Chapter 11

She almost overlooked the small manila envelope among the wad of junk mail. It was addressed simply "For Anna," in large, somewhat childish-looking letters. Inside was nothing but a single piece of pale green card – a concert ticket. VERDI, REQUIEM – 12THMAY – 7.30 PM – ST MARY'S EPISCOPAL CHURCH. She turned it over. The same awkward hand had written on the back, "Please come. G."

Her first reaction was annoyance. Today was the 12th of May. Guy had some nerve to assume that she would be available on a Friday night at the drop of a hat. He had some nerve to assume that she would be available for him at all, after how he'd behaved. With a snort she flung the ticket on the sideboard.

When she looked at it again an hour later, with a good dinner comfortably settling in her stomach, she gave some consideration to the double lines under the word "Please." She could picture the look on his face as he wrote it, both pleading and defiant. The hurt child was haggling with fate, entreating life for an indulgence. So, he had been on her doorstep today, probably wearing that same look. No doubt he would consider it cruel of her if she didn't come. No doubt he'd curse her. No doubt he felt himself entitled to –

Anna took a deep breath. This wouldn't be the first time in her life that, full of indignation and self-righteousness, she made a vital mistake. What if she was the hurt child in this scenario? Was she being immature, sulking because he had failed to be a credit to her work with a spotless record of rehabilitation? Wasn't she expecting him to deal with his issues more perfectly that she ever dealt with hers? For losing his temper in one moment of rage, she had accused him of having learned nothing. She had dismissed their entire journey together and all his efforts since, because he had taken that one false step. Yet here she held it in her hand, proof that he was a changed man, a man who asked gently, meekly. There was no trace on this humble cardboard scrap of the man who had abducted Sarah de Talmont. Sir Guy of Gisburne, who had insisted on his full title at their first meeting, was contented with a mere initial.

And gently, humbly, he was trusting her not to break his heart.

But she didn't have time to cry now. It was twenty to seven. She texted Charlotte and excused herself from girls' night. If she showered quickly, if she took a taxi rather than trying to find somewhere to park, she could still make it. She ordered the taxi for ten past seven before she went to the bathroom. Her black dress looked nice enough without making her seem overly keen and would be appropriate for Verdi – Why Verdi, by the way? Not exactly romantic, was it? Another of Tommy's suggestions, or Guy's own taste? Who knew. Black dress would be fine in any case. In a similar spirit she applied minimal make-up and the tiniest drop of perfume.

At twenty-five past seven Anna arrived at St Mary's. It was a mild and dry evening, so she was surprised not to find Guy waiting outside the door. Though it would make sense, she thought, for him to be inside and keep seats for them both. She entered the church and showed her ticket. A buzz of instruments being tuned mingled with the voices of the audience. The pews were mostly full, but it should be easy to find that blonde head sticking up from the crowd. She scanned row after row. She scanned again. He wasn't there.

Foolishly, she checked her ticket. Of course she was at the right place at the right time, they had let her in after all. She looked around again, but there was definitely no sign of him. An usher moved towards her and pointed her in the direction of the front pews. She wondered briefly why seats should be free at the front, then she remembered – the acoustic – and sat down. The double bass was right in front of her and bound to drone in her ear all evening. She tried to tell herself that Guy was probably delayed by some unforeseen circumstances and had not stood her up, but a hollow feeling nevertheless crept over of her.

The orchestra had finished their tuning and a hush spread through the building. Then the choir filed in and Anna realised that it was too late to sneak out and pretend nothing had happened. Morosely, she stared at the flagstones under her feet. So she'd given up a night out with her friends for this, sitting all by herself on the front bench with a prime view of an enormous, ginger-bearded double bass player. If Guy had wanted to revenge himself on her, this had been a good move for sure.

Polite applause greeted the appearance of the conductor and then the usual expectant silence fell. The conductor raised his hands, the mournful strings commenced, accompanied by the inevitable cough from someone at the back. Softened by the mellow voices evoking eternal light, Anna relaxed and decided she would at least enjoy the music. When the male voices rose to Te decet hymnus, she looked up. And then she saw him.

He stood in the last row among the basses and wore, like all of them, a black suit and bowtie. He held his music score like an offering and his eyes were fixed on the conductor in rapt abandon. Anna dug her nails into her thighs. She fancied she could make out his voice, though that, obviously, was silly.

And I nearly didn't come.

She watched him, dumbfounded. Words poured from his mouth and echoed from the vaulted ceiling. When the fury of the Dies Irae assaulted the stone walls and Guy's glasses sparkled in his trembling face, Anna knew something extraordinary was happening, but it wasn't until she saw him pleading Salva me that she fully understood. A requiem. Of course. Matthew the miller. Ralph of Huntingdon. The Jews of Nottingham. How many others? Could he even count? Lux perpetua luceat eis.

