‘What?’ He looked at her, aghast, and took a step back. Her hand slipped out of his. ‘I… How? No. It… it can’t be. I don’t understand. What’s going on? Are you saying you’re some… some figment of my imagination?’
‘Lovett, come on, old chap. How about Mason and I help you back inside? Most likely you simply need a rest; probably been overdoing it. Been drinking too much of that punch, I dare say.’
‘We all see things that aren’t there,’ said Mason. ‘I kept on seeing my dead sister when I was first admitted here. I went to the hospital chapel every day, and there she would be, sitting in a pew just ahead of me, in her old gaberdine coat. The neurologist told me it’s one of the most common signs of shellshock. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
Robert’s friends led him away. He turned back to look at Louisa, his eyes filled with anguish.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
They took him back inside and installed themselves at a table beside the French doors. Louisa stood at the edge of the trees, looking in, for what seemed like hours, riven with pain. She had never felt such agony, not even when Granny had died. At least then it hadn’t felt as if her own life was ending too. Robert sat, an untouched glass of champagne in his hand, staring at the table. Not once did he look back outside.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Robert felt as if someone had driven a bayonet full into him. Of course it all made sense now – cold, appalling sense. The odd appearances and disappearances. It was why no one else had ever seen her. It was why no one knew anything of a women’s ward. And for pity’s sake, a girl who crept around a working military hospital in full view wearing a dressing gown and slippers? It was all so completely and utterly implausible. How could he possibly have been convinced by any of it?
He’d been sure that he’d been staging a remarkable recovery – a recovery brought about by her. But instead he’d somehow just transferred his emotional disturbance outside of himself, created a delusion. He’d imagined a whole other person, entire conversations. He’d conjured up a chimera.
He was sitting on the steps of the little temple. He heard a twig snap. Immediately, he knew that it was her. He didn’t want to look at her but couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t bear it: that small face, pale now with misery, so white against her hair – the exact colour of Burgundy wine, he was right; the eyes brimming with tears.
‘Robert,’ she said softly, pleadingly.
He screwed up his eyes and put his hands over his ears.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Go away. You aren’t real.’
‘I am real,’ she said. ‘Everything I’ve told you is true. My name is Louisa Casson. I’m a daughter and a granddaughter. I was a medical student.’
‘Then how is it that no one else can see you but me?’ he said, taking his hands down.
‘I don’t know. But I have a life, and a place in the world where I belong. I exist, independently of you.’
‘Where?’
She was silent. ‘You wouldn’t believe me.’
‘You aren’t helping your cause.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘But it’s true. I can’t explain it. I’m as confused as you are. I don’t understand how I’m here and yet not here – how you’re the only person who can see me. But… I believe there’s a reason for it. I was meant to help you. You said it yourself. Don’t you believe in fate?’
‘Not this kind. Not complete nonsense and make-believe. What are you? Some figment of my tortured imagination? Am I having this entire conversation with myself? Or… or did I die, and you’ve been sent to test me, torture me even? Even further than I’ve already been tortured. Is this some manifestation of purgatory? Or hell?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We’re both here in this place and time. Robert, please…’ She drew closer.
‘No,’ he said as she tried to reach out to him. ‘Don’t come near me.’ He pushed her roughly away. Her lovely face crumpled, and his heart heaved; he felt like a beast. ‘Oh God, don’t cry,’ he said. ‘Please don’t.’
She snatched up his hand and held it over her breast – and he felt the shape of her against his fingers, her heart pounding under his palm. His blood surged.
‘You see? I’m flesh and blood!’ she cried. ‘Just like you. And I bleed and hurt and love.’
‘Don’t!’ He pulled back his hand and turned away.
‘I’m real. You know it. And you love me. You told me so.’ She came up behind him and spread her hands across his back, leaned softly against him. ‘Don’t you want me?’
‘Yes, I want you,’ he groaned. ‘More than anything. Stop torturing me. Please, have pity, whoever, whatever you are.’
‘Then lie down here with me, right now, and I’ll prove to you how real I am.’
His head was throbbing. ‘I… I can’t… It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Why? Because you’re a gentleman? You say I’m just a figment of your imagination, and yet you’re worried about somehow taking advantage of me? Don’t you think that’s insane?’
‘Please,’ he begged.
She began to sob. ‘Well, does this feel real enough for you?’ She aimed blows at his chest with her fists, and he stood and let her. Then, all at once, he took hold of her wrists and, unable to stop himself any longer, pulled her roughly towards him, bent and kissed her hard on the mouth.
The fight immediately left her body and her mouth softened and opened. He let go of her wrists and she wound her arms around his neck. He could feel every curve of her body against him and it was stupefying. He clasped a hand across her back, then slid the other down over her buttocks, pressing himself into her, feeling her skin, warm and supple, through her nightdress, pulling her closer and closer.
Senses reeling, he pulled up her nightdress and ran his hands over her bare skin, his mind black with desire, heart hammering. Instinctively, she moved back, and he moved his hands higher. He was drowning. Everything in him wanted to carry her to the shadows in the corner of the little temple, lay down with her on the cool stone floor and know the rest of her. But somehow, without knowing how, he stopped himself, wrenched back his head and unwound her fingers from his hair.
‘No. I can’t. I just can’t.’ He couldn’t look at her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted. ‘Forgive me.’
He stumbled down the steps and back out into the sunshine. He didn’t look back, and she didn’t try to follow him, but he could hear her crying.