But it made sense to me. Everything I’d wondered about in the past but hadn’t had answers for suddenly fell into place: the way my father had behaved after Isabella Darlington-Hume’s death—and, come to think of it, before it too whenever she was around him. There was always a strange atmosphere between them when they were together—an electric sort of frisson in the air.
I also remember how my father had very rarely talked about my mother, as if he was trying to forget she existed. Because of his guilt? I could only guess if that was true.
And the way he’d just rolled over when Maxim had gone all out to bankrupt him.
And then there was his insistence that I just let April go and move on ‘to pastures new’ when she left me. He’d never been particularly keen on our relationship, now I come to think of it, though he’d stopped just short of advising me against being with her. And now I know why.
The revelations went on and on in my mind.
I sit in my living room staring out to sea now that she’s gone, feeling as though my whole world has been flung upside down, scattering every belief I thought I had, wrecking every truth I believed in.
My father had lied to me foryears.
He wasn’t the man I thought he was.
As the shock finally begins to wear off and I start fully to process what April told me an hour ago, I slowly begin to accept that, actually, it was he who had been the coward, not April. Even at the end of his life he’d not been brave enough to tell me what he’d done and had forced that awful task onto her. And I’d blamed her for it, like a blind, self-involved, fucking idiot, not wanting to believe that my father could be such a shit.
But he was. Because for all these years he’d let me think it was something to do with Maxim rather than him that had kept April and I apart.
Looking again now at his letter to me, it strikes me how differently it reads now that I know the truth.
But then maybe he’d sent it to me hoping it would force me to talk to April again. To try and bring us back together now that he’s gone.
Maybe.
I’d like to think so, anyway.
I can’t believe now that I went along with that fucking ridiculous revenge plan, telling myself I’d be fine at the end of it—because it was bound finally to finish things between us. But I wasn’t fine. Not even close. Because deep down I didn’t want us to be finished.
Idon’twant us to be finished.
I want her back. I need her, I realise now. My heart had been hollow since the day she’d first cut me out of her life, but it felt full again while she was here with me.
I’d been happy.
I get up and pace the room, feeling the lack of her presence here like a deep abrasion on my skin.
I’m not really angry with April, only angry with myself for letting her down and putting her in the position where she felt she couldn’t confide in me.
It was the fact that she hadn’t been able to tell me that hurt me the most. That she didn’t trust me. But then of course I’d gone and proved her right when I’d acted in such a cruel, insensitive way after we split up.
No wonder she’s shut herself off from love and relationships for all these years. No wonder she can’t trust anyone with her heart. I hurt her so badly and I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most.
All I did was think about my own selfish pain.
What a fucking mess this all is. It’s not surprising she shut right back down as soon as I showed her my anger. She must have been expecting me to turn on her, and I did. I proved her worst fears about me to be right.
But I won’t do it again.
I’m going to change the pattern of my behaviour from this point. Do the right thing by her.
I want to be the man I should have been all those years ago—supportive and understanding.
Because there’s no point trying to deny it any more: the truth is we’re meant to be together. I know it. I knew it the moment she stepped onto my island.
I can’t let her go back to England thinking I hate her. Because I don’t. In fact, I feel the exact opposite. I always have.
I know what I have to do now: I need to find her and stop her from getting on that boat. I have to ask her to stay so we can work this out. If she goes back to England I might never get a chance to be close to her again. I have a feeling she’ll make sure of that. She’s the queen of icy resistance.