Miranda #2
Betty pulled her in closer. ‘You’re only a widow as long as you choose that title. You could be single, or even married again if you wanted. You could also be happy in a job where you don’t have to lie and cheat just to stay in the game.’
‘But I’ve always wanted to be a journalist – it’s who I am – and this is how the profession works.’
‘There has to be another way, doesn’t there?
I know it’s hard for a woman to get ahead these days, but, Miranda, you can’t pretend it costs you nothing.
You’re putting Sinclair’s job on the line, as well as ours.
Caroline’s position relies on the strictest of confidences, and she’d almost certainly be fired if anyone knew she’d let you see the gown. ’
‘I didn’t think.’ Miranda felt her heart tumble with the reality of what she could have caused.
‘I expected more from you, Miranda.’ Betty’s voice was calm, but it was obvious that she was hurt. ‘You’re clever, efficient and witty, but you’re so busy making sure the world knows it, that you don’t notice the people you’re knocking down along the way.’
‘But can’t you see, this is the way I do things – it’s how I work.’
‘You’ve faced massive grief in your life, dear.
Just because you needed to do whatever it took then, it doesn’t mean it still holds true today.
Nothing is worth that. Don’t let these newspapermen dictate what you do.
Don’t ever give up on your friends and family, on what and who you hold dear.
Because giving up other people means you lost.’ Her mouth clenched.
‘You have to take the darkness from your life and turn it into light.’
Her head spinning, Miranda frowned at Betty. ‘You have no idea what it’s like to be me.’ She thrust the envelope back at her aunt. ‘I don’t need your money. Just stay out of my business.’
And with that, she picked up her suitcase and darted down the stairs, slamming the front door behind her.
LONDON AIRPORT WAS BUSTLING. Uniformed pilots and chic airline stewardesses filed past, interspersed with wealthy travellers and businessmen. A group of men in white Middle Eastern attire had arrived, presumably for the coronation, and were hurried into a waiting limousine.
Sullenly, Miranda joined the queue at the airline desk.
All she wanted was to be back in New York, put the palace, Betty and Sinclair out of her mind.
The woman behind the desk took her ticket. ‘As the flight is leaving in a few hours, I’ll have to check with the ground crew.’ She pointed to a group of chairs. ‘Take a seat, and I’ll call you back to the desk when I have a confirmation.’
Praying they had space for her, Miranda went to sit down.
After the scene with Betty, she couldn’t bear to go back to Camden.
If need be, she could book into a hotel.
She’d need to sell her sketch of the gown to pay for it, and she imagined the large cash advance.
It would be a front-page story, worth a lot of money, more if she named herself as the palace insider, too.
The first paper she called would snap it up.
However, against her will, she thought of the consequences. Caroline would lose her position, and Betty, too, would be fired for getting her the job if Miranda had her own name down as a source. How foolish she’d been for not thinking it through.
And could Sinclair, too, be scorched in the aftermath? Everyone knew they were friends – would he be reprimanded? Could they take Rome away from him?
She shook her head briskly, trying to rationalize her thoughts.
After all, what did it matter now that he hated her?
Yet there was something about Sinclair she couldn’t shake, even with his pristine manners, his uptightness interwoven with wit and charm, self-admonishing yet unashamed of who he was.
There was a forthrightness to him, a self-possession.
How easy it was to be with him, how natural to fall into his arms. What a relief she’d felt to have that connection again, for the first time since Jack died.
Was she ready to ruin it all for the sake of her pride, her independence, her fear of being human, of being hurt?
Something inside her head began to throb as she thought of the money Betty had tried to give her. If she’d have taken it, she wouldn’t have to sell her sketch – nor would Caroline have to take the blame.
Yet it must have been Betty’s savings, hidden away for emergencies. The old Miranda would have snapped it up in a moment, determined not to care about anyone.
But she wasn’t that person anymore.
Her heart sank at what she had neglected to see, that she’d let friendship in. It had been more useful for her to think of Betty and the others as casual acquaintances, when in actual fact, they relied on one another.
