Twin Flames (Twin Flames #1)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Y ork, present day, when Cara disappeared

For perhaps the hundredth time that day, George wondered where Cara had gone. She wasn’t at home when he popped by on two consecutive days. She wasn’t reading text messages or returning his calls. It was as if she’d dropped off the edge of the earth. She’d frozen him out of her world, wherever she was. A chill ripped through him as he contemplated this grim realisation.

After a couple of days consumed by worry, he decided to call her work number, but his call was diverted to an automated message which said she was away on business, and her office was closed.

Right-ho, Cara. The message was clear. He wouldn’t bother her anymore—he would leave it up to her.

It was a first for her not to be in touch with him at all when he was trying to make contact. Even when he’d done something unforgivable she would at least respond by message to let him know she was okay. He was restless night and day. There was a dull ache in his chest, and he hurt all over.

He argued inwardly that perhaps it was better this way. He did everything he could to convince himself it was so. But it was no good; he concluded that even if it was for the best, he hated it. He wanted her, he yearned to hear her voice, and now he regretted his mulish behaviour. He could kick himself; her disappearance was obviously a result of something he’d done. He’d given up trying to figure out exactly what triggered their separations, but she had been so angry about the newspaper article, and he had brushed it off as if it wasn’t a big deal.

Cara could be unpredictable, and as much as it drove him crazy, it was also one of her qualities that bewitched him. He could no longer ignore that his marriage wreaked havoc upon their lives.

It was a wonder she’d waited for him this long. He nursed his lukewarm cup of black tea. Hunger pangs clawed at his belly, but he had neither the desire to prepare food nor the appetite to eat. Everything seemed pointless, and yet time continued to tick by as he stared at the mahogany grandfather clock in the workshop. Unable to concentrate on anything for more than a couple of minutes, work was increasingly a challenge. Clients, friends and colleagues buzzed in and out, and it was an effort to rally himself to engage in mundane conversation. He knew it was unkind, but their concerns seemed banal. His usually optimistic and bouncy personality was buried beneath a weight of gloom.

Life at home had a nightmarish quality. Joanna kept catching him when he was zoned out, and she remarked several times on his vacant stare. Worse still, he could barely muster a decent excuse. He’d lost the will.

‘I’m feeling under the weather,’ was the best he could do. ‘A bit tired.’

He realised that for the first time, he couldn’t make himself care enough about whether she found out what was going on, to come up with a plausible excuse. He’d lost interest in everything since Cara disappeared.

Joanna looked at him as if he were an alien species she no longer knew or understood, and the chasm between them grew as the black void in his heart deepened. He was physically unwell and emotionally bereft.

George pondered on his recent meeting with Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. He admired the royal couple; they were impressive beyond their titles and pomp. No wonder they were still so celebrated, almost two centuries later. All he could remember from his last time travel sojourn was that Queen Victoria had charged him with visiting Spain under diplomatic pretence so he might be her eyes on the ground.

Like many monarchs before her, Queen Victoria was eager to learn what the Spanish were up to and she had nominated George, one of her favourites, to carry out the secret mission. As if all of this heartache in his present-day life wasn’t enough to deal with. He never knew from one minute to the next when he’d be drawn back to Victorian times. He never knew how long he’d be gone, or what was happening in his normal life when he hurtled back to the past. He pondered his strange situation. The Spanish goose chase could be a long one because in those days it could take months to travel across Europe. Not that it was any indication of how long he’d be there. He’d managed to work out, through conversations in both timelines that when he flitted back and forth, no one else seemed aware that anything had changed. His physical presence remained. He didn’t understand how it worked; only that it did.

He found it bizarre, yet fascinating. It meant there was something about his consciousness that travelled with him, but he remained physically present in both timelines continuously. He’d love to talk to someone who understood time travel, but so far he’d had no success. He couldn’t risk telling the wrong person. It sounded mad, and he wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking he’d lost his mind if he told them his version of events. Was he the only time traveller in history? It was a lonely and frightening thought.

