Forever (23 page)

‘Augusta!'

She stared steadfastly into the glass.

‘Augusta!'
His breath was on her cheeks. The candle flame spluttered and waned and then flared once more. He stood behind her, so near that she had only to turn in order to touch him. Not an image. Not a figment of her imagination. Real and tangible. Filling the room with his masculinity.

‘
Augusta
…'

He was moving towards her, his lean, dark face as handsome as it had been in life. His eyes brilliant with triumph.

‘
Augusta
…'

Above the candle flame the paper wavered. Desire flooded through her like a spring tide. She could turn, step towards him, be united with him in death forever …

‘Oh my love,' she whispered brokenly. ‘I'm sorry. So sorry …'

The paper dipped into the flame, caught and flared.

The triumph in his eyes turned to shock. Vainly he tried to reach her and touch her and failed. The paper blazed. In the darkness behind her he was no longer so clearly defined. His figure was blurred with the shadows and the smoke, his face hovered in the glass, black eyes imploring, beseeching.

‘Goodbye, sweet love,' she whispered and then the flame burnt her fingers and the smoke-black paper tumbled into ashes, falling in a rain of white-hot dust. Behind her, the face that had been so confident, so insolently self-assured spiralled into the eternities. Only shadows remained. She could see Mae, huddled on the sofa, transfixed with terror. The dolls, neatly arranged; the bed, virginal in its heavy lace canopy. There was no Beau. He had gone from her life as she had desired him to. Forever. She raised her hands to her face and began to weep.

Deep in Cajun country, in a small forest clearing, a petite figure lay huddled. The face was old, with no vestige of the beauty it had once possessed. A travesty of a wedding dress hung on the bird-like bones, the cheap lace yellowed and mildewed. The hands were spread out on the beaten earth, fingers clawed in death. A little way away, half-hidden by a clump of wild lilies, gleamed the tarnished silver of a ring. A ring that had been defiantly ripped off only seconds before death. A ring that had kept its owner implacably bound throughout life. A ring in the form of a serpent.

On a distant highway, ten miles east of Houston, Bradley Hampton felt as if a physical weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was crazy driving through the night to reach Gussie when she had kept him at arm's length for so long. Nevertheless he felt an overpowering compulsion to do so. He had waited long enough. He could not be expected to wait forever. He flicked on the car radio and began to whistle as the Thunderbird sped out of Texas and towards Louisiana.

First published in 1982 by Fontana

This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world

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ISBN 978-1-4472-3002-1 EPUB
ISBN 978-1-4472-3001-4 POD

Copyright © Margaret Pemberton, 1982

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