Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (43 page)

Nearly seven months into our relationship, Daniel headed off on holiday with his family and pathetically, I was inconsolable; the pain unbearable. I felt devastated that in so obvious a way, he was choosing to be without me. It wasn’t that I felt jealous of his wife; for how could I? In many ways, I felt sorry for her, for being with a man who no longer, perhaps had never, loved her. But I longed to be with him, and although I tried to be brave, I faced the prospect of being cut-off from him without contact for the first time in months with enormous dread and great heaviness in my heart. Just as Henry often held me and reassured me that his public appearances with Katherine meant nothing to him, so had Daniel held me and told me that all would be well, that he would be back very soon. However, this would be the first lie, the first betrayal. Two weeks later when he did finally come back, I had lost my love.

Ostensibly, nothing had changed and on his return, we greeted each other with the same exuberance and passion as always. However, I soon became aware that something was dreadfully wrong. It was so strange. We shared the same deep, searching intimacy when we spoke of the same hopes and dreams. Yet suddenly, the music that he used to send me that defined the story of our love, the poetry that he wrote for me in my honour, the text messages he would send, the long phone calls made from his office on evenings and weekends, abruptly ceased. I remember being so confused, desperately casting about, imploring him with my actions and words to meet me again, as we always had, in our field of dreams. I knew with all my heart that his love for me was unchanged, and I longed for him to show that to me once more. However, it was never to be. In many ways, it would have been better had we ended the relationship right then, rather than drag us through the agony of the next six years. But that was not our fate.

Looking back, I now realise that he could not live without me, and yet he could never commit to be with me; he was utterly trapped by his own overwhelming fear; patterns long since laid down in the shadowy corridors of a difficult childhood. I saw that the invitation that our love created had become too overwhelming for him, and that Daniel had to retreat behind large, defensive walls, to emerge only on his terms. Although it was a unilateral decision, I threw myself into what was always going to be a hopeless cause—to reclaim our love. In truth, I simply could not believe that he would abandon me—and I did feel utterly abandoned. Instead, I fought with every fibre of my being to preserve the tender and precious love that had flourished between us. In the end, the intense sadness and stress of our predicament, which had endured over many months, began to take its toll on my health. I no longer slept well at night, and when one night I laid my head upon the pillow and felt my whole body shaking, I knew then that it had gone too far. For my own sanity, I had to find a way out. But it would not be easy, as our paths crossed increasingly at work and we had begun to share projects and clients.

I did my best to turn away, but from the moment I did so, Daniel began to re-engage with our relationship; once more lavishing upon me the tenderness and affection that I craved, but thought that I had lost. And so, I would be drawn back in to the drama, once again to become the centre of his world and the object of his burgeoning affection. For a short time, everything would be perfect again; then overwhelmed by emotions that he could not handle, Daniel would eventually vanish behind his defensive walls. And so it would continue, trapped in the same iterative cycle, we would live and love, feel joy and delight, whilst innocently tearing each other apart. Oftentimes, I could not believe that from such love could be born such pain.

So, there we were again. Just before I crossed through the portal into the 16
^th
century, I had resolved for the umpteenth time to set some distance between Daniel and myself. I made no great drama of it; rather I quietly set aside my hopes and dreams and attempted, yet again, to focus on learning how to live without him. Whilst a year had passed in Anne’s world, when I regained consciousness in Hever Castle following the rupture of my cerebral aneurysm, it seemed that only minutes had elapsed. Yet, as Kate predicted, those minutes had in fact awakened in Daniel the realisation that to live life without us, was no life at all. I played it down when my friend asked me about his reaction, but in fact, the man that I had fallen in love with had returned to me and daily filled my cup to overflowing with his love, affection and attention. I felt that familiar feeling, just as when I was in Henry’s arms; I was at the centre of a man’s world once again, a living Goddess; a truly glorious feeling. I hoped and prayed that the worst was behind us, and despite my illness, that a shining, bright future lay waiting just around the corner.