Hopefully, Cara would forgive him, and reappear soon so he would be lifted out of this dreadful slump. He knew from experience that his dark mood would dissipate in an instant when he was with her. If only he could tell her what was happening. But would she even believe him?

He was at a loss as to how to sort out the mess that his life had become, but he knew he couldn’t be without her any longer. If she made contact, he resolved he would figure something out so they could be together. He would stop pushing her away. She only ever asked to see him; to spend time with him. It didn’t seem unreasonable now that she had gone. He was consumed with remorse. If he stopped resisting the inevitable, he hoped she’d be less inclined to keep breaking it off.

He oscillated between feelings of anger at her for deserting him, and empathy because of what she had endured due to his refusal to end his marriage. He’d previously concluded that if he was in her position, he would cope better. He pulled a face. Now he wasn’t so sure. He had chastised her in the past for her erratic behaviour, but as the empty hours turned into dull days and endless, lonely nights, his understanding deepened and regret crushed his soul.

If only he had revealed that they were married to one another a couple of centuries earlier and that no matter how pig-headed she thought him, she was the only woman he had ever loved. It was just going to take him some time to work things out. Things would be so much easier if she knew there was no need to be jealous. If she returned, he would wait for the right time to tell her. For now, he had no choice but to keep their Victorian life to himself.

Over the years he’d grown accustomed to keeping his emotions buttoned up. It was a form of self-defence. If he revealed his true feelings to Joanna, it would be impossible to keep up the charade. Their relationship only hung together if they both played their part. He pretended he was in love with her, and other than the occasional comment, she pretended she didn’t know he wasn’t. Their marriage would have imploded years earlier if either of them had been honest about their feelings. Joanna yearned for what he couldn’t give her, and so he gave her friendship, dressed up as a romantic partnership. They had played Oscar-winning performances, but now he’d run out of lines.

Perhaps there would come a day when he would live with Cara openly as they did in Victoriana. He barely dared to allow himself to hope it would come to pass. He didn’t manage disappointment well. It frightened him.

If he told Cara about their previous life together, who knew what she’d make of it. He had almost told her when he’d experienced deja-vu at Hampton Court Palace. There was something familiar about the Tudor apartments. It was as though they’d been there together before. It was the same feeling he had when he went back to Victorian times and met Cara for the first time. They’d been introduced at a dinner at Windsor Castle in the Summer of 1840. The festivities at the castle were merry, following the royal wedding, earlier that year.

One look at Cara and he was bewitched. It was exactly like when he’d met her in the bookshop. Love at first sight. Miraculous but real. Neither of them could bear to be apart for more than a few hours. After years of ducking out of matchmaking attempts by his mother, one week later he proposed and he and Cara were married before Christmas. When you know, you know. And he knew now too, but he was locked into a situation and couldn’t find the key to escape.

How could he explain they were married two hundred years earlier but he was sorry he wasn’t free now? No, he shook his head. He didn’t understand the connection between them, which transcended hundreds of years, but their bond was unbreakable. No matter how many times he retreated or she broke off their relationship, they were drawn together again like magnets. George decided the only plausible explanation was that they were soul mates. He used to think the idea of soul mates was a load of romantic nonsense but not anymore. And besides, thinking they were destined to be together gave him a slither of comfort when his sadness threatened to smother and choke him in a black curtain of depression. There were days where he felt her loss so keenly that he could barely catch his breath.

Ever since their lives collided in the bookshop, he’d experienced the indescribable ability to navigate between the present-day and the Victorian era.

Nothing like it had ever happened to him before. One minute he was a workaholic, preoccupied with the business of rare manuscripts, and the next, well. . .he’d read The Time Machine at school and thought it was a marvellous work of science-fiction.

And to think that now he was a bona fide time traveller. He didn’t know how to get his head around it. Meeting Cara in another time was disorientating. They were involved in two parallel lives, and sometimes it was more than he could process. Yet he couldn’t deny it.

They were celebrated as a perfect match in Victorian circles, but here their relationship was tumultuous. If he could go back on demand, he’d leave York immediately and buy a ticket to join her. Anywhere. If only it were that easy; he’d leave this impossible situation behind.

