She had won.
And yet it didn't feel like a victory.
Arriving back home, she went into the bedroom. She opened the large drawer at the bottom of the small dresser. The album was still in good condition. She wondered when he had last looked at it, and what he thought then.
The Wedding of Charles E. Carson and Alice A. Neale
How young he looked. And happy.
Tears dripped onto the faded pictures before she closed the book and set it aside. Letting out a sharp cry, she fell sideways onto the bed and wept.
The house. Alimony.
The cabin.
It doesn't matter.
I've lost him.
There would never be another like him – who would be so patient, so willing to please her for as long as he did?
No one.
While in Los Angeles, she had reached out to a man she worked with. Her confidence had been bolstered to the point that she thought Don might like her that way. A couple of drinks out with him had convinced her to try. The Griggs had been gone for the weekend, providing the perfect opportunity.
It wasn't meant to be serious. She had no intention of leaving Charlie. She just wanted to see if she could attract a man.
She was humiliated when Don declined any further interest. And more so when Tim, a rather awkward colleague, asked her to dinner a few days later.
Oh, she knew she could get attention from some men. But none of the caliber of Charles Carson.
Sitting up on the bed, she pulled strands of hair away that had stuck to her face.
Betrayed! I never should have left town, especially after she arrived. I never trusted her. But clearly I miscalculated – I should not have trusted him.
You talk of trust?
Yes, why shouldn't I? He cheated, he broke our marriage vows, and he betrayed me.
If he knew your secret…
He doesn't, and won't. Anyway, it's irrelevant now.
She regretted bitterly not letting him go to Chicago after graduation. Even when we were engaged, he could have still gone. Who knows what would have happened.
You would have lost him sooner.
You don't know that.
She would never know what would have happened. If they had gone another way. If they had had children. She had not been against having them, but had never been particularly keen on them, either. If she had not miscarried…
She would have done the best she could. But Charlie would have made a good father.
He will make a good father.
For everything else, she despised him. She wanted to hate him for the child's sake too, but she couldn't go that far.
0000000000
Everything was different.
Alice had returned, yet they continued the affair.
More and more, they found it unthinkable to stop.
She went about her daily routine as if nothing had changed.
She was sure Beryl suspected them. At work, she and Charles were friendly, but professional. Still, sometimes he would stare a beat too long, or she would stumble over her words in a meeting, flustered.
Then there were the moments he would drop by her office for a quick word, and leave five minutes later surreptitiously tucking his shirt in, his hair disheveled. Or she would wander into the laundry at Downton and return to The Red Fox with sparkling eyes and re-applied lipstick.
The holidays actually made the affair easier, since the routines were disrupted. Charles was busy at work as usual, but he began staying even later, making it known he sometimes slept on a cot in his office.
He actually did sleep there. Two or three times.
The rest were late evenings when he slipped out the back door so the night receptionist didn't see him leave. Driving out of town, onto the dark, curvy roads.
A lamp would be burning in the window of the cabin behind the curtains.
Sometimes no words would be spoken at all until they reached their pleasure: he, flat on his back, at the mercy of her lovely fingers; she, breathless as his slow kisses teased her.
One such night just after the New Year, when the temperature outside was well below freezing, they were wildly engaged in familiar activity. He gasped her name as their rhythm increased. She clung to the brass bedstead, despite the vibrations as it thumped against the wall. The pitch of her voice rose higher as she begged him not to stop.
"Oh God," she burst out, her body shaking, "I love you, I love you-"
Her vocalizations sent him into the stratosphere. He roared, his efforts sending the bed slamming into the wall once more.
The cadence of their dance had slowed, but not stopped, as he kissed her. He felt her nip his tongue. Between kisses as they moved back and forth, he whispered over and over. "I love you, Elsie. I love you." He sat up, bringing her with him so that they were seated facing each other. She touched his face, their bodies still connected.
"You are wonderful," she breathed, still trembling. "Wonderful." Impossibly, she moved closer. He let out a sound between a sigh and a moan, running his fingers through her untidy hair. She leaned her forehead against his. "I love you, Charles. There is no one, no one but you." She bit back a sob, close to tears.
He slid his hands over her shoulders and breasts, down her body, reveling at the sight of her throwing her head back at his touch. His heart felt ready to burst.
She loves me.
I love her.
She wept, her head resting on his shoulder. She had grown to love this place, the town, most of all the people here. But he was her center, her heart. She'd been a vagabond most of her life. Moving from place to place.
She never wanted to be anywhere else but his arms.
A part of her knew how precarious it was, how unlikely it would be for them to be together. She had never risked her heart like this, but somewhere along the line she'd jumped off the cliff.
He watched her as she slipped into sleep, running his fingers lightly along her arm.
What would it be like to live like this? With the woman you love?
He had always held his honor and his integrity above everything else. But for her, he would be willing to sacrifice anything. Including his marriage.
If he took that step, there would be no going back.