Chapter Four
It had been an age since I’d last heard from Oscar.
He’d gone back to England, and the usual flurry of letters filled with witticisms and anecdotes, declarations of affection and longing that I’d so cherished this time last year, had slowly reduced to a trickle.
Promises to return home, write more, send word of his whereabouts, were broken repeatedly.
Then, sometime after Christmas, he ceased to correspond altogether.
It was humiliating dealing with all the questions from family, friends and neighbours.
‘How’s Oscar?’ they’d ask. ‘When’s he coming home?’ Or worse, ‘When’s the wedding?’
As winter gave way to spring, I pondered whether this was his way of releasing me from a commitment that had only ever existed in my imagination. I’d no answers, only a deep, burning pain in my heart, which slowly transformed into a fierce anger.
Now at last, after protracted silence, a letter arrived. I seized it from the pile of mail on the salver in the hallway and, with a heart fit to burst, fled to the privacy of the bedroom. I perched on the window seat and tore it open, devouring the words.
‘What does he say?’ asked Phil, bounding into the room and holding out her hand.
Was nothing sacred in this house? Reluctantly, knowing Phil would persist, I handed over the one-page letter.
‘My dear Florrie,’ she began, using the voice she’d adopted lately when talking about Oscar. Her eyes scanned the single page.
‘I miss you terribly,’ continued Phil, ‘but I’m enjoying the company of a delightful friend (a new friend) —’ Phil raised her head. ‘New? What the hell does that mean? Delightful? I’ll give him fecking delightful. Is he deliberately trying to hurt you by telling you this? Who’s this friend?’
Bands of pain tightened my chest. ‘I don’t know. But he says he won’t be coming home for Easter. He’s staying at the Royal Bath Hotel in Bournemouth instead.’
‘With this delightful new friend?’
The look of disdain on Phil’s face undid me. I hated myself for my earlier selfish thoughts. My sister was marvellous. The anger that had bolstered me dissolved. Tears began to fall.
Phil cast the letter aside and gathered me in her arms. ‘Oh, Florrie.’ She kissed the top of my head. ‘Please, Kitten, don’t cry. Oscar’s an eejit. A damn wretched one who’s thoughtless and cruel.’
‘After nothing from him for so long, he writes that,’ I sobbed. ‘I loved him, Phil, love him.’ I hiccoughed. ‘I thought he loved me too. That we’d get married. But he can’t even be bothered to come home, not now he has someone else. It’s me that’s the eejit, Phil. Not him, me.’
Phil held me as I blubbed, the noise bringing first Maude, then Mother to the door.
Phil shooed them away wordlessly. As I wept for what I’d had, what I believed with all my heart might have been, I thought about how the family had protected me from the truth I was only now seeing.
Whereas Oscar’s name used to punctuate every conversation, news of his exploits demanded, his few publications and awards shared with pride with visitors, subtly, but with a deftness I hadn’t grasped until now, his name had slowly been withdrawn.
It was as if everyone else knew what I’d wilfully failed to realise.
Oscar no longer wanted me. He’d changed his mind.
Someone or something had altered it. I’d wasted almost two years of my life waiting for a man who’d never had any intention of arriving at what I’d persuaded myself was our natural destination.
Were people laughing at me for having the temerity to think I could be Mrs Wilde?
I must have said the last thought aloud, for Phil answered. ‘No-one is laughing at you, Florrie. We all thought the same. Even me, the sworn spinster. Oscar had us all hoodwinked.’
‘It was the necklace,’ I said. ‘We read too much into it. I did. Interpreted it to mean something it didn’t.
’ I held it up to the grey light. As if to mock me, a shaft of sunlight pierced the looming clouds, striking the gold and making it glow.
Laughter drifted from the park opposite.
I raised my head and saw a couple, tall like me and Oscar, strolling, arms linked, heads together.
Two dogs gambolled after a ball, tongues lolling, ears flying.
It was altogether bucolic and served to plunge me into deeper misery.
No. I wouldn’t allow it. Self-pity was not my style. I was nobody’s fool. No-one’s. Especially not yours, Oscar Wilde.
Just thinking his name cracked my heart wide open.
With a deep, shuddering breath, I withdrew from Phil’s arms, sat up straight and blew my nose forcefully. I tried to give the kerchief back to her. She gave me a sardonic look, so I tucked it into my sleeve instead.
I slowly stood. ‘I must face facts. It’s over between us. I just wish Oscar had the courage to tell me, instead of these absences forcing me to draw my own conclusions.’
‘They tell their own sorry story, don’t they?’ said Phil.
‘You warned me once. You were right.’ I sniffed. ‘And now this.’ I flicked the letter.
‘He’s a fecking coward,’ said Phil.
‘He’s not the man I thought he was, that’s certain.
I’ve had my eyes opened, Phil.’ I inhaled deeply and let out a shuddering breath.
‘From this day forth, I’m going to forget him; forget he ever existed.
But not until I’ve told him exactly what I think about his behaviour.
’ I rummaged in a drawer and found a pen and paper.
‘As far as I’m concerned, this new friend can have him. ’
Phil clapped her hands. ‘That’s the spirit, Kitten. Show those claws. No man is worth such misery. Especially not Oscar. You’re worth ten of him.’
I gave her a watery smile.
‘Florrie, listen. Oscar will regret this. Maybe not today, nor tomorrow, but one day he’ll regret the way he’s treated you.’
‘I’m already regretting I ever thought I could be Mrs Wilde.’ I sat at the dresser, pushed aside brushes and combs, and readied the paper.
Phil scoffed. ‘He’s just one man. There are dozens out there who’d be proud to call you wife. Only —’ she paused.
‘What?’
‘Listen. You’re hurting. Hurting and angry. Just promise me you won’t marry the first man who asks you.’
I dashed my hand across my eyes and snorted. ‘As if.’