But he didn’t know how to travel back whenever he wanted. He didn’t even know if it was possible. Time travel on demand wasn’t in his box of tricks. He had no control whatsoever over when he went or returned.

He was optimistic Queen Victoria would permit Cara to accompany him if the proposed trip to Spain went ahead. Looking back, he could see the links between their two lives. It was no wonder he’d loved Spain as soon as he visited as a young man on a business trip. There had been an inexplicable pull. Now it was obvious why—he’d probably spent time there in his past life.

Whether Cara had been with him wasn’t yet clear, but he suspected she had. He hoped so; he couldn’t stand the idea of them being wrenched apart there too.

London, 1536

‘Cara, welcome back. How is it going in the future?’ Eddie asked once they’d left the Tower and had a chance to whisper as they walked side by side along the cobbled street.

‘Terrible. It’s going terribly, Edward.’ Cara tried to remember to call him by his formal name in Tudorville.

‘Why, what’s happening?’

‘Well, for one thing, George isn’t even alive! His wife is married to another man who resembles him but most definitely is not him. Of course, that would be the answer to my prayers if only he were alive. It’s what I’ve wished for. I still can’t understand why he married her.’ Cara shook her head. Thinking about it made her melancholy.

‘Oh my lord. That’s a major hiccup indeed,’ said Edward, scratching his head. ‘So what can we do?’

‘Well, you and I decided we’d have a Plan B in case Plan A didn’t work, which it obviously didn’t.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’m here with you again! Plan A was for me to travel back to disrupt the timeline so that George and I never met. That way we wouldn’t have married, he wouldn’t die at the Tower, and we’d avoid all of this heartache in the present day.’

‘Is that what you want?’ said Edward.

‘No, of course not.’ Cara shook her head again. ‘That’s exactly what you asked in the present day!’

‘Oh, dear. Well, I’m sorry my lady, but it’s tricky to know what I’ve said as my future professor self! Please bear with me because I’m an earlier model. What do you want exactly? I’m confused.’

‘Sometimes, I don’t even know what I want. Anyway, Plan A is obviously a no go so we’re moving on to Plan B. It’s our only option.’

‘Which is?’

‘It really is infuriating that you don’t remember your own plans, Edward!’

‘It’ll come to me soon, but if you want my help now, you’re going to have to update me,’ he laughed.

Cara rolled her eyes. ‘Plan B is that we find a way to rescue George from the Tower before he’s executed.’

‘Okay, well that makes sense. Good plan. Then he’ll presumably be alive in the future unless something else happens to disrupt the timeline.’

‘Yes. I suppose something else could happen, but I can’t put my energy into thinking about that. There are too many variables.’

‘Hold on a minute though,’ said Edward.

‘What?’

‘How on earth do you know for sure that George is in the Tower?’

‘I saw him in the crowd as we were released. He was watching us. I doubted my eyes for a moment because I see him everywhere, but now I’m sure it was him. The heroic fool has gone and done a typical George thing.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘He’s exchanged himself for us and escorted us to our freedom. That’s why we were released from the Tower. He’s my Twin Flame. He protects me.’

‘Ah, yes. That does make sense. It is a typical earl-like thing to do. So how does Plan B work? How do we break him out?’ said Edward.

‘Um, well there’s good news and bad news,’ said Cara.

‘Why am I not surprised? Give me the good news first to soften the blow.’

‘The good news is we’re in place to implement Plan B.’

‘Right, and? What do we do?’

‘That’s the bad news. I’ve no idea yet. We didn’t get that far in our plan formulation. We thought we’d figure it out as we go.’

‘So, he is locked in the Tower of London, and we’re supposed to come up with a way to break him out and then get us all to safety while we’re being hunted down?’

‘That’s about the gist of it. You’ve always been razor-sharp, Edward. That’s why you’re so good with the children.’

‘Thank you. Although you employed me as a tutor, not a prison vigilante.’

‘Life is never simple in the Cavendish household. You must know that by now! Let’s think about what we’re going to do,’ said Cara.

