Jemma’s Version
She’s kissing him.
She’s kissing him!
Portia’s hands are clinging to his shoulders and her lips are on his.
I’m short of breath again, the same way I was last night, when I saw them on the terrace.
As I walk away, my heart starts pounding faster and faster. A part of me, which I didn’t even know was there, is holding the reins of my melodramatic side: in the past, I would have stormed into the room screaming and throwing the first things to hand. Now, there’s something inside me which is looking for a warm blanket to wrap myself up in after this cold shower, or a piece of chocolate after this bitter pill. I’m not angry, maybe I will be later, or maybe I’ll never be. I have no desire for revenge or violence.
If I hadn’t been back, I would have never seen that horrible scene. Why did I return?
Halfway to Cécile’s place, I felt guilty for what I had said to Ashford, so I had the chauffeur turn the car round and head back to Denby, to apologise to him and talk. And I found him with Portia! Guilty, my arse!
I drag myself to my room, but before collapsing on my bed, I go to the connecting door, which I’ve always left open lately, and I turn the key twice.
This is self-preservation in full swing. Once again, after I lowered my defences and got vulnerable, I was stabbed in the back. I’ve never felt my heart bleed as much as today. In my mind, I see confused flashes of the most beautiful moments of the last few months, when a secret fairy tale seemed to have come true between me and Ashford, but they abruptly alternate with the image of a victorious Portia holding him and kissing him away from prying eyes, mine.
I can’t take it any more. I would like to vent my fury and abandon myself to one of those angry outbursts that are generally so natural for me at these times, but I can’t do anything. I’m unable to react. Just like when I saw them on the terrace. I didn’t wade in to give them hell; I beat a retreat instead, to nurse my wounded pride and the pieces of my broken heart.
I don’t even dare open my eyes, because I’m afraid to see the walls closing in on me.
Why did it happen again? Why with Ashford?
I suddenly sit up in a panic when I hear the handle of the connecting door being pulled once, twice, before I hear Ashford’s voice calling me.
“Jemma, are you in there?”
If I don’t answer, he’ll think that the room is empty and that the servants have locked the door by mistake. In this way, I can buy some more time.
Ashford stops calling me and leaves.
Oh, no, he’s not leaving. He’s now knocking on the main door, and I can no longer ignore him. Lance must have told him that I’m back, and locked doors are a pretty clear message, even for him.
I open it reluctantly, as I’m aware that I can’t pretend that everything is fine.
Ashford gets in and tries to hug me. “Jemma, why have you locked yourself in your room?”
I take a deep breath before I can utter a sentence that makes sense. “I saw you. You and Portia, you were kissing each other in the study.”
Ashford’s eyes are crossed by a flash of horror. “You do not know what you saw.”
“Do you think I’m blind? Was it my imagination? Or can you say it wasn’t you?”
Silence.
“Your silence speaks for you.”
“Portia did everything by herself: she came here with an excuse, then she started pressing me more and more, but I rejected her.”
“My hero!” I shout, exasperated.
“I rejected her,” he repeats.
“That’s not what I saw.”
“What are we even talking about?”
“You, us, love and truth, that’s what we’re talking about. And the relationship you still have with Portia, even if I was convinced that something was going on between you and me.”
“I don’t have a relationship with Portia!”
“Don’t lie to me! I have too much experience in being cheated on, and I know how to spot a lie.”
“Jemma, this is all wrong.”
Why is his defence so weak? “Stop it. You don’t want me, you never did. At the beginning, at least, you didn’t hide your contempt. The cruellest thing you did was stringing me along!”
“Jesus Christ, Jemma, what do you mean?”
“This! You court me, you’re attracted to me, you fall in love with me… while you’re having an affair with Portia behind my back! In the stables of the polo club, at the Davenports’, even here in your study!”
“I don’t want Portia and I will never do.”
“Go tell someone who feels like believing you.”
“I can’t be more honest than this!”
“It’s not the first time. I saw you, as I saw you at the dance party on the terrace! She was all over you, as if her life depended on it.”
“She had a sprained ankle!”
“You’re pathetic, you can’t even make up decent excuses! I saw you, and my blood dried up in my veins. I fainted, and you were there next to me when I woke up, so I thought it was just a trick of my imagination, but what I saw today confirms that I didn’t invent anything.”
“Jemma, are you looking for an excuse to end it? Because there’s no need to.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you would be delighted to be free again with a queue of women drooling over you! I won’t stay here cramping your style!”
“And you can’t wait to go back to London to go clubbing and show off, can you?”
“I’m not one of those blind, deaf and mute dummies that you high up people are used to having as your wives. I have a shred of self-esteem left, and I won’t let you take it away from me.”
“You’re free not to believe me. I know that you are only interested in your own opinion. You’re as stubborn and uncontrollable as you’ve always been! Getting cleaned up and watching some movie with Keira Knightley in it did not change your bad temper!”
“You know what I think? That this train was destined to stop.” I take off my wedding ring and throw it across the room. “I’ll pack my bags now, I won’t stay here one more minute to let an arrogant and unfaithful liar like you make a fool of me. My life has never sucked as much as it did in these last months with you.”
“Well, do some soul searching, young lady! Living with you would turn the most reasonable man into a basket case! Ask yourself why everyone cheated on you in the past. Marrying a duke is the best thing that has ever happened to you! You’ve experienced more fidelity in six months than in your whole life.”
“You’re not a duke. You’re a bastard.”
“Want to insult me, after the slander you’ve made up so far? Be my guest! God knows I’m enough of a gentleman to take it.”
“Then be a gentleman and get out of my room.”
“This is my manor, so this is my room, and I’ll stay here as long as I want, whether you’re here or not.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be here for long,” I growl.
“Good.”
“Good.”
“I’m off now, but not because you told me to. I have better things to do.”
He slams the door behind him and, for a split second, I wish I could take it all back.
I can’t stay here any longer.
I go to the wardrobe to empty all the shelves and racks; I take dresses, trousers, shirts and God knows what else, because the tears in my eyes prevent me from seeing what I’m doing.