He shook his head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’re miles away, in Norwich, and we’re not even in the city centre.’
She glared at him. ‘Did it not occur to you that this poor, silly, pathetic little woman might just be capable of calling a taxi to take her to the train station and buying a ticket?’
‘What?’ She was escalating this way over the top. ‘I never called you silly or pathetic or little.’
‘You implied it.’
‘Like hell I did.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘You’re being totally unreasonable. I’m not Eric.’
‘And I’m not Stephanie,’ she said, in a whisper so harsh that it cut right through him. ‘Think about it. Think long and hard about what you really want. And about whether you’ve got the guts to go and find it.’
And, to his shock, she stood up.
She really was walking out on him.
‘Mariana—’
‘No,’ she cut in. ‘Right now, I don’t want to talk to you, Angelo. I’m going back to London on my own. I’ll see you tomorrow to carry on with the paperwork, but I want you to know that I’m doing it for your grandfather, not for you.’
‘Noted,’ he said tightly.
‘Good. My overnight bag is still in your car. I’ll collect it from you tomorrow.’ She looked at him. ‘Think about what I said. Because it’s way past time you stopped hiding.’
And then she walked away.
Angelo watched her go. Part of him wanted to call her back, part of him wanted to go after her, and part of him was too numb to do anything.
Was she right?
Was he wallowing in his infertility?
Was he too much of a coward to put himself back out there and go for what he wanted—for what he knew he couldn’t have?
The collapse of his marriage had hurt him so deeply. Why would anyone want to open themselves up to that kind of hurt again? And what was the point of wanting something you couldn’t have?
But Alice Fisher had done it. She’d married a man who was beneath her social class and who wasn’t the father of her child. A man who’d given her his name and his protection in exchange for becoming the owner of his farm. A man who had complete power over her, after their marriage. She’d taken a risk that Robert could make her life and that of her child really unhappy.
But had that been the case?
Robert had taken a risk, too. Marrying a woman way above his station, a woman who could read and write and who was used to having servants. A woman who might look down on him and make him feel unworthy of her.
But the facts were on the records from all those years ago. Robert had the farm and Alice kept her baby. Between them they’d been brave enough to make a compromise work.
Could he be that brave?
Out of habit—and respect for the fact that other people needed to use the library and it wasn’t fair just to leave everything in a mess—he put all the microfiches and rolls of microfilm back in their right place. Then he drove to the train station to find Mariana, apologise and tell her that he was ready to talk.
But she wasn’t there.
The departures board showed that there were half-hourly trains to London—and the last one had left three minutes ago.
He was too late.
CHAPTER NINE
MARIANA SAT ON the train, staring out of the window but not actually seeing anything of the pretty countryside.
What had she done?
She’d given in to her anger and her frustration. Walked out on Angelo, just as Stephanie had. The parallels weren’t lost on her.
Had she been unfair?
Probably, and guilt flooded through her. He couldn’t have children. They’d been chasing down the true story behind the painting, discovered that the painter had just abandoned his children when it suited him—his wife and children in Florence, and then Alice in Norfolk. Carulli had been cavalier in the extreme with the one thing Angelo wanted and couldn’t have.
So a lot of what he’d said to her... His head had been in a bad place. Maybe he hadn’t meant any of it. And she’d hurt him.
But he’d rejected her, too. He wouldn’t even discuss alternatives.
Was it her? Was Eric right and she was worthless, and no man would love her?
She shook herself. No. She wasn’t worthless. But maybe she had a habit of picking men who simply weren’t able to love.