London, 1840

George trailed his fingers down the exposed flesh at the back of Cara’s corset. She quivered beneath his touch, and he leaned forward to plant soft kisses onto her neck. The feel of his lips on her skin electrified her senses, and she experienced a jolt. She was weak with desire.

He pressed against her, and the familiar fierce current passed between them. The extent of her passion for him still took her by surprise. Nothing had prepared her for this degree of sexual intensity.

‘How is it that I’m the luckiest woman in the world and get to be your wife and make love to you whenever I want?’

He pulled her into his arms; she lost her balance and sank back into him. She’d never felt more alive. Each morning she looked at him lying next to her in their huge four-poster bed and offered up a prayer of gratitude.

He dropped more light kisses onto her neck and then slowly spun her around to face him. His hand tilted her chin upwards, and he gazed into her eyes, laughing as he said, ‘I don’t know Mrs Cavendish, but it’s definitely time for you to perform your wifely duty.’

Cara looked up at him coyly as she raised a dark eyebrow and then curtsied with mock deference. ‘Why, of course. What do you have in mind? How may I serve you, my lord?’

A virgin before their marriage, she had sensed how to please him from the first sexual encounter. Their desire was mutual and even though she hadn’t been schooled in the ways of pleasuring a man, pleasing her husband came as naturally to her as breathing. It was as if they’d always been together. They were a perfect fit, both physically and intellectually. Making love to George was effortless, just as she had known it would be. Such was their blaze of passion, delighting him gave her an immense thrill.

He was a sensual lover, and he guided her to erotic heights she’d never imagined existed. They barely slept on their wedding night; such was the build-up of craving for each other’s touch since they’d met. Months of secret touching and chaperoned visits had them both in a fevered frenzy.

George groaned as she touched him. He thought he would die of bliss, but then he began to slip away. He could feel the ebb of energy whirling around him. The air grew cold; the vortex was drawing him towards present-day York.

‘Not now, please, God, not now. Don’t take me now,’ he whispered.

Cara raised her head to look at him. ‘What?’

But then he was gone.

She made love to him—oblivious.

York, present day, before George disappeared

He woke up in bed a little after six. He turned to see Joanna asleep next to him. A bitter taste of bile rose in his throat and threatened to choke him. So wretched were his feelings of loss, he had to stop himself from crying out like a wounded animal.

He turned over and clamped his eyes shut in an effort to go back to sleep and blot out the pain. It was no good. Images of Cara and pangs of desire shot through every inch of him. He wanted her. They’d been together, she’d been making love to him, and now he was back here again. His marital sheets were warm, but his heart rebelled.

He couldn’t do this anymore. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t keep up this hollow pretence any longer. His chest hammered as he contemplated his life; his lives. What the hell was he going to do? Where was Cara? When would she come back or when would he return to Victoriana? It was torture; having the sweetness of her ripped away without warning. He was weak with longing. He pined for a normal life with Cara. What was wrong with him? He’d never asked for any of this.

He went into the bathroom and peered at his face. He looked ghastly as though he hadn’t slept for days—his eyes were bloodshot. His complexion was a sickly yellow beneath his tan. He was frustrated by Joanna’s presence, and resentment bubbled below the surface. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but that didn’t help him to manage his disappointment in the same way it once had. He used to be able to box up his feelings and get on with things. Not anymore. Before Cara tumbled at his feet in the bookshop, he’d been proficient at controlling his emotions and had resigned himself to a mediocre marriage. Now, his carefully constructed tower had come tumbling down. He was powerless to stop it. He didn’t even want to.

He showered, dressed for work, and left the house before his wife stirred for the day. He didn’t want to be there anymore.

Joanna opened her eyes as the bedroom door clicked shut behind him. She’d been awake for some time but hadn’t wanted to face the awkwardness between them.

Before she turned over and drifted into a light doze, she wondered what was going on with him. She sensed it had gone too far; he was absent even when at home. Whatever he had planned, it clearly didn’t involve her. Their life together was over. She knew it must be just a matter of time, but she dreaded hurting her daughter. How did you tell your child their parents didn’t want to be together anymore?