Joan Smith by Never Let Me Go Page A

and—”
    “Point made.” He executed an exquisite little bow. “I should have said I appreciate women.”
    “Only too well!”
    He colored slightly, and immediately changed the subject. “With regard to Juvenal, there was the exile, too, and the military career. A few points in common. At least I concur with his reason for writing satire. When asked, he replied, ‘How could I help it?’ I doubt he had as much reason as I.”
    “Was she in love with William? Was that what happened?”
    After a frowning pause, he said, “She liked him at first. I thought, toward the end, she loathed him quite as thoroughly as I did. But there were twists in the girl I never began to understand. As I said, William was only a pawn in the game. She used him to punish me.”
    “For what?”
    “For loving her. That was my sin.”
    “That doesn’t make sense.”
    “No, it doesn’t, does it? I have been brooding over that enigma for centuries.” He looked at his hands, and frowned. “Demme, I’m fading.”
    I was thoroughly shocked to see that it was the case. He was disappearing before my very eyes. I had forgotten that he was not actually flesh and blood.
    “Don’t go! I want to ask you a hundred things.” I leapt up from the table and tried to hold on to him. It was like trying to hold smoke. He was gone. The spot where he had been was cold. I thought, or imagined, a sigh of regret as he departed.
    A feeling of utter fatigue came over me as an aftermath of my busy day and the meeting with Raventhorpe. I regretted that I had not put the meeting to better use. I hadn’t discovered the answers I needed for my book. I had been too fascinated by the man. The trees blossoming out of season was a mere detail. But as I reviewed our meeting, I realized that he seemed to take my story for an actual account of his relationship with Arabella. Had the rout party really occurred, if not then, at an earlier date?
    Was Arabella the true author of this book? A nice moral question, as I planned to put my name on it. I made a pot of tea and a cheese sandwich and read over the hastily scrawled pages. It was as though I were reading them for the first time. Really they didn’t sound like my writing at all. What was a rout party, for heaven’s sake? And a curricle? He spoke as if he had truly splashed Arabella with his curricle.
    When I returned the locket to my neck, I felt just a slight intimation of warm fingers assisting me. Was it Arabella, or was he still here, in some invisible form? How interesting if I could get them both to come at the same time, and hear why she had jilted him. After having met him, that was the greatest mystery of all.
    Would he ever come back? When I realized how very much I wanted him to return, I drew myself up short. This man had murdered Arabella. He tried to weasel out of answering me, but the facts spoke for themselves. After having met him, I understood how she had fallen so quickly and easily under his spell. What I could not fathom was how she could ever have jilted him. There must have been an overpowering reason. Infidelity? That would have enraged her, but I felt he could charm even that transgression away. The man was an enchanter. Had he seduced her? But that would more or less force her to marry him, in those days. Perhaps his violent temper had been his undoing. Had he struck her, or made threats? He had threatened me. You will be very sorry, madam.
    I was happy Mollie was coming to spend the night with me, but I decided against sharing this latest adventure with her. I wanted to hug the secret to myself a little longer. When she returned, I told her I was writing Arabella’s story; but said not a word about Vanejul. Vain jewel. He found Arabella vain, then, as well as a precious jewel. That would not bother him; he was no stranger to vanity himself.
    “I sold Duggan the house!” Mollie smiled. “Lovely commish for me! And how was your day, dear?”
    “The story went well.”
    “No ghosties