Ashford’s Version
It’s exhausting. When Jemma acts like this, she drains me of all my energy. I wish I could get inside her head, to read all the things she’s not telling me.
There’s a menacing hypothesis that I barely consider but I don’t dare mention: maybe she saw me with Portia, or worse, someone told her they saw me with Portia, perhaps exaggerating their report with imaginary details.
I’m more than at peace with my conscience.
I’m in the study, trying to focus on the estimated value of the paintings of that unfortunate Russian artist whose death apparently restored my economic prosperity, but I can’t.
Besides, I’m worried that Loxley will turn Jemma against me even more.
Lance knocks on the door. “Miss Portia is waiting to be received.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, astonished.
“She has just arrived.”
If I don’t receive her myself, I’m sure she’ll ask to meet my mother, who will invite her to stay for lunch, and I want to prevent them from teaming up. I’ll do it, but I’ll be concise, then I’ll personally accompany her to the door and ask her to never come to Denby uninvited again.
“Let her in.”
When she enters the study, I don’t take my eyes off the papers.
“Am I interrupting business?” She asks cheerfully, while closing the door behind her with a slight thud.
“What do you need?” My tone is cold and detached.
“I stopped by to give your jacket back,” she answers, swinging a hanger with my jacket wrapped up in cellophane. “Last night, in the chaos, you left before I could return it.”
“You could have left it with Lance.”
“I took the opportunity to say hello and thank you for your chivalry.”
“I see that your ankle is much better.” I can’t help but notice that she’s walking without any problems, and she’s even wearing high heels.
“Ice works wonders,” she replies, most naturally. “And how is your wife? Is she okay?”
“She’s already left the house under her own steam, so I’d say she is. It takes more than fainting, to keep her down.”
Portia comes round to my side of the desk to poke her nose into my stuff. “Property management must be rather boring … if you want, I can get my father to assist you. He’s a very capable financial adviser.”
I close the folder with a sharp movement. “Portia, your game is starting to annoy me, and I don’t like it.”
“What game?” She asks, naively.
“This! You come here, look for me, talk to me with any excuse. What are you doing, what’s your objective?”
“You know, if you were really as in love as you say, you wouldn’t be afraid of what you call ‘my game’… if you are, then I must assume that a part of you is tempted to give in.”
“Give in to what? What are you talking about?”
“About me, about us. I’ve always believed that our story wasn’t totally over, and I’m even more sure, after last night. Jemma is a temporary interlude, but I was here before her, and I always will be.”
“This is not true, and do you know why? I’ll tell you a secret about us men: if we really value something, we don’t let go of it. If I ever wanted you to become my wife, I wouldn’t have hesitated to ask you.”
Portia doesn’t look shaken by my words.
“I’ll tell you something about you men: you don’t know what you want. You never do. But I’m patient. In the end, you’ll get tired of Jemma and you’ll miss what we had.”
“We never had anything, Portia.”
“Let me refresh your memory.” She says, then she bends over to kiss me.
I’ve never thought that I would find a woman revolting, yet that’s how I feel now: I’m disgusted. I pull away abruptly. “You’re crazy. The idea of marrying you never even crossed my mind back then, and it never will.”
As she picks up her bag and shoots me a grim look, I notice with horror that the door of the study is open.