He hoped that he'd heard her wrongly. He hoped that very much indeed.
"You're going to France?" he repeated slowly, checking that he hadn't in some way misunderstood her.
Isobel nodded her head firmly.
"Yes, Richard, you heard me rightly. I'm going to Paris."
There was a small pause of awful intensity, as he tried to work out which of the questions that teemed through his mind he should ask first.
"In God's name, why?" he wondered if she had heard the note of begging, of pleading in his voice. He wondered if he wanted her to.
At first he could quite believe it when she shrugged her shoulders, though it seemed that it was just her way of indicating that she was thinking.
"I must go somewhere where I can be useful," she finally replied, "I can't stay here feeling that I'm not; I realise that now. I've been made to see it."
Suddenly, he thought he saw where this was going, and did not like it one bit.
"Oh no," he couldn't quite believe that she'd do this, not over some petty squabble with... "This is because of Lady Grantham, isn't it?"
"Cousin Cora has made it plain to me that she would be much happier if I were to offer my services elsewhere. And that is exactly what I intend to do."
He couldn't believe it, he couldn't believe it of her, but she had said it, more or less. The words had come straight from her mouth.
"So you're leaving just like that?" he questioned, almost furious with her, "You're just leaving over a petty little disagreement? What about me?"
She blinked hard.
"I'm sorry, Richard?" It wasn't an apology; she wanted him to explain himself. Right, then, he would certainly do that.
"What about me?" he asked her again, angrily.
"What about you?" she asked with a small laugh that did not quite reach her eyes, which was in fact bitter.
He was utterly struck dumb. He couldn't believe that she would need this explaining to her. He simply stared at her, unable to credit what he was hearing. She seemed, however, to catch on.
"Do you think that I should stay here because of you?" she asked, the incredulity in her voice tearing through him, "When thousands of men have been forced to leave their families to fight in this war?"
Well, yes, he rather did.
"You don't have to go," he pointed out to her, "Nobody's forcing you."
"I have to feel useful," she repeated, "I have to feel like I'm doing something to stop all of the horror, and the hurt. And," she continued, her dark brown eyes flashing dangerously, "If you think I'm content to stay at home knitting scarves for the troops so I can remain your mistress, well then, Richard, I'm afraid that you don't know me at all."
He did not know what on earth he could say to that little speech. She had completely taken him aback. What she had said horrified him. He felt humbled, selfish, angry with her at the same time as being completely in awe. But most of all, he felt sick to his stomach as the prospect slowly sunk in: he was losing her.
"But I love you," he told her stupidly.
"Oh, Richard," he wished she wouldn't look at him like that; so pityingly and yet reproachful as well, "I'm afraid that's not the point."
"You don't understand," he told her flatly, "I love you. Alright, I'll say it. I love you body and soul. Even when you're not there, you are the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing at night. The whole pattern of my life has changed since I've been with you, I only live from one meeting to the next. I don't think I can live without you. What more can I say to make you stay?"
"Nothing, Richard," she told him quietly.
"Do you want me to get rid of Lady Grantham?" he asked her wildly, "Remove her from her position at the hospital? Because I'll do it," he assured her, "In a heartbeat, if that's what it will take to keep you."
He had moved closer to her, his hands reaching out for her, waiting for her to come back to him.
"Richard, there's nothing. I'm not asking your opinion, I'm telling you what I'm going to do. My mind's made up."
His hands dropped dismally.
"But," his voice was failing him, "But... I thought you meant it," he finished weakly, "I thought you loved me too. Or were you just being an obliging mistress?" he almost spat in out.
Her eyes flashed again, more violently this time, with the hurt.
"Don't talk about us like that," she told him sharply, "You know I love you. I'd never have slept with you otherwise, and you know it! I love you as much as you love me, if not more though I'm not brash enough to say it, and don't think for a second that it won't be the hardest thing in the world to leave you. But I have to go to France. It's the only way."
"Why?" he asked weakly.
"Oh, haven't you been listening to me, Richard?" she asked in frustration, "I cannot live with myself if I don't. I have to do this, it is my duty."
"To whom?"
"To myself, to my country, to my son. It's the right thing to do; confirmed by the fact that it's also hard," she looked about ready to weep, "It's so bloody hard."
He had never heard her use language like that before, he wouldn't have even expected her to know it. There was a silence.
"But what if you get hurt?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer to that, but asking it anyway.
"I'm going as a nurse not a soldier," she reminded him softly, the hint of a sad smile creeping into her face.
"But it has been known for.. . A shell goes too far, it only takes one, and... What if you don't come back?" he asked his voice failing him, and then he felt tears wetting his cheeks.
"Oh, Richard, Richard," she held the back of his head and whispered softly in his ear as he buried his face in her shoulder, ashamed of himself. Her other hand reached around his back to hold him to her, "Don't think of it. I'll be alright. Of course I'll be alright."
Finally, he straightened himself out, standing back up straight, but her hand did not leave his back, she made him stay close to her.
"I'm sorry," he told her, barely able to look her in the face, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... any of it. I shouldn't have said that to you."
"It doesn't matter," she told him softly. He could feel her giving him a beautiful smile that he did not deserve, "Richard, I understand why you said all of those things. I'd have probably said them myself if you were the one going. But I hope you can at least try to understand me."
He nodded haltingly, thinking that he might be able to, with time. She leant in quickly and kissed his lips.
"And it doesn't mean that I don't love you," she whispered, "Anything but. And when all of this is over we can be together properly," she told him, then added uncertainly, "If you still want me, that is. You do, don't you?"
"Oh, Isobel. More than you could know."
She smiled again, a little less sadly.
"Come on," she let go of him, turning to take their coats down from the peg, "We're going home. I want to be with you properly tonight."
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