Betty had meant well when she offered her the money, she knew that now. And Miranda had thrown it back in her face for what? A quick escape from the mess she’d made?
What kind of person had Miranda become?
A plane must have arrived, as a stream of people entered the great airport hall, those gathered to meet them stepping forward to hug or shake hands, to help them with their cases.
One couple stood out, a young woman darting towards a man in military uniform and throwing her arms around him.
As he twirled her around, her dark hair fanned out, the pair united as one.
Just like her and—
But at that moment, instead of Jack, her thoughts went to Sinclair. How good they were together.
Only now she would never see him again.
Unable to stop herself, she bent her face into her hands and sobbed.
What was she doing here, running back to New York?
So many years had gone by that she could barely remember what love felt like.
And at that moment she knew that it was meant to be, not just that Sinclair was a stand-in for Jack, but that he was the one who would come after Jack, the one who would take her on her next journey.
And what a journey that would be!
Only now it would never happen.
She’d ruined everything. And even without thinking, she realized that it wasn’t because of Jack’s death, nor was it about her independence. It was because she couldn’t bear to be crushed by separation again.
Yet now she knew: she would risk anything to have Sinclair back.
‘Excuse me, madam.’ The woman from the airline desk leaned down to speak to her. ‘We found a seat for you, if you would like to come with me?’
Numbly, Miranda followed her back to the main desk, her mind reeling.
She was going back to New York. Would she call one of her old friends, stay in yet another guest room?
Her mood plummeted as she remembered that feeling, existing on the outer edge of a happy family, looking in.
The familiar bitterness she’d felt in New York crept through her bones, her mocking resentment for other people’s happiness.
And she didn’t want it anymore. Instead of being outside that body of warmth and happiness, she wanted to be inside it. The togetherness she’d felt in Camden had enveloped her. It had made her feel human again.
‘We actually have a choice of seats available, madam. Would you like to sit next to the window?’
As if in a trance, Miranda listened as the woman went through the prices, but all she could think about was the cost to herself, of all that she was leaving behind.
And that’s when the words came out of her mouth.
‘I’ve changed my mind. There’s something I need to do before I leave. I’ll arrange my return flight another day.’
‘Is it a man?’ the woman asked a little too directly.
Miranda frowned, baffled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone with dark hair and a well-cut suit?’ Her eyes went past Miranda to the concourse. ‘Because if that’s him, he’s hurrying through the terminal searching for someone, and it appears he’s just seen you.’
Incredulous, she turned around, and there, standing in the middle of the hall, was Sinclair, breathing hard as he glared at her.
Then he strode forward.
Uncertain what his arrival meant, Miranda began walking towards him, breaking into a run as she saw the look on his face, but as she drew close, she stopped.
‘Sinclair, what are you doing here?’
‘Betty told me where you’d gone.’ He glanced beyond her to the desk, then to the floor. ‘When you didn’t come back to the office, I went to your house. I wanted to ask you not to write any more articles.’
Her heart sank. For one moment, she thought he’d come there to get her back, to ask her to stay. She turned her head, tears pricking her eyes.
‘I’m begging you to reconsider, Miranda, to think of how damaging this will be.’
She drew away, unsure. ‘But you’ll tell the minister, get me fired.’ She wiped her cheeks, not caring how childish it appeared.
‘Don’t you know me yet? I’d never do that, regardless of what you did.
I thought I knew you, too, that you wouldn’t hurt your friends.
’ He took a deep breath. ‘The Miranda I’ve started to know isn’t like that.
I’ve never met anyone like you before. I love your spirit, your humour and your determination.
But you’re using it in the wrong way, putting yourself down by writing cheap articles when you could be doing so much more.
And what about your friends and Betty? You love them too much to end your time in London like this. ’
A flash of horror went through her as she acknowledged how much she hated leaving them this way – how she was running away.
Instead of the clever adult who was too smart to let everyday emotions get the better of her, she was a silly child, not taking responsibility for how she hurt other people.
