I did not want to look beyond this night. I was surprised at myself.
This was the enemy, the man whom I had sworn to destroy, and now here I was, his willing victim.
I think he knew what I was feeling; he knew that he had the power to overcome any resistance I felt I had to make.
He said: “You were very prejudiced against me before you met me. I know why.”
For a moment I was startled. But he went on: “You had read what I had written. I had stepped out of line, hadn’t I? What could a well-brought-up young lady think of a man who had lived as an Arab in a tent, who had for some time become an Arab … an Indian … a Turk”
“You must have had a most exciting time.”
“Life should be exciting, don’t you think?”
“Alas, it is not so for everyone.”
“Then if it is not, people should find out why and make it so.”
“I think you might be, too. You have your secrets. Oh, don’t look alarmed. I shall not attempt to prise them from you. You have made up your mind that life is not to be enjoyed. It is my task my duty to prove you are wrong.”
“And how will you do this?”
“By showing you how good it can be.”
“Do you think that is possible?”
He nodded, smiling at me.
“When I realized how much I wanted you in my life I did something about it.”
“I am not the simple creature you may believe me to be. I am not to be beguiled with protestations and sweet words.”
“Indeed you are not. And it is not words I think of, but deeds.”
He threw aside his napkin and stood up. He held out his hands, taking mine and drawing me up to stand beside him.
“My dear Nightingale,” he said, ‘this is inevitable. “
I tried to speak but my heart was beating so fast that it was impossible. He held me against him and I just stayed there.
“It is early yet,” he said.
“There is a balcony at the window of the Oak Room. Let us go and look out at the forest.”
“And all this’ I indicated the table.
“They will creep in discreetly and remove it when we have retired.
Isn’t this the most romantic of spots? How different from that little room in the General at Scutari do you remember? where some of our little skirmishes took place? “
I said: “I remember.”
He put an arm round me and we went upstairs to the Oak Room, where the burning logs threw a flickering light over the oak walls. He led me to the window and for a few moments we stood on the balcony looking out into the dark forest. The smell of the pines was intoxicating. A dark shape flew past the window and I heard an owl hoot.
“The bats are flying low tonight,” he said, and kissed me.
He went on: “How I have wanted this … for a long time. I am so happy tonight.”
“I am so surprised, so …”
“Happy,” he said.
I was silent and he went on: “Speak the truth. Nightingale. You are not going to turn away from me.”
“I am alone here,” I began.
“But you came of your own free will. Much as I need you, I would not have it otherwise. If you do not wish me to remain with you, you may send me away.”
I put up my hand and touched his face; and he took it and kissed it swiftly.
“I don’t understand myself,” I said.
“I understand, my dearest. You have been lonely, struggling with grief, hating when you should have been loving, refusing to see how good life could be. And tonight, because I am with you here, because we are in the heart of the forest, because there is magic in the air, you will forget all the barriers which you set up for yourself. You are going to stop grieving and live.”
A lassitude had come over me. I did not want to resist. I wanted to open my arms to him. Tomorrow I would face my folly; but tonight it was irresistible. I let him lead me to the fourposter bed and we sat down side by side.
He kissed me and said: “At last. Let us forget everything except that we are here together … that I mean to you what you mean to me, and when that happens to two people, there is only one outcome.”
I turned to him. He kissed my throat and my lips; and as he went on kissing me I felt myself slipping into such bliss as I had not thought possible.
The dawn was just beginning to appear. I had awakened and I lay there thinking of what had happened. I had never known such passion, nor such joy. I thought of Aubrey and those first days of our marriage. He had been a tender lover and our relationship had seemed idyllic then.
Then there had come the awakening in Venice and the slow realization that it was not Aubrey I had cared for; it was being in love, being admired, adored . loving and taking pleasure.
This was not like that. This had been a tremendous adventure with a man to whom I was irrevocably drawn and yet who was a mystery to me.
I was completely fascinated. I could think of nothing but him. What I had felt for Aubrey was quite different. It was like comparing pale moonlight with the rays of the sun.
I felt again that glorious lassitude. I thought: I shall never forget this night. It will stay with me for the rest of my life. If he goes, I shall remember. I might have known there could never be anyone like him.
I had been a fool, perhaps. I had succumbed so willingly hardly succumbed; my eagerness had matched his. I had discovered a new person in myself a sensuous, demanding woman. I had never known that I could be like this. He had awakened me to myself.
My hands were lying limply by my side and suddenly I felt him take one of them.
“Awake, Nightingale?” he asked.
“Yes. It will soon be morning.”
“And then we shall go from here. You have no regrets , .. Susanna?”
“No,” I replied.
“None.” Then I was startled for I realized he had used my real name. He had called me Susanna and I had always been Nightingale or Miss Pleydell to him.
“Why did you call me that?” I asked.
“Why not? It is your name. Susanna St. Clare, a charming name. Anna was never quite you. Susanna, that is different. You are a Susanna.”
“You knew that I …”
“The closely guarded Secret of the Nightingale,” he said.
“It was never a secret to me.”
“Why did you not say?”
“Was it for me to mention something which you’ were so determined to put behind you?”
“When did you discover?”
“Right from the beginning. I saw you in Venice.”
“Oh. I saw you, too. That night … you brought Aubrey home.”
“So you knew who brought him home. The wicked Dr. Damien who, you believed, had encouraged him in his folly.”
“Yes. I was sure of that.”
“I knew it.”
“And you said I was a flighty, frivolous wife and that it was unfortunate that he had married me, that I might have saved him.”
“Well, mightn’t you have saved him?”
“How could I? It was horrible. That cave place …”
“Aubrey was absurd and melodramatic. When he heard about Francis Dashwood at Medmenham, he had to do the same. He was a boy, really.”
“You encouraged him in his drug-taking.”
“That’s not true!” He was vehement in his denial.
“I was interested to see the effect of it. I had to, because I could see there was medicinal value in what was being taken recklessly and purely for sensationalism. I had to find out.”
“So you found out through these people. You let them take their drugs so that you might see the effect.”
“Not at all. I have tested them on myself. They took their own drugs.”
“You could have become an addict, too.”