Simon Tolkien - The King of Diamonds

‘You asked me about Franz,’ he said. ‘I am sorry you don’t like him. He’s not an easy person, I know. And he’s not at his best with women. But it’s not because he doesn’t like them or doesn’t like you. I assure you of that. It’s rather that he feels uncomfortable because he doesn’t know what to say. You see, his mother died when he was very young and his father was away, and it was really left to his older sister, Jana, to bring him up. She did her best, but she couldn’t be his mother — if nothing else she was too young. And then afterward he was in the army…’

‘The Belgian army?’

‘Yes. For ten years before the war. He did well, but it left its mark. I suppose you could say he has all the virtues and the vices of the well-trained military man. He can be awkward in company, especially with the opposite sex, and he tends to see everything in — how do you say? — in black and white. But he is loyal and true; a man of honour. And there is nothing he would not do for me, Vanessa.’

‘Why?’

‘Because years ago I was able to help him when he needed help, because once upon a time I was married to his sister, because…’

Titus broke off in midsentence as if turning away from an unwanted memory. Vanessa couldn’t remember how she had first heard that Titus was a widower, but she’d known it for as long as she’d known him. And yet his dead wife had always been an invisible presence. There were no family photographs in the house that she’d ever seen and he’d never mentioned her until now.

‘What was her name?’ Vanessa asked. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and she felt for a moment like a child pushing open a forbidden door.

‘Amelie.’

‘Was she beautiful?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you miss her?’

‘Sometimes. My child too. But it is painful and so I try not to think about them.’

‘Your child! I never knew you had a child.’ Vanessa was rigid with astonishment.

‘Yes, a son like you, but younger. It is part of what draws me to you, I think, Vanessa. That we have both suffered, both lost what was dear to us. Life is never the same after that.’

‘But why didn’t you tell me before? When I told you about Joe?’

‘Because that conversation was about you, not me. I wanted to know how you felt, not to tell you about me.’

Vanessa sat back in the sofa, trying to cope with the confusion of her emotions. It made no sense that Titus should not have told her about his loss when she told him about hers, and yet it also made perfect sense because of the person he was. She vividly remembered the evening sitting up late in front of the fire in her flat when she’d described the terrible night of the motorcycle accident to Titus and told him in broken words about the shroud of meaninglessness that had hung over her ever since. She remembered the way he’d listened to her so quietly, so intently, so that she felt able to talk about what had happened, about what it meant, for really the first time since the accident. And she realized now that she couldn’t have talked like that, couldn’t have unburdened her soul, if the conversation had been about him as well as her. She felt a sudden wave of emotion, of gratitude toward this man about whom she still knew so little.

‘What happened to them? Your wife and child?’ she asked, leaning toward Titus with sympathy and concern written all over her face.

‘They died in the war. Back at the beginning when the Germans came in. Nothing special about it. There was a lot of bombing and many people lost their families back then. You go out, you go to work, you come back, and what do you find? Rubble. Yes, you English have the right word for it. Le mot juste. In the morning a house, a home; in the evening rubble.’

Titus had closed his fist while he was speaking, and now he suddenly opened it empty, like a circus conjuror. And with a bitter, twisted smile he got up and went over and stood by the window, looking out. It was almost dusk and hard to see past the lawn and the rose beds to the lake and the line of trees beyond.

‘ Tramonte the Italians call it,’ he said musingly.

‘What?’

‘The twilight, the in-between time. It means “across the mountains” in English. And I suppose you could say that that’s where I’ve come from, Vanessa. Across the mountains. Bringing what I could out of the flames. Katya, my niece, more damaged than I am, whom I must try to protect however much she hates me for it, and Franz and Jana. Yes, Franz, Vanessa,’ said Titus, looking at her apologetically. ‘He is my family too, and I cannot turn my back on him even if I wanted to.’

‘But I wasn’t asking you to do anything like that,’ said Vanessa, raising her hands in protest. ‘Your life is your own; it’s not for me to interfere.’

‘But that’s where you’re wrong, my dear,’ said Titus, coming back over to the sofa and raising her right hand to his lips. ‘I want you to interfere; I want you to be a part of my life. Not just now but for always.’

Vanessa looked into Titus’s bright blue eyes and knew exactly what he was saying. She felt like a swimmer being borne out to sea on a riptide. She was falling in love with a man whom she hardly knew. Whom she hardly knew — an inner voice repeated the words inside her head, holding her back almost against her will.

‘I’m married, Titus,’ she said in a soft voice.

‘Yes, and your husband hates me,’ said Titus with a sigh.

‘No, he doesn’t. He just hates what you represent. Bill’s always been a fair man. It’s one of the things he prides himself on.’

‘Well, then maybe he’ll be fair to us and give you a divorce. Won’t you ask him, Vanessa?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Vanessa, sounding upset. It distressed her to hear Titus talking about Bill. Because she’d spoken no less than the truth. She did believe her husband was a fair man. He might be unable to express his emotions or to cope with his son’s death; he was certainly unbearable to live with; and yet he was fundamentally decent — good even. It wasn’t that she wanted to go back to him. She was sure of that, but she and Bill had been through a lot together; they’d been happy once, and something inside Vanessa rebelled at the thought of the divorce court, of a legal end to everything that had gone before.

And yet here was Titus offering her a new life, entirely unlike the one she’d left behind. He would take care of her; love her; encourage her to express herself in a way in which her husband had never been able to do. He was wealthy, influential, a man of the world. There would be no more scrimping and saving at the supermarket, no more worrying about the next bank statement. Surely her marriage was over? It was eighteen months since she’d left her husband. Did her independence, her tiny little flat, mean so much to her that she’d turn down the chance of becoming Mrs Osman? Or was it simply that she no longer believed in happiness, didn’t want to put the possibility of it to the test?

‘I don’t know,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know, Titus. You must give me more time.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘All the time that you need, dearest Vanessa. It’s enough for me that you will think about it. Love will take care of the rest.’

Titus got to his feet with a smile. He was not discouraged. He’d watched the storm of conflicting emotions pass across Vanessa’s face, and he sensed how close he was to obtaining his heart’s desire.

‘Why do you want a gun?’ asked Eddie as they completed another circuit of the exercise yard. Several hours had gone by since they had reached their agreement to escape, but they were both still in a state of unnatural excitement.