Chapter 8
I held her in my arms for what felt like forever. In any other situation it would have been my idea of heaven. To hold this beautiful woman in my arms under the stars, or by a babbling brook, I know I would never have been able to take my eyes off her. But here and now, I felt that if I stopped looking at her, she might fade away. I wanted to tell her everything, to pour out my heart to her, in the desperate hope that she could hear me. But I am not naïve. I had taken in every inch of her. I knew what Inglethorpe had done to her. I had met other women, and even some men, who had suffered a similar fate. There was a good chance she would never feel able to let me near her, even to hold her hand. My heart hurt at the though of her being in such pain, being so sad. She deserved so much better. She deserved to be happy and I would do anything to be the man who made her so.
Suddenly there was a flurry of movement around me, and she was pulled from my protective embrace. I shouted at them not to pull out the knife, almost hysterically, desperate to keep hold of her. I found that the strong hands of Japp were holding me back, and Poirot was beside me with his unapologetically European way of consoling a good friend. I found I was too tired to fight him, and I allowed him to put his coat over my shoulders and guide me out to where the ambulance was waiting. I climbed into it and sat clutching Felicity's hand, afraid to let go for fear this was a dream and that she might disappear if I awoke.
By the time Poirot and Japp caught up to me, they found me on a bench outside the hospital. Poirot offered me a cigarette, and Japp held out a hip flask. I accepted them both gratefully. I answered the question they were both too afraid to ask. "She's in surgery. The knife, it hit…her lung collapsed, I don't know."
Japp shook his head and went off in search of information, no doubt with the aid of his warrant card. I looked sadly at my best friend.
"I'm a fool."
"Mais pourquoi?"
"Because I'm in love with her, and I never told her. And now it's too late. I've blown it."
"It is never too late"
"Yes it is. You've met rape victims, we both have. If she survives the surgery, she'll never trust another man again. She'll be terrified."
"Hastings, you do her a disservice. She is more robust than you imagine. You cannot pretend to know how she thinks."
"But…"
"No. Tell her the truth and let her decide for herself. Let her behaviour be your guide. If she feels the same, you will make each other happy. If she cannot, if you love her, you will simply be her friend."
"I suppose you're right. Thanks, old boy."
"Any time, my friend. For you."