She listened, shaking, barely containing the tears. The music coursed through her limbs and pooled in her chest. Not once did Guy look in her direction, or anywhere other than at the conductor. He was singing for his redemption and nothing was going to distract him for a split second. When the choir sat during the solos, he closed his eyes as if in prayer. Lacrimosa dies illa qua resurget ex favilla judicandus homo reus. She had cast judgement on him. She. Anna realised that quite possibly Guy was the only person in the building who literally believed every word he sang. And she had told him to go to hell. She hankered for the interval, but the choir disappeared into the vestry and wasn't seen again until the beginning of the second half. Guy's devotion never flagged for the rest of the concert. Libera me, domine, de morte aeterna. Anna burrowed in her handbag for a tissue. Her mascara would be smudged. So be it.

As the final notes melted away and applause washed over her, she caught his eye at last. His expression was unfathomable, but concern spread over his face when he saw her wipe the tears away. She tried her best to smile. He gave her a single slow nod. Then the choir filed out.

With business-like efficiency, the orchestra began to pack up their instruments. Scores rustled, collapsible music stands clattered. The audience started conversing and milling about. Mundane talk, how was your week, have you seen Catherine, shall we go for a drink? Anna clutched her crumpled tissue, wondering when and where he would come out. Should she try to find him? No, probably best to stay where she was.

Slowly, the church emptied. Choir members emerged from the vestry, were greeted by friends and ambled away. The ginger-bearded double bass heaved his instrument into its massive case, grunting. Anna began to fret. Was there another exit from the vestry? Was it possible that he'd leave without speaking to her?

"Anna."

She leapt to her feet, ready to hug him. When she saw his face, though, she didn't dare touch him. His eyes were cold, his mouth grim.

"Thank you for coming." His voice sounded strained.

"Thank you for inviting me."

"I wanted you to know this. I was hoping you would think better of me if you saw that I could be part of something worthy." He wasn't looking at her, but staring over her head.

"Guy." She wanted to wrap her arms round him, but he seemed too distant and there was too much that needed to be said first. "I'm really sorry. About what I said to you, outside the sheriff court. And that I left you when you needed my help. I was … I was so disappointed. But I should have been more understanding and supportive. I've been a jerk. So, I'm sorry."

At least he looked at her now, though his expression and posture remained forbidding.

"I accept your apology," he said stiffly. "It was interesting to see you handle anger badly. It made me think you should have used your relaxation techniques."

"Well, that's great." Anna gave a nervous laugh, eager to change the subject. "So, was this the surprise you talked about? You've certainly managed to amaze me. When did you even learn to read music?"

"I didn't. I listen and remember."

"The whole piece?"

"Yes."

"My god. You're a musical genius?"

"I've always had a good ear. Though I still don't understand why the conductor keeps telling us to put bananas into our score. Listen, Anna, I know I should probably ask you to come for a drink or something, but the truth is, I really just want to get home and go to bed. This has taken a lot out of me."

"I know. I saw it." She reached for his hand and squeezed it briefly. "I think I understand what you did tonight. You did well. I hope it has put to rest some of the demons."

"I hope so, too." He put his hand on her arm, pressed it gently, then turned away. "Good night," he said over his shoulder and walked down the aisle to the exit.

After he had gone, the church was deserted. Anna sank down on a pew and wept till the sexton ushered her out with polite concern.

oOoOo

At nine o'clock on Saturday morning the bell rang relentlessly. Anna rolled out of bed groaning and staggered to the door. On the way, she almost tripped over the empty wine bottle.

"Why can't they deliver their stupid parcels in the afternoon?" she wailed as she turned the key. "I haven't even ordered anything."

"Good morning!" chirped Guy. Beside him, Rupert wagged his tail.

Before she knew it, she'd slammed the door shut. When she realised what she'd done, she opened it again for a tiny crack.

"Oh my god, don't go away. Just give me a minute to put on some clothes." Then she thought, Sitcom cliché, and then,Does it matter? and then she opened the door properly. The shy smile she'd glimpsed on Guy's face had turned into a puzzled frown.

"Excuse my crumpled jammies. You woke me up and I'm a bit hungover. Come in."

She parked him on the sofa while she threw on a dressing gown and hastily brushed her hair and teeth.

"Coffee?" she called from the kitchen.

"Yes, please."

