reached into his pocket. ‘And here! Here’s your Christmas present. Merry Christmas!’ He flung it down in front of me.
The door slammed behind him, and suddenly I knew I couldn’t let him go like that. He was at the bottom of the stairs when I tore open the door. He looked up as I called out his name. Then almost before I knew it was happening, I was in his arms. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t let him go.
He led me back into the sitting room and pulled me on to my knees in front of the fire. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, reaching up to wipe away my tears. ‘I’m sorry for everything I said.’
‘Me too.’ I lowered my head, but he lifted my face and kissed me.
At first his lips were gentle, but as his hands closed around my face I clung to him, needing to feel him closer.
‘Tell me you love me, Elizabeth. Please, tell me,’ he murmured.
He kissed me again, and this time I felt his tongue move against mine. I twisted my fingers through his hair and was saying the words before I even realised.
‘Now will you let me come with you?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘Please, look at it sensibly, Alexander. You can’t come, you mustn’t. Just because we’ve admitted to the way we feel doesn’t make it right. You have to go home to your parents, and I’ll go to London. Then after Christmas . . . well, who knows? I think it would be better if we don’t spend any time alone together after this.’
He put his hand over my mouth. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that again. I’ll agree to go home for the holiday, but only if you agree that you’ll see me afterwards, only if you promise that you’ll still love me when I come back. Elizabeth. Please, promise me, Elizabeth.’
In the end I was too weak to refuse. I loved him too much already.
– 7 –
I couldn’t have made a bigger mistake than to go to Mr Billings’s little hotel off the Bayswater Road. He was a kind and jovial man who told me with pride that I had the only room with a bath, but the wallpaper and curtains were drab and, feeling the way I did, once the door had closed behind him it was a struggle to hold back the tears. The big armchair under the standard lamp was just right for sitting and reading in, but I never got any further than the first few lines of Girl with Green Eyes.
I went for walks round the shops or in Hyde Park, and tried as hard as I could not to think about Alexander – but I thought about nothing else. At night, listening to the sounds from the street, I sat by the mirror and ran my fingers over my lips, remembering what it was like when he kissed me. And always I’d end up wrapping my arms around myself, wanting to cry out with the need to touch him.
On Christmas morning I opened the present he’d given me. I’d said once, when we’d all been talking about what we would buy if we had lots of money, that I’d buy some expensive French perfume called Y. He’d remembered. I wished so much that he was there then, that I was almost stifled by the longing. And because I was shaking when I opened the parcel, I dropped it, and the bottle smashed. All Christmas Day I sobbed into my pillow, and most of Boxing Day too. I couldn’t bear to think of losing him, not yet.
It was two days after Christmas, late in the afternoon, when Mr Billings knocked on my door. I must have been asleep because there seemed to be a fuss going on in the corridor, and I heard someone call that she thought she’d seen me going out. I pulled myself up from the bed, my book thudding to the floor. As I opened the door and flicked on the light I could see Mr Billings at the top of the stairs.
His face lit up when he saw me and he started to speak, but I was looking past him. It couldn’t be. I was dreaming. He didn’t know where I was . . . .
‘. . . nice to have visitors, especially at Christmas,’ Mr Billings was saying. He clapped Alexander on the shoulder and pushed him towards me. Then I heard Alexander refusing the
The door slammed behind him, and suddenly I knew I couldn’t let him go like that. He was at the bottom of the stairs when I tore open the door. He looked up as I called out his name. Then almost before I knew it was happening, I was in his arms. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t let him go.
He led me back into the sitting room and pulled me on to my knees in front of the fire. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, reaching up to wipe away my tears. ‘I’m sorry for everything I said.’
‘Me too.’ I lowered my head, but he lifted my face and kissed me.
At first his lips were gentle, but as his hands closed around my face I clung to him, needing to feel him closer.
‘Tell me you love me, Elizabeth. Please, tell me,’ he murmured.
He kissed me again, and this time I felt his tongue move against mine. I twisted my fingers through his hair and was saying the words before I even realised.
‘Now will you let me come with you?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘Please, look at it sensibly, Alexander. You can’t come, you mustn’t. Just because we’ve admitted to the way we feel doesn’t make it right. You have to go home to your parents, and I’ll go to London. Then after Christmas . . . well, who knows? I think it would be better if we don’t spend any time alone together after this.’
He put his hand over my mouth. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that again. I’ll agree to go home for the holiday, but only if you agree that you’ll see me afterwards, only if you promise that you’ll still love me when I come back. Elizabeth. Please, promise me, Elizabeth.’
In the end I was too weak to refuse. I loved him too much already.
– 7 –
I couldn’t have made a bigger mistake than to go to Mr Billings’s little hotel off the Bayswater Road. He was a kind and jovial man who told me with pride that I had the only room with a bath, but the wallpaper and curtains were drab and, feeling the way I did, once the door had closed behind him it was a struggle to hold back the tears. The big armchair under the standard lamp was just right for sitting and reading in, but I never got any further than the first few lines of Girl with Green Eyes.
I went for walks round the shops or in Hyde Park, and tried as hard as I could not to think about Alexander – but I thought about nothing else. At night, listening to the sounds from the street, I sat by the mirror and ran my fingers over my lips, remembering what it was like when he kissed me. And always I’d end up wrapping my arms around myself, wanting to cry out with the need to touch him.
On Christmas morning I opened the present he’d given me. I’d said once, when we’d all been talking about what we would buy if we had lots of money, that I’d buy some expensive French perfume called Y. He’d remembered. I wished so much that he was there then, that I was almost stifled by the longing. And because I was shaking when I opened the parcel, I dropped it, and the bottle smashed. All Christmas Day I sobbed into my pillow, and most of Boxing Day too. I couldn’t bear to think of losing him, not yet.
It was two days after Christmas, late in the afternoon, when Mr Billings knocked on my door. I must have been asleep because there seemed to be a fuss going on in the corridor, and I heard someone call that she thought she’d seen me going out. I pulled myself up from the bed, my book thudding to the floor. As I opened the door and flicked on the light I could see Mr Billings at the top of the stairs.
His face lit up when he saw me and he started to speak, but I was looking past him. It couldn’t be. I was dreaming. He didn’t know where I was . . . .
‘. . . nice to have visitors, especially at Christmas,’ Mr Billings was saying. He clapped Alexander on the shoulder and pushed him towards me. Then I heard Alexander refusing the
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