was preparing to go to see Charles on the pretext of getting more laudanum and when I went to the cupboard I found that there was a new bottle there.

“I thought I’d save you the trouble of going into, town,” said Hetty. “I knew where you kept the key and I noticed last time you used it that you would soon be wanting more.”

I felt deflated. I wondered what Charles had thought when expecting me he had seen Hetty. I could not go in after that. I was very disappointed and felt angry with Hetty. Poor girl, it wasn’t her fault.

She was with me on one occasion when I had to give Jean-Louis a dose of laudanum. She saw my anguish and I knew she was very touched.

We sat in the dressing room talking in whispers after he had fallen into that deep unnatural sleep which was his only way to get relief.

“Life is so sad sometimes,” she said. “To think that this could have happened. I remember Jean-Louis when I came back to my family. He was so different then. Everything was different then.”

I said: “But you’re happy now.”

She hesitated. “I never forget,” she said.

“But you must. It’s all behind you.”

“Everything that happens is there forever … in your memory. Everything makes its mark on your life. Things happen because something else has happened. I shall never forget.”

“But it turned out well for you. You have James and the children.”

“Yes … but the memory is there, it still haunts me. Sometimes … I wonder …”

I did not prompt her and she went on with a rush: “I wonder whether … I really wanted that to happen.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

She said, and there was a faraway look in her eyes so that I knew she was there at Clavering on the night of the party: “I went into the garden with him … I think of him sometimes.”

“Dickon!” I said. “He is evil. He causes disaster wherever he goes … and yet he saved my life. I must not forget that.”

“Yes … you see. Nothing is all black or all white. Nothing is entirely good or evil. … I sometimes wonder if I was not under some spell. … Whether he didn’t fascinate me in some way. I hated him. Yes, I hated him. I nearly died of shame and yet … and yet …”

I said briskly: “I should dismiss him from your mind.”

“I do … for long periods … and then sometimes I dream … and I ask myself how much of what one believes happened really did … and whether one interprets it the way one wants it.”

“You’re getting too introspective, Hetty. It’s much better to live life simply.”

Live life simply! What a hypocrite I was! I wondered what Hetty would say if she knew that I was having a love affair with the doctor.

What if she did know? What if we failed to disguise it? I knew the way in which Charles sometimes looked at me … even in company. I saw it in his eyes. Did others? Had her trip to his house to get the laudanum been to prevent my going?

When one is as guilty as I was one suspects everything. First Evalina because we met her in the woods … and now Hetty.

The weeks slipped by … one very like the last. Nothing changed. Jean-Louis’s pain was perhaps a little more frequent—the periods of respite fewer and less far between. And Charles and I deeper and deeper in our torrid love, with each passing week demanding more of each other, unable to keep apart, contriving meetings, loving, loving madly, hopelessly.

The summer passed and it was autumn.

There were letters from Clavering.

They longed to see me but they would not make the journey to Eversleigh because they knew how ill Jean-Louis was. But let Lottie come again with that nice governess of hers. It wasn’t good for the child to spend Christmas in a house where there was sickness.

So Lottie and Miss Carter left for Clavering and Christmas passed for us at Eversleigh quietly. Hetty and James came with Isabel, Derek and Charles and we were all together on Christmas day. Jean-Louis was not well enough to be brought down but we spent a lot of time in his room and I was thankful that he felt no pain on that day.

Evalina sent messages. She was near her time and unable to come herself; but Jack Trent came over and brought little Richard with him. He was a bright boy and amused us with his chatter.

It seemed to me that he had a look of Dickon already and the thought depressed me.

So we passed into a new year.

The weather turned cold and it was hard to keep the rooms warm. Old houses were notoriously draughty and Eversleigh was no exception. Beautiful as the high-vaulted ceilings were they meant that the rooms needed great fires and even then much of the heat they provided was lost.