They sat each at one end of the sofa, Anna cross-legged, nursing her mug, Guy leaning sideways against the backrest with his chin propped up on his hand. Rupert had settled on the rug next to the coffee table. The silence stretched and cringed and begged to be broken.

"Anna, I don't know what to do. I have consulted television, but it's useless."

"Um…sorry, I don't follow. Why would you consult the telly, about what?"

"Justin once told me the television could teach me almost everything I needed to know. But it doesn't. On television, if a woman has said no to a man before, the solution is that they get into a life-threatening situation and he rescues her, or sometimes she rescues him, and then she's so glad they're both alive that she just falls into his arms. Even Loxley got Marion that way."

Anna giggled. "So he did! But I take it you haven't come here to discuss TV tropes with me?"

"No." He regarded his mug, sitting on his knee, with intense scrutiny. She blew on her coffee and wondered how well he could gauge her feelings. Probably didn't have a clue.

"There is very little guidance," he continued, still studying the mug, "about what to do if you just go to a woman's house to find out if she's changed her mind."

"I guess not. But I can make it easy for you so you won't have to ask. I cried last night during the concert, because it was beautiful and you were beautiful and I could see what you were doing. And I cried afterwards because you walked away and left me standing there."

"I was exhausted. I wanted to talk to you, but I felt ready to collapse."

"I know, I know. But still. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I consider you redeemed. As far as I'm concerned, the knight has returned victorious, and my heart is yours – if you want it."

"Of course I do!" Coffee spilled.

"Wait! Wait. This is where we come to the hairy issue. Remember how I once said you might prefer someone else? I wasn't kidding. There are some things about me that you need to know so you can see clearly what you're letting yourself in for."

"You are conceited and bossy and easily get carried away by your feelings, I know. I think I can cope with that."

"But there are more serious issues than that."

He put the mug aside and sat up. "What could they be?"

"Well, for a start, I'm older than you. Four years, so nothing drastic, but even in this day and age the idea prevails that the woman should be younger than the man. I thought you should be aware of that, in case that's your view as well."

"I don't care. And strictly speaking you're 800 years younger."

"Ha, yes. But there's more, and it's more relevant. I have two broken marriages to my name, both due to poor judgement on my side. The second one was really quite a disaster. And right after you left Chrysalis, I had a fling with Michael, but it didn't work out and he wasn't exactly delighted when we broke up. There have been other men as well, but these are the main ones."

"I wasn't expecting you to be a virgin."

She chuckled. "Yes, haven't you adapted well to modern morals? But that's not the point, honey. Don't you see? I have a track record of failed relationships. I'm not good at it. After my recent shenanigans you can probably imagine why. And it was reckless, possibly even cruel of me to take up with Michael at a time when I really wanted you."

He shook his head, puzzled. "You said back then that you didn't love me as a woman loves a man."

"I lied! Don't you understand, I wasn't supposed to have feelings for you; I was your counsellor! And that's just the thing. As a counsellor, I'd caution my clients against someone like me. Guy, if we get together, chances are that you will get hurt because I'll screw up."

He sighed and looked at the ceiling. Then he reached for her hand.

"Anna. There's something you're forgetting. I have a lot of experience with being hurt and I know the kind of people who set out to hurt others. That's not what you are. I don't believe that you could ever hurt me in the way other people have, even when you lose your temper. I'm willing to take my chances with you. If it doesn't work out, then at least we tried."

Gently, she squeezed his fingers. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. It might be the only thing I am sure about, but yes. Is that all?"

"No, one more thing. I can't have children. My fallopian tubes are kind of useless. I've had treatment in the past but nothing's helped."

"And this makes you sad?"

"Of course. And it would mean that you would lose out, too."

Slowly, he shook his head. "I have thought about children. All men are supposed to want a son, an heir, aren't they? But I don't want to have children. I wouldn't trust myself to bring them up right. What kind of father could I be, with all my, as you call them, issues? No, it's better this way. I've been wondering how to tell you. You know, in case you said yes."

Both fixed their eyes on their intertwined fingers. The silence lasted for three breaths, then four. Anna stroked the back of Guy's hand with her thumb.

"So…"

"So."

She leaned closer. "Well?"

"Tommy told me what I did wrong at the park. He said I have to ask a woman before I kiss her, otherwise it's sexual assault."

"Not after a conversation like this. And that wasn't really the issue at the park either. I thought it was, but with hindsight it was me; it was the way I typically screw up. I could have just gently reprimanded you, but I blew a fuse. Anyway, I give you explicit permission to kiss me."

Nevertheless, Guy remained motionless. She tried to catch his eye and failed.

"What is it, Guy? Is it possible that you don't realise I said Yes?"

