December, 17th

Edith:

Anyone can see there's something going on between Margaret and Henry. Ian insists that I should leave them alone and that's exactly what I will do.

Margaret:

Henry invites me to a play at the West End and we enjoy it a lot. We go with Edith and Ian and then head for dinner in a restaurant.

When we're about to arrive to the restaurant Edith receives a call from the nanny telling her that little Ian has temperature, so the Lennox pair rush for their home without a second thought.

Henry and I stick with the original plan. Edith promises to let me know how my nephew is doing as soon as there are news, and at the restaurant they seat us in another area.

Henry's been very nice to me lately; he's changed during the past year, he's even more sophisticated and refined than he used to be, if that's possible. He was promoted, consequently he earns more money and he's started collecting art. He is by far the best conversation partner I have.

We discuss Sylvia's art. He remarks that Sylvia's paintings remind him of Salvador Dali's; not so much because of the subject of dreams but because of classical techniques applied to modern concepts. I hadn't thought of that, but now that he mentions it... it makes sense. I remember thinking once that Sylvia could probably forge classic paintings without much effort, although I don't have any proof that she has.

It's still early and some areas of this restaurant are quite empty. We're seated in the balcony - a closed and heated balcony, of course, and there is no one around us. We're perusing the menu; I've never been to this place before and I wonder if there's something particularly good. I feel Henry's eyes on me and I meet his from over the menu.

-"Margaret", he begins, "I've been thinking..."

I don't like how this sounds but I listen. Henry takes a deep breath and continues.

-"I hope you know how important you are to me. You are beautiful and intelligent, and I have nothing but admiration and respect for you, and so..."

I'm getting decidedly angry. Was he just bidding his time?

-"Henry", I interrupt him a little harshly. "I told you once I believed we weren't meant for each other. We didn't have a good time being a couple, we do as friends, but not as a couple."

-"Margaret", Henry's face is not his usual composed self. "You are the only... the only woman I've ever loved. Please give me another chance".

Henry is seriously upset. I had never seen him so... not master of himself. It's like his mask is cracked and I see loneliness and... and anger. Henry is angry and I don't understand why.

Why does he want to be my boyfriend, my husband? When we were together, sex was cold and awful and we'd always be apart for some days after being intimate. How does this make any sense? He's just said I was the only woman... but it doesn't mean... Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Henry's face is on one of his hands, the other is on the table. I think he's fighting off tears. I really care about Henry and if I don't get this chance to prove him I'm his friend, then I'm worth nothing. I take his free hand in mine and I ask softly:

-"But have I been the only one?"

Henry looks up and frowns.

-"What?"

-"You said I was the only woman you've loved and I believe you, but have I been the only one?"

Henry's face goes through a transformation, a much familiar array of gestures. His eyes make me think of a fox, estimating the danger and looking for the closest exit. But I'm not letting him go just like that.

-"I don't know what you mean", he says meekly.

-"I think you do", I reply.

He takes his time to talk again and tears well in his eyes again.

-"Is it so obvious?" he lets out in a very weak voice.

I shake my head. -"No, Henry, it's not."

-"But you noticed", he continues.

-"I know you well", I smile at him sweetly. I do know him so well.

-"I could change", he adds stubbornly. "Just give me another chance. That's all I need".

-"No, you can't change" I reply patiently. "Henry... Henry, that's how you are. You're not the only one, you know?"

Henry's voice sounds a little more normal, but not much.

-"But 'I'm gay' sounds so horrible. What are people going to say?"

-"Who cares, Henry?", and it's not an idle question. "Exactly, whose opinion matters so much to you?"

-"My parents", comes up immediately. "My colleagues at the buffet", he continues, "everyone I know".

-"If I'm included", I interject calmly, "then you should know that my opinion is that you should do whatever makes you happy. And you can't be truly, madly and deeply happy with a woman."

Henry is silent for a long moment.

-"Does that mean that I need a poodle and a black turtleneck?" he says half joking, half serious.

-"Don't be silly" I chide grateful that this conversation is taking lighter tones. "So, tell me, has there been anybody? Anyone, you know, really special to you?" I don't want to interrogate him but let him know that I care.

Henry is so private and that won't change. But all my memories, of each and every moment we've shared, are changed forever.

Henry shakes his head but he's lying, he just doesn't want to tell. He looks at me as if picking up the conversation where it was before, about the play we've just seen or art or politics, but he opens up:

-"Yes. Well, you know me... I've always fallen for people who are strong, beautiful and cultivated. Like you, Margaret. Always like you", he shakes his head wistfully. "Do you believe me if I say that I truly wanted to love you?" he says, blue eyes intently focused on mine.

-"I do, Henry, but it's not enough to start a life together. Please understand that I deserve someone who desires me." I'm glad of this heart to heart conversation being on somewhat equal grounds. "When we were together I used to think there was something wrong with me. That's not fair, is it?"

There's a lump in my throat and my eyes brim with tears. Henry smiles sadly.

-"You're right. It's not fair to you, Margaret. I'm sorry".

-"Don't be sorry, Henry. I'm really glad we can be friends. If you want to, of course." I'd hate to lose him again but I'm not getting into more relationship's dead ends.

Henry reads my face correctly and lets out a careless chuckle, his first of the night.

-"I'd be an idiot to say no, Maggie May", he say using a nickname he sometimes used for me. "So," he opens the forgotten menu and skims over the list, "what would be both like from the 'carte'?"

-"Coq au vin?" I suggest mischievously covering my face under my eyes with the menu. These are unchartered territories but I'm sure we'll fare very well together here.

Henry laughs more openly now. "Oh Margaret Hale, I love you so".

-"And I love you, Henry Rowan. Just the way you are".

The dinner goes on without further incident. We won't speak about this epiphany during the night, very seldom in the future, but it was a chasm between us that wouldn't exist anymore. Henry will come out to the rest of our acquaintances a few months later; some like Edith will be incredulous while others, like Ian and Henry's parents, will have seen it coming.

Personally, I couldn't be happier. Henry has always been very important to me and I'm glad we shut the door to that blind alley.

Note: I think the original Henry, who's siblings with Fanny's husband, was quite straight