Page 112 of Mistaken Impression

“I’ve had the whole place redecorated,” he says, opening the door, and handing the key to me as we cross the threshold. “I hope it doesn’t smell of paint.”

I can’t detect any smell at all, and follow him inside, closing the door behind me.

The hallway is narrow and quite dark, but Henry flicks on a light, revealing white walls and a pale grey carpet.

“The bathroom’s just here.” He opens the sliding door to our left, and I glance inside, looking at the smallest bathroom in the world… although there’s no bath, just a shower, a tiny corner basin and a toilet. “And the bedroom is opposite.” We turn and he stands aside, pushing open the door. I go inside, looking around. The room has a small sash window, a double bed, whichhas been made up with white bedding, and two bedside tables. There’s a built-in wardrobe, which takes up the whole of the wall to my left. It’s got mirrored doors, which make the room seem bigger and lighter, and I nod my head as I dump my cases at the end of the bed.

“This is lovely,” I say, turning back to him.

He smiles and I follow him out into the hall, and along to the kitchen, which is at the rear of the house. It’s a galley style, with white units down one side, broken up by a built-in electric cooker and hob, and a washing machine at the end, underneath the draining board. The fridge/freezer is behind the door and on the right-hand wall is another sliding door which, this time, leads to the living room.

In here, against one wall, there’s a large dark grey leather sofa, and against another, there’s a small dining table with two chairs. The other two walls feature a fireplace, and a set of doors which lead out into a tiny courtyard. There are wrought-iron railings separating it from Henry’s garden above, but at least it’s an outside space… not that it’s warm enough to sit out there at the moment.

“Is it okay?” Henry asks, and I turn to face him.

“It’s perfect.”

“You make yourself at home,” Henry says. “And come up for dinner later on.”

“Okay… thanks.”

It’s a relief not to have to think about food, or cooking… although thinking about Ella isn’t optional. She’s in my head every second of the day.

She’s been there ever since, no matter how hard I’ve tried to distract myself.

On Friday, it’ll be two weeks since I took her to the cabin in Vermont.

That means, on Monday, it’ll be two weeks since Ella walked out of my apartment, and my life.

Not that I’m counting the days, of course.

I’m counting the hours… and the minutes.

I’ve relived that final scene in my head, over and over, wondering if I could have played it differently.

Except it wasn’t a scene, and I wasn’t playing.

And how else was I supposed to react? She’d ruined my career; she’d betrayed me and she was standing in front of me refusing to admit to any of it. As far as I was aware, we’d never lied to each other, but there she was, lying to my face.

How could I not be angry?

Okay, so I might not have been completely honest with Ella about my reasons for taking her to the cabin, but at least my intentions had been honourable. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to get away from everything for a few days, but what I didn’t explain was that I also wanted to take her somewhere quiet, so I could tell her I was in love with her. Of course, I hadn’t anticipated that I’d get carried away with the atmosphere of the place, and forget to use a condom… but that and its consequences made saying those three little words absolutely impossible. She’d have doubted my motives and probably assumed I was only saying them because of what had just happened. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want her to doubt me.

So, I kept quiet, and looking back, I think that was a mistake.

I should have found a way to tell her, although how and when, I don’t know.

The opportunity never really arose. We both got a little carried away with the situation… with where we’d found ourselves. Ella made it clear she didn’t want to use a condom again, and neither did I. We both knew there were consequencesto what we were doing, but we didn’t talk about them, either… which was a definite mistake.

We should have discussed what we were doing, but we didn’t. I reasoned to myself that we could talk it through when we got back to Boston… back to the real world. I told myself that when we got home, I’d explain to her how I felt, and suggest we move in together. It made sense, considering where we’d taken our relationship.

I mulled it over on the journey back from Vermont, trying to work out how to phrase my suggestion. After all, I was being kind of presumptuous. I was going to suggest that I move into her place, rather than the other way around, but I wasn’t sure how to do that without it sounding like I was freeloading. I could hardly offer to pay rent, and any contribution I made towards our living expenses was always going to be a drop in the ocean as far as her wealth was concerned.

I still hadn’t worked out what I was going to say by the time Ella parked her car outside my apartment… but in the end, it didn’t matter.

She left me, regardless.

I suck in a breath.

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