"I'm nervous."

"You didn't seem nervous at the park."

"Yes, and that was a great success, wasn't it?"

"Surely you've done this before?"

"Lustfully, yes. Never lovingly."

"You'll be glad to hear then that the mechanics are the same. Though you may want to adjust your style. Alternatively, just follow my lead."

She took off his gasses, framed his face in her hands and kissed him, and all the broken pieces fell into place at last.

oOoOo

The police investigation into Alastair's death hit a brick wall. There was no match for the DNA samples they had taken and all they could ascertain was that Michael Watford had not touched the murdered man. The facility seemed clearly dodgy, but they couldn't establish in what way, and there were virtually no witnesses as most staff had quietly gone home after the incident and never come back. A few cleaners and security staff were interviewed but they knew nothing very much. Michael told the police that Chrysalis had been in the process of being closed down, that most staff had been dismissed months ago and that with all their data wiped in an unexpected computer disaster, there wasn't a lot he could tell them. He showed them a few innocent minor inventions that had nothing to do with the extraction project and told them they had proved unprofitable. Leanne backed him up. In the end, the oddities of the place had been ascribed to Fotheringham's eccentricity. The media never got wind of the incident.

Guy's case came to court in June. It helped that his employer gave him a glowing reference. It helped that Michael submitted a report in which the terms parental neglect, sexual exploitation and posttraumatic stress disorder were strategically placed. It helped even more that his defence counsel was able to point out a respectable professional woman in the audience as "Mr Gibbs's fiancée." What helped most of all was probably that Guy had made a heartfelt apology to his victim. Which such mitigating factors, and the judge being in a good mood, Guy had got off lightly.

"A hundred and twenty hours unpaid work," said Anna as they descended the steps of the sheriff court. "Now you'll find out what it's like to be a serf."

"You're lucky I'm a reformed character," replied Guy with a grin, "else I might have slapped you for a comment like that."

"And landed yourself behind bars, yes." Anna hugged him tight. "But seriously, I think you'll benefit from getting counselling by someone other than me. You and I have been too much emotionally involved with each other for counselling to be really effective."

"Oh, I think it's worked well enough. Otherwise we wouldn't be here."

"I suppose."

"I'm still amazed that Michael would want to help me. He'd have reason to hate me."

Anna shrugged. "He doesn't have it in him to hate people. He's far too nice. While he may look like Loxley, he could never harm a fly. Besides, he deserves better than me and I hope he'll find someone worthy of him. Whereas you are justly punished with having to put up with me. You and I, we'll have an uphill struggle."

"Don't worry, Anna, we'll be fine. I know some relaxation techniques I could teach you."

"Don't push your luck, sunshine."

"How did Michael know, by the way? About the sheriff and what he made me do?"

"I think he just guessed. It wasn't hard to guess. You could have just told me."

He shook his head. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you think I wasn't a proper man."

"Oh, honey!" Anna took his hand. "With all the things I knew about you, you thought that would bother me?"

"I can be a bit thick at times."

"You don't say!"

They ambled through the town and uphill towards the castle. From a bench by the gift shop they could see the whole valley stretch out before them. Warehouses and small factories marked the edge of the town. Solar panels flashed on the rooftops. Beyond that, the checkerboard of green and yellow fields was criss-crossed by hedgerows. The foliage on the trees still had the golden glow of spring. Distant hills lay crisp under the pale blue sky. A lark sang, claiming the whole heavens for her tune.

Guy watched the cars on the bypass heading up north. He thought of Michael's report that had been so helpful in securing his freedom. Parental neglect. Sexual exploitation. The 21st century had such glib terms for the sins committed against him by the central people in his life. He summoned them before his mind's eye: Sir Edmond of Gisburne, returned from battle to find his wife pregnant with another man's child, too proud to expose her but not generous enough to love the child as his own. His mother, doting and exuberant but ultimately too absorbed with her own feelings to pay much attention to his. And finally, de Rainault, sneering, callous, money-grabbing de Rainault. He pictured the man's face, distorted in rage or disgust, grinning with sordid pleasure or with delight in the pain and misfortune of others. That face had been, Guy knew now, a mirror, and all the loathing he had felt for it had matched an equal abhorrence of his own blackened soul.

He lifted his eyes to the sky and found the tiny fleck that was the bird. How light, how unburdened would any creature have to be to soar like this. He would never reach such heights, but at least he had escaped the part of hell that was of his own making. There would be scars, always, but there didn't have to be any more pain about the past.

He pulled Anna close and buried his face in her honey-coloured hair.

"I have forgiven them," he said.

The End