The cold was not good for Jean-Louis. One afternoon in February I sat with him. He had had a bad night and I had slightly increased his dose because the normal one seemed ineffective.

He talked to me in a low voice. He was so exhausted.

“Sleep,” he said. “It came at last. What a relief sleep is. ‘Nature’s soft nurse,’ Shakespeare called it. What an apt phrase.”

“Rest,” I said, “don’t talk.”

“I feel at peace now,” he said. “You sitting there with the firelight playing on your face. I’d like to stay like this forever, Zipporah beside me … and no pain … just nothing … Sometimes I wonder …”

I did not speak and he closed his eyes. Then he said suddenly:

“You keep the key in that secret drawer of yours, don’t you?”

I was startled and did not answer immediately.

I heard him laugh softly. “You do. … You always liked that little desk and you liked it because of the secret drawer.”

“Who told you that was where I kept the key?”

“Dearest Zipporah … am I a child not to be told these things? Even a child can reason. It’s the obvious place.”

“The doctor said: ‘Put the key in a safe place which you know and no one else does. … You must be the only one who gives him the doses.’”

“Doctors think of their patients as children, don’t they? The key is in the secret drawer. Sometimes I think it would be better if I drank enough of the stuff to let me slip quietly away.”

“Please don’t talk like that, Jean-Louis.”

“Just this once and then I’ll say no more of it. Wouldn’t it be better … Zipporah? Be honest, wouldn’t it?”

“No … no!”

“All right. I won’t talk of it. Zipporah, you ought to be happy. Not sitting here with an invalid.”

“I am happy. You are my husband, Jean-Louis. We … belong together. I want to be with you. Don’t you understand that?”

“Oh, my dearest … you are so good to me.”

“You excite yourself. You should rest.”

He closed his eyes. There was a peaceful smile on his lips.

I prayed that he might rest peacefully that night. That the demons of pain might be kept at bay.

I could not sleep. I lay in my single bed in the dressing room and listened. He was quiet. He must be sleeping peacefully.

I thought of all he had said to me, of his tenderness and his trust; and I saw myself as a worthless woman, an adulteress who should be branded as they used to brand them, I believe, in the old days, with an A on their foreheads. He loved me absolutely and I was unworthy of his love. At times I wanted to give up everything to look after him; I did look after him, none could have nursed him better. But at the same time I was creeping off, when I could, to the bed of another man.

Life was so complicated. People were complicated. Nothing was plain black, plain white. I was kind to him; I was tender; I was never irritable. I smiled all the time; I soothed him. I had to because that was some balm to my conscience.

And as I lay there I heard movement in the room. Slowly, laboriously, Jean-Louis was getting out of bed. Had the pain started? No. It could not be. He could not get up and walk if it were so.

There was silence and then I heard the movement again. I heard the faint tapping of a stick.

Jean-Louis was coming toward the dressing room.

I lay very still. Something urged me to. Something kept saying to me: “It’s for the best … for him … for you … for Charles … for everybody.”

Before Jean-Louis entered the dressing room, I knew.

I lay still. He was there now … walking cautiously, feeling his way in the light from the stars which came through the dressing room’s small window.

He was at the desk now. He had found the secret drawer. He had the key. He opened the cupboard door.

I knew what he had taken.

I must get up. Take it from him. Tell him he must not do this thing.

I thought of his poor face distorted with pain and the years ahead when there was nothing for him but more pain. How could he endure that? Wasn’t this better?

I heard him go back to his room. I lay still with a thudding heart which shook the bed.

I lay … waiting. …

No sound. Only the faint starlight in the room to show me the unshut door of the cupboard which told me it had really happened.

I listened. I could hear his stertorous breathing.

I rose from my bed and went into the next room.

There was no sound now.

I lighted two candles with an unsteady hand and carried one to the bed.

He seemed to be smiling at me. A happy smile … the lines of pain were no longer visible. He looked as young as he had when I had married him.

Dear Jean-Louis, he had made the supreme sacrifice.