Anne Mather - Masquerade

Benito was sitting moodily on the verandah, when Samantha went to tell him that lunch was ready. He looked up dejectedly at her approach and she felt guilty that she should be the cause of his depression.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” he said accusingly.

Samantha shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve got to, Benito.”

“I don’t understand you, Samantha. I always thought I did. I was wrong.”

Samantha spread her hands helplessly. “Would you want me to marry you and spend the rest of my life wondering whether I had done the right thing?”

“Of course not, but before this letter came there was no doubt.”

“There was no alternative either,” she reminded him, awkwardly. “Please, Benito, try to understand. I’ve never left this country since I was four years old.”

“I have lived here all my life.”

“But you’re Italian.”

“So will you be, when you become my wife.”

“In name only. Benito, I’m English.”

“I’ve never known it bother you before.”

“Oh, Benito, try … try to understand. I do think a lot of you, but if I go away I will be able to see things in perspective. If I love you, I will come back. You know that. If you love me you must know that love does not die simply because the two people concerned are separated.”

Benito frowned. He knew she was right and yet he was also afraid of what the separation might do. He was not as sure of her as he was of himself. He could see that she genuinely did not want to hurt him, and yet if she did go, would he ever see her again?

“If you are determined, there is nothing I can do to stop you,” he said coolly.

“There is,” she said desperately. “You could give me an ultimatum. I don’t think I would dare to refuse you then.”

Benito sighed and shook his head. “No, of course you are right. I could not force you into such a position. You are a free woman, Samantha. But please come back to me.”

Samantha flushed. “Oh, Benito, when you look at me like that, I wish I had never even seen the letter.”

Benito pulled her to him. “So do I,” he groaned, as he pressed his lips to her hair.

“And now,” he said, at last, “you must tell the Cionis of your decision.”

“Yes,” Samantha nodded. “And soon I’ll know the secret of why my mother acted as she did. I only hope she is not as horrid as she sounds.”

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