I remembered all these things as Daniel held me in his arms on that sunlit afternoon, and I smiled despite my turbulent thoughts, kissing him playfully on the lips one more time, as I said,

‘Come on through.’ Leading him by one hand, I indicated with the other that we should make our way through into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Honestly, I didn’t know why I bothered asking. It was always the same; Earl Grey, a little milk and no sugar. Daniel smiled, his eyes alight with mischief and desire. Reaching up to pull down two delicate bone china mugs from a cupboard above my head, I felt Daniel come up behind me and press his body against my back, slipping his arms around my waist, pulling me gently toward him. It felt so good to be held so tenderly, with so much affection, and for the first time since I had come round in the Long Gallery at Hever, I forgot momentarily about Henry and my overwhelming preoccupation to see him once more.

‘How’s . . . everything?’ I turned around to face him, and putting the mugs down on the side, I placed my arms about his neck. Oh, I tried to show a genuine interest in his life and family! However, all too often the words stuck in my throat; to hear my love speak of his other life was tantamount to self-inflicted torture. Daniel sighed heavily, and still in our embrace, he kissed me on the top of my head.

‘It’s okay, I guess. Everything goes on as usual, but I can’t stop thinking about you. While you were in hospital I thought about you
all
the time—and I missed you so badly that it physically hurt.’ I remained silent, entreating him with my eyes to go on, for I longed to hear such sentiments of longing. Then he continued,

‘Honestly, Anne, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’ He laughed aloud before going on, ‘You know someday soon you just might find me standing on your doorstep!’ It was more than I could ever possibly hope for, but I just smiled as I ran my hand across the side of his head, as if trying to clear away the confusion from his mind. I never demanded anything of Daniel. I knew that any decision he made would have to be of his own free will. I never wanted to find myself with a man who hated me for what he felt I had made him do. I could only begin to imagine with some serious trepidation the sense of trauma and loss that Daniel would experience should he ever break up the family home.

I needed to change the subject, so I handed Daniel his mug of steaming tea. I knew I wanted to broach a subject that would undoubtedly be met with opposition. I craved to get back to Hever Castle. However, because of my surgery and inclination to fits, I knew that I couldn’t drive and needed someone to take me there. Daniel travelled around the UK extensively for work, and it would not be difficult for him to drop me there for the day, whilst he visited clients in Kent. I hesitated, staring down at my tea; I must have sighed heavily for Daniel interrupted my thoughts,

‘Is everything okay?’ I looked up a little startled.

‘Yes, everything is just fine,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I need to ask you a favour and I know you’re not going to like it. You know that I can’t drive now because of . . . this,’ I pointed toward my heavily bandaged head. ‘And . . . well . . . I just feel that I need to go back to Hever . . .’ Finally, I managed to blurt it out.

‘Go back to Hever! When? Are you serious? You’ve just got out of hospital!’ Daniel was incredulous.

‘I know, I know! I know it seems a bit weird; it doesn’t have to be right way. It’s just that . . . that . . . It is just that what happened to me was really traumatic, and I feel I need to go back there to make peace with it all; so that I can get on with my life.’ Of course, this was a complete lie and I felt deeply uncomfortable about it. But I knew that I needed to be convincing for Daniel to take me there. With a resigned sigh, he finally said,

‘Okay, okay, we’ll do it. But not just yet; you should get some physical rest first, get your strength together. I have a trip planned down that way in four weeks time. If you’re okay then, and your consultant gives you the go ahead, then I’ll take you. I’ll drop you off, go visit my clients, and pick you up later in the afternoon.’ I beamed at him; it was as much as I could hope for.

I found myself embroiled in a maelstrom of emotion; emotions of sheer delight and joy of Daniel’s evident commitment to our future, jostling with grief for Henry, my lost love, my family and friends, whose absence truly cut a deep and gaping wound through my heart. But then it dawned on me with awful clarity that to be with one love meant, ergo, the loss of the other; and so it was for Anne Boleyn and me, the painful waiting game, so full of uncertainty, was set to continue for some time yet.

Chapter Three

London and Runnymede

July 23, 2007

The next ten days passed uneventfully. I was visited by the district nurse, who removed my stitches, although I was still a frightful sight; a deep scar across the side of my scalp made it look as though I had been attacked by a machete. Yet my hair started to grow back, and I was glad to be rid of the bandages, which were distinctly uncomfortable in the sticky summer heat. In the interim, I continued to lose myself in the dusty pages of treasured books, all of which kept silent testimony to Anne’s momentous life. In between my reