The Invitation(104)

I realize that what anger I have for him is slipping from me, is being replaced by something like pity. It is a feeling almost like powerlessness, this loss. But it is also the setting down of a great burden.

If I had come here with him, I think, all those years ago … I can see how it would have been. He would have become a father to me. I would have been safe. And then, one day, I would have left him to start my new life. But always with the security of knowing that I could return whenever I needed to, that I was loved. The sort of security that would, by its very existence, have allowed me my independence. I would have had a different life. But this cannot matter now. I am still young, still almost whole.





EPILOGUE


I can see her, down on the sand. She has long dark hair, which she is towelling dry. It is a very dark colour – not a natural colour, I think. There is something about her that renders me transfixed. I cannot take my eyes from her. Why?

She seems to be alone. All around her there are groups of people – fishermen, elderly women talking, some local children playing with a cat. Yet she appears to be no part of any of these tribes: no recognition passes between her and any of them. She moves through them, alone. She is like a wisp of dark smoke among them: a wraith, a wanderer from another world.

I move a little closer. For some reason – I know it is madness – there are tears pricking behind my eyes. And when I lift my hand to catch them before they spill, I understand that it is too late; my cheeks are wet where they have already fallen. I had not noticed that happening. What is happening to me? Am I, finally, falling apart?

But no, I do not feel like I am coming undone. I feel the opposite, if anything: a concentration of feeling. It is something to do with her, this slender figure before me, this smoke-woman, this ghost.

It seems as though she is making straight for me. Certainly, she is moving in my direction. I realize now that I was wrong, before. She is not smoke: she is the flame: burning so brightly that I can hardly stand to look at her. But I must look at her – she has absolute command of my attention.

Why is no one else staring? I cannot be the only one beneath her power. And yet the hubbub of the beach goes on around me, loud, oblivious.

She is so near now. For the first time I see not a flame, nor a curl of smoke, but a human being. And she is …

But it can’t be.

She is smiling, though her eyes are watchful.

‘Hello, Hal,’ she says.





ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS


So many people have contributed to the making of this book, and worked so tirelessly on it, that their names should, by rights, be on its cover. At least I have the opportunity to show my gratitude here. Thank you to: Cath Summerhayes: agent extraordinaire. For being such fun to work with, and such brilliant counsel.

Dorian Karchmar, Annemarie Blumenhagen, Siobhan O’Neill, Ashley Fox, Jamie Carr: thank you for your passion, your diligence and your humour! I am so lucky to work with you all.

Kim Young: for seeing what this book could be, and for your incredible editorial investment in it.

Carina Guiterman: for taking the reins with such skill and dedication.

Jennifer Lambert: for loving this book!

The team at HarperCollins UK: Charlotte Brabbin, Ann Bissell, Sarah Benton, Heike Schüssler, Charlotte Dolan, Anne O’Brien and Rhian McKay.

The team at Little, Brown US: Zea Moscone, Reagan Arthur, Julianna Lee, Terry Adams and Jayne Yaffe Kemp.

The team at HarperCollins Canada: Kelsey Marshall and Natalie Meditsky.

David Mathieson, historian, author and Spanish Civil War expert: thank you for a phenomenally interesting tour of key sites in Madrid, and for your help with innumerable small and tricksy queries afterwards. (Readers interested in the Civil War, I urge you to visit his site: www.spanishsites.org, and book onto one of his tours, as well as reading his book: Frontline Madrid.) Gregorio Salcedo, or ‘Goyo’, thank you for another fascinating tour, this one to the remains of the trenches at Jarama just outside Madrid (and in blistering 35 degree heat!). (Goyo owns a museum in nearby Morata de Taju?a: the Mesón El Cid Museo Guerra Civil, with an incredibly rare collection of artefacts from the war, collected by Goyo himself. I highly recommend visiting, and leaving at least a couple of hours free to peruse.) Laura MacDougall and Simon Chadwick: for all your linguistic help. Thank you for your speediness, patience and fluency.

To my cheerleaders within the industry who have done so much for a new author. Special mention to: Mark Lucas, Richard Charkin, Fiona Foley Croft, Daniela Schlingmann, Chloe Healy, Holly Martin, Paddy Reed, Blair Wood, Georgina Moore, Sherise Hobbs, Clare Foss, Emily Kitchin, Anna Hogarty, Holly McCulloch, Clare Gatzen, Patricia Nichol, Sarah Tyson, Anne Williams, Julie Cohen, Emylia Hall, Katherine Webb, Erika Robuck, Miranda Beverley-Whittmore, Jennifer Chiaverini, Lucinda Riley, Mary Simses, Kerri Clarke.

To all the friends who have lent their support and gone out on a limb for me. I appreciate all you have done for me in reading my books and recommending them. Special mention must go to Vee Dix, Heather Gibbons and Toby Stevens for being the best friends a girl could ask for.

To my family (and almost-family!): Foleys, Allens, Crofts, Colleys, Osterweis, Martins.

To Liz and Pete: for your encouragement … and guerrilla marketing in the North East!

To Robbie and Kate: for all your support, and for inspiring me constantly.

To my husband: still, always, my first reader. Thank you for making life such fun!