‘I didn’t want to leave, but you were so angry with me, so disappointed, and what with the fallout that I knew was coming, I just wanted to escape, pretend that none of it mattered. ’
‘I don’t want you to think of me like that.’ He took her hand, his eyes suddenly urgent and intense. ‘I want you to remember me as the man who was in love with you – a man you might have loved back.’
And with that, she fell into his arms, their lips connecting as he pulled her close. In that moment, it didn’t matter what had happened, nor what would. This was the togetherness she longed for. How could she have denied herself this one thing she wanted above all else?
It was the airline woman who broke them apart, beckoning her to go back to the desk. ‘Excuse me, madam.’
Sinclair frowned. ‘Do you have to go?’
‘No, no,’ Miranda murmured, turning back to the woman to find out what she wanted.
But all the woman did was hold up her suitcase. ‘You left this at the desk,’ she said, handing it across with a grin. ‘I bet you’re happy you decided not to get the flight now, aren’t you?’
Sinclair’s eyes widened. ‘You’re staying?’
‘I didn’t want to leave without seeing you again,’ Miranda began, but then she felt a lump in her throat. ‘I thought you would never speak to me again.’
‘It’s true, I was angry and upset, but then, after you left, I sat there asking myself, “Is that it? Are you just going to give up, let her go halfway around the world to get away from you?”’ He opened his hands.
‘I needed to see you again, to persuade you not to write the articles, to stay here in London.’ He paused, looking at her solemnly, and asked, ‘You will stay, won’t you? ’
She nodded. ‘I’ll have to tell Caroline and the others, which won’t be easy, and I have no idea what I’ll say to O’Hara. He’s expecting a series of longer articles after the coronation.’
‘Since you’re so clever, you must be able to come up with something different from the usual exposés and royal secrets.’
After heaving a large sigh, she murmured, ‘You could be right.’ And she thought of the pieces she’d always wanted to write, those showing the other face of society, how the women could contribute so much more if they were given the chance.
Sinclair picked up her suitcase and led her to the doors, out into the warm afternoon air. There, he hailed a taxi to take them to the station, and before long they stood on the platform, kissing and talking, until the train for central London arrived.
And as he lightly took her hand in his, the sunshine around them, she couldn’t help feeling as if she were shedding her old, resilient skin, facing a softer, more fragile life ahead.
‘When I first saw you,’ he said, running his thumb along her knuckles, ‘I thought you were the most stunning woman I’d ever seen.
’ He grinned. ‘But then you started talking, and I realized how clever you were, how funny, and I didn’t know what to do.
You see, I needed to get this coronation job done, get the posting to Rome, and get out of London – no hassle, no complications, and definitely no Americans demanding my attention.
But you were complication personified, from your nonstop demands to find maps, go to meetings, questioning the stuffy advisors, even the meaning of the monarchy.
You did things differently, came from a different angle, and it was annoying, confusing, and utterly enticing. ’
‘And I couldn’t resist your poise. You’re so very artful with what you give away.’
He took her hands in his. ‘The more I spoke to you, the more intrigued I became. You were so keen to put across this front of being ruthless and almost relentless in your pursuit of proving them wrong, but I saw threads of a different person inside. The way you bragged about editing the college newspaper, when it really made no difference to your position in the palace back office – although now I know that you’re a journalist, that little chat makes a lot more sense. ’
‘I was the best editor Smith had seen for decades,’ she said haughtily.
‘Which brings me to your uncanny knack of showing off. I could see there was a lot more going on inside you than you were letting on. I was captivated.’
‘Because there’s a lot more going on inside you, too?’
His eyes glinted in the late-afternoon sunshine.
‘Because it takes one complicated person to understand another. That was when I realized that it might be you, Miranda – that you might be the real one for me, not the woman I almost married, who did me an immense favour by leaving me.’ He smiled at her. ‘It was all making way for you.’
And as the sunlight glistened over the platform, she felt herself nestle into him, feeling younger, more vulnerable, yet more alive than she ever had.