The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,83

and straight-backed. She couldn’t speak. And Adam was bent forward, defeated. Silence stretched over the short distance and the long years between them. When he spoke at last, his voice was dense with emotion.

‘It’s been a long time, Mary,’ he said. ‘What is it? Five years?’

‘Yes. Something like that.’ Nervous butterflies quivered in her throat.

‘I’ve been here looking for you every year. Every apple season, I kept hoping I’d find you.’

‘You’re still picking fruit?’

‘Yes, of course. It’s my life. I’m still on the road.’

She looked at him, unsure, waiting to see what he would say next.

‘We were going to settle down together, remember? We were going to have a cottage. Our own orchard. Our own apple farm. What happened to that?’

She didn’t know what to say.

‘They’re lost dreams, Mary. I’ve had trouble coming to terms with that. Where have you been?’

‘My parents sent me to Bruny Island. To my uncle’s farm. They wanted me away from here. They knew I loved you.’

His shoulders slumped further. ‘I wasn’t good enough. I know that. Your father laughed at me when I told him I was a fruit picker. I said I’d look after you, but he wouldn’t hear me out. It was over in five minutes. We could have made it work, you and I. We still can.’

‘I’m sorry about my father. He’s a hard man with strong opinions. I’m sorry he hurt you.’ Without thinking, Mary reached for his knee, feeling the warmth of him through his damp trousers, surprised at the way her body ignited when she touched him.

His face softened, his eyes deepening as he looked at her. ‘Do you remember the times we shared in this park?’ he said. ‘Our hopes? Our plans for the future?’

Unexpected tears tripped in her eyes. He took her hands in his and desire rushed through her. She was still the girl who loved him, the girl who had taken her first kiss from his lips.

He was bent over her hands, rubbing her fingers. Then he became very still. He’d seen the ring. Her wedding ring. His breathing became ragged and he held her hands tight so she couldn’t pull away.

‘How late am I?’ he asked, his voice tight and hoarse.

‘I’ve been married for a year.’

He couldn’t look at her then and she knew he was ashamed of his own tears. ‘I wrote letters to you,’ he said. ‘Here they are. I went back to my lodgings to fetch them for you.’ From inside his jacket he pulled a small bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. ‘Take them. They’re yours. Maybe you’ll read them sometime.’

He handed her the parcel and she slipped it into her coat pocket. Then he stood up to go, his face wretched. Tortured, she reached for his hand, and he sat down again, folding her hands into his. Even after all these years he still owned her, still knew her, and his touch still made her flush with excitement.

Eager now, reading something in her eyes, he moved close, bending to kiss her. She drew back, trying to protest, thinking of Jack. But he pulled her to him, all the heat of his body pressed against her. And he kissed her till she was ragged and lost. Beneath his lips, she came alive. Jack had never stirred her in this way. He hadn’t learned her body the way Adam had learned it in the few days they had known each other.

For a moment, she almost forgot. But as Adam paused to look at her, his face alive with want, she wrenched away. She straightened her coat and stood up, digging for strength. ‘Adam, I’m having a baby.’

He paled and his face twisted, and then he extended his hand to her, desperation etched in his features. ‘Come with me,’ he said urgently. ‘We can make this happen.’

But she backed away. ‘I still care for you,’ she said. ‘I can’t deny it. But I’m no longer the girl you knew. I love you, but we can’t have what we want. I’m married to another man. To Jack.’ She had to give him a name. ‘I wish I could roll back the clock. But I can’t. I’m married and I’m having a baby. That’s the way it is. I can’t be your wife.’

She walked away and left him there. She was agonised. Was she in love with him? Or was she in love with past dreams and a fanciful notion of what might have been? And what did she really