A Pair of Brown Eyes: Chapter 24

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*WARNING: Hmm, no, no warning this time, just a reminder for you to pay attention to all the things happening in this chapter. Do any of them sound familiar? ;-)

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Upon entering, Claire took one last deep breath. "There's something I need to tell you." she simply told Andrew, and felt surprised by how strong her voice had sounded.

"No, no, please. There's something I want to tell you first." Andrew wanted to talk to her too? Her breathing quickened. "But not here," he continued. "Let's go to the parlour so we can be more comfortable."

And when she thought her heart couldn't beat any faster, he proved her wrong by bringing her hand to his chest, and giving her one of those looks. One of those looks no man had ever given to her, and one of those looks he gave to nobody but herself. Her focus was lost. She was lost. How did he manage to do that?

Not giving her an opportunity to react, Andrew took her by the hand and started for the door, bringing her along with him.

When they entered the parlour, the first thing Claire noticed was that the rain had become more than a threat by then. No wonder the pain in her stomach had intensified!

The next thing she knew, they were seated in a loveseat below the window, kissing. This wasn't going how Claire had intended it. At all! But something deep inside her told her to stop bothering and make the most of the moment, like she wished.

That he was able to have such a strong effect on her with one single kiss could only mean the one thing she had realised long before then – on the night of the festival – but could never bring herself to acknowledge in words... There was no more denying it now: she was irrevocably in love with Andrew. Her heart sank.

Claire was shivering by the time Andrew released her mouth and grabbed her hand once again. He was breathless when he spoke at last, a warm smile on his lips. "Claire, I know I told you I would be patient, but I can't hold it any longer. I need to tell you—"

"Wait! Speak no more, please!" Claire wanted to listen to what he was telling her, wanted to hear it more than anything in the world, but she shouldn't let him talk any further. "It—you and I—it cannot be."

"Why do you say so?" His smile gave way to a slight frown. "Surely you feel the same way, I can tell you do. Besides, my intentions are perfectly honourable." He paused and looked up at her. Claire lost herself in that stare. "In fact, what I want is to ask you—"

"No, you shouldn't speak thus." Claire interrupted him again. "You might regret it afterwards. Especially–" she swallowed hard. "Especially after you've heard what I came here to tell you."

"Regret it?" he sighed. "Claire, don't believe me irrespectful of your loss. Don't worry, I would never think of replacing your late husband in your estimation."

Her husband? Replacing her husband in her estimation? Claire stood motionless as her heart stopped beating. The room suddenly became too small to contain all her emotions. She jumped from the chair, stuttered the first words that came to her mind, "I could never love you", and stormed out of Andrew's home. His reaction would forever remain engraved in her brain, even though she didn't see it.

She just felt the urge to run.

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And run she did, never minding the downpour. She ran, and ran, and ran...

Liar, liar, liar! That she could never love him? What stupid nonsense was that? Where had that come from? Liar, liar, liar! How she regretted what she had answered him! But then again, what else could she have said?

Why did Andrew have to say such things to her? ...But don't worry, I would never think of replacing your late husband in your estimation. He had to use those words precisely, didn't he? They were torturing her the most.

Claire didn't realise she was still running until sheer exhaustion brought her to a halt. Not paying any attention to her surroundings, she took a seat on a rock nearby, and tried to regain her breath.

She now understood the folly of it all, the recklessness of her behaviour in leading him on. She could cope with being hurt. It hardly mattered this was probably the only kind of hurt she had never experienced, because hurt was something she was accostumed to. But hurting Andrew along the way was a different matter altogether, one she couldn't so readily accept. Her past would always come back to haunt her in the most daunting, unexpected manners. And as usual, there was nothing that a woman like her could do except crying herself to sleep.

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How had she come to take that ring out of the drawer? The last few hours were but a blank to Claire. She only had a slight recollection of having woken up by the lake – eyes severely swollen, clothes soaked up in rain – and of having drifted home.

But there she was now, staring at that shiny metal piece, haunted by what it symbolised. She should have disposed of it long ago, as she had intended to, but the rarity of its cut advised her against it, lest it should be tracked down.

Images of her wedding started to flood her mind. September the 12th, 1884. The unhappiest day of her whole life...

All the special decorations were lost on her: the luscious fabric of her bridal gown, her brand-new jewellery, the lace-covered benches, everything. Everything except for the distinctive smell given away by the lilies that lined the whole room. For some reason, those white little flowers caught her attention. And they were all she could think about when she reached out her hand to receive the ring from those hands, which were the same hands that had grabbed her mouth to prevent her screaming while he took her, relentlessly, only a few weeks before. While those lips that were now swearing eternal devotion to her were the same that had growled against her ear all sorts of obscenities. Claire felt too sick to think any further. Again she tried to concentrate on those beautiful flowers.

After a while, Claire managed to gather enough courage to look up at him; but then, all of a sudden, the scene before her darkened, and it wasn't that frightening black-haired man that she saw. In his place, a bearded figure – much dearer to her – had conjured up before an older impersonation of herself. Andrew! Her mind reeled.

Claire couldn't stand the touch of that hateful ring any longer, and threw it onto the floor in a passion. Andrew, Andrew! Was he really going to–? Going to– propose? She burst out in tears.

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Claire exhausted all the strength she had left by going to work the next morning, and a surly-looking Andrew was already waiting for her at the entrance as she set foot in his home. He eyed her from head to toe, then away. Claire wondered whether he had noticed she was dressed exactly the same as the day before.

Perhaps it was not too late to tell him yet? Anything would be better than having his cold stare upon her. She had to be brave and tell him. Tell him about what he had done to her over the years and about her scars; about the musical contests and about how she had come to leave England; about her false identity and about...

"Andrew, I... What happened yesterday..."

"Let's forget about it." The tone of his voice pierced her very core. "And given our present circumstances, perhaps we should revert to our calling each other by our last names..., Mrs. Parker." His lips were tightly pursed. "You may go into the clinic now. I'll be with you in a minute." He turned his back to her, and headed for the parlour, leaving Claire to look behind him, in shock.

So it was too late! Perhaps it was for the best, she'd rather had him thinking her fickle than wicked. And wicked indeed he would think her, judging by how he had just reacted. Andrew would think her wicked if he knew. He would despise her if he knew. He would hate her if he knew. Or worse. He would tell her to come back to where she belonged if he knew: she wouldn't be surprised if he did! And she would despise herself, and she would hate herself. Her tragedy was now complete. She was beyond hope.

Claire's sore legs barely carried her up to the clinic, while her trembling hand, in turn, struggled with the doorknob. She entered the room, and it was then that she saw them. Slowly approaching the shelf, she never let her eyes off those bottles. The painkillers she had so many times stored there herself...

Some inner force possessed her to grab one and hide her under her skirt. Not that she was thinking of putting it to use, but it suddenly gave her great comfort to own one of those. If all came to that, she wouldn't fail a second time; being a doctor's assistant for over six months had taught her how much dose it was needed.

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Author's note: As you have probably guessed by reading this chapter, we're now back at the time of the Prologue. And now what? you may be asking yourselves. Well, only I know the answer to that, but for the time being, let's just say this has been a highly emotional chapter for me, since I've been compelled to re-read the stuff I wrote nearly two years ago, and figthing my own demons – a.k.a. inner critic, LOL – in the process. Oh, and in case you're interested, I've reporpused some of the text I already used back then, so feel free to check it out.