Ashford’s Version
She didn’t come for me, but I’ll let her in anyway.
I’ve been turning thoughts over for days now and I don’t know which ones to pay attention to. Seeing Cécile at the door is almost a relief.
Like those disgusting bitter medicines that you’re happy to take, because you know that they’ll make you feel better.
Cécile strides into the living room with her usual aplomb, she sits in the armchair next to the fireplace and rests her elbows on the armrests. Beams of light filter through the window behind her, outlining her silhouette and giving her a disturbing radiance.
“You look awful, Burlingham.”
A Loxley style opening line. There is no offence in her voice, only ruthless sincerity. And it’s true, I do look awful, I thought so myself this morning.
“Always straight to the point, Loxley.”
“It’s so obvious, that it would be hypocritical to pretend you don’t. I haven’t seen you like this since they showed us Schindler’s List, back at school.”
I sigh, but I don’t answer. I want her to talk. Jesus, how much do I want her to talk.
“Where’s Jemma? I came back from Bruges yesterday, and I called to invite her over, but her mobile was disconnected. Then Lance told me she’s not here, and you inexplicably invite me in, looking like crap.”
“What do you know?” I ask her, abruptly.
“What should I know?” She asks me in return.
“She’s gone. Jemma has left.” As I utter those few, short unequivocal words, my voice breaks.
“She has left?”
I collapse on the sofa in front of her, I’m exhausted. “She packed her bags and she left.”
“It seems a bit out of the blue. Just like that, for no reason? It would be too impulsive even for me.”
“We had a fight,” I admit, ashamed. “We said very bad things to each other, we took off our wedding rings and she… she thinks that I have a relationship with Portia!”
“Do you?” Asks Cécile, as direct as a rifle shot.
“God, no! I could never… there’s no…”
“There’s no comparison, I agree,” she ends my sentence.
“Have you talked to her? Jemma, I mean.”
“Obviously not. If I had, I wouldn’t be here. Do you know where I can find her?”
“I have no idea.”
“In London,” she assumes.
“Maybe in Dover, or in Devonshire.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Burlingham. Jemma would never go to lick her wounds in a castle in the middle of nowhere. She must be in London.”
“If she were in town, I would know. Derek would have told me.” At least I think he would.
“I’ll have to find her myself, then,” says Cécile pragmatically, rising from the armchair to leave.
“And how are you going to do that?”
“I have many disreputable acquaintances in London who could find a needle in a haystack. They will find her. Jesus, Burlingham. I’ve never liked you that much, but seeing you like this breaks my heart.”
“If you find her, talk to her, tell her that you saw me and that I’ve never had a relationship with Portia.”
“I know you haven’t. How could you, after Jemma. She’s the only one who ever managed to make you look like a real man. For a while, at least.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, offended.
“If you were a real man, you would come to London to look for her, and tell her face to face.”
“You never miss an opportunity to behave as if you are better than others.”
“Because I am,” Cécile says proudly, with her back to me as she walks to the door.
“You have sex with Harring, don’t you?”
Hearing my question, she stops like a broken amusement ride. Cécile is a good girl after all, one of the best I’ve ever met, but she needs to be brought back down a peg or two sometimes.
“What…” she tries to reply, but she’s lost for words.
“How long have you been doing it? A month at least, or maybe more.”
She turns round, trying to pull herself together. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to insinuate, here.”
“I don’t think I’m inventing anything.” I stare at her.
Cécile blushes, I see embarrassment in her eyes.
“Harring is my best friend, Jemma loves you. Your secret is safe with me. God knows that Harring needs a woman to keep him on the straight and narrow, and if there’s one that can do it, it’s you. Your superior attitude doesn’t work on me, I know far more than you think. Now, wait for me while I get changed. As soon as I’m ready, you and I will search London down to the sewers to find Jemma.”
For once, Cécile holds back her arrogance, and just nods in agreement.
*
We went to the theatre, to the former owner of her parents’ apartment, and to her grandmother Catriona’s mansion, that – wait for it – was sold a few days ago.
We questioned Derek, but he doesn’t know where Jemma is, either. She’s in town, but she was very careful not to let him know where she lives.
She’s somewhere out there, and she never wants to see me again.
I have to accept it.