Page 89 of The Last Kiss Goodbye

Dominic got up to join her, but she shook her head.

‘You stay,’ she said as light-heartedly as she could.

‘No, I’ll come.’

‘Don’t be silly. You three have a proper catch-up.’

This time he didn’t object.

Victoria got out of her seat to give her a hug.

‘I hope you don’t think we are too bohemian putting you in the same room,’ she giggled. ‘But it is the best suite in the house.’

‘I’ll be up soon,’ promised Dominic.

Ros nodded and left them to it.

The bed was incredibly comfy, and the wine with dinner and the heat of the day conspired to make her fall asleep very quickly.

When she opened her eyes again, she was momentarily disorientated. It was still dark, just faint silvery light creeping through a crack in the shutters. Rolling over, she saw that the space beside her had not yet been slept in.

She glanced at her watch and saw that it was just after midnight. Her mouth was dry and the alcohol had given her a headache. She got out of bed to get some water, knowing this was really an excuse to see where Dominic was.

Opening the bedroom door, she could hear Tony’s deep baritone coming from the study to the left of the hall. The thought of Dominic and Victoria left alone sent shivers of dread around her body.

Dominic loves me, she reassured herself. Victoria, one of his oldest friends, had noticed it too.

She went to the bathroom and filled a tooth glass with water, enjoying the sensation of the cold liquid sliding down her throat. It was a warm, clammy evening, so she went to open the French windows and stepped out on to the balcony.

The Mediterranean shimmered in the distance – a dark blanket threaded with silver – and she sighed at its beauty. Closing her eyes, she let the soft evening breeze stroke her face.

She knew that you were meant to remember moments like this for the rest of your life, but she felt too unsettled to take in its magic.

The South of France was a place to fall in love. Oh, and she had. She had ignored the voices in her head, the voices that had warned her from the start that it was unwise to lose her heart to Dominic Blake. That blind optimism that had made her think she could change the world had convinced her they could be happy and grow old together.

‘You fool,’ she whispered out loud.

She opened her eyes and was about to go back inside when she heard a noise in the grounds, a voice, soft and low, carried on the breeze.

Stepping to the edge of the balcony, she looked around, the gardens of Les Cyprès a series of shapes and shadows in the dark.

And then she saw them, Dominic and Victoria, walking across the grass, deep in conversation. After a minute they stopped and turned to face each other. The moon had gone behind a cloud; a minute earlier and they would have been spotlit like actors on a stage, but in this light Ros could not make out any detail in their faces. She strained her ears and could hear the low grumble of conversation. Not the laughter and joking of two people trying to impress one another. It sounded serious, sombre, which at least gave Ros some small comfort. But still, they looked so perfect together, even in silhouette, especially in silhouette.

They turned to face the house and Ros retreated quickly inside, not wanting to be seen.

She returned to bed, pulling the sheet right up against her chin, and started to count sheep, desperate to fall asleep before Dominic came back into the room.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Direct Action Group had, to all intents and purposes, ceased to exist. Officially they were on a sabbatical, to regroup and refocus. Ros remembered what Tony Harbord had said, his suggestion that the group was directionless, and she had to admit he had a point. How was it possible to change anything when you wanted to change everything?

Some days she felt a fierce longing for the Brewer Street office, whose lease had long been surrendered; other times she felt ready for new challenges. She was now writing for the Manchester Guardian, and the New Statesman, whose editor John Freeman was both a journalist and a Labour politician, a CV that Ros greatly admired and aspired to.

‘Oh Ros, what’s the matter?’ said Sam, putting a steaming cup of coffee in front of her on the kitchen table.

Ros took a breath before she opened her mouth. Although she could shout louder than most people, was the first to voice her opinions, she saw herself as a private person.

‘It’s Dominic,’ she said finally, wrapping her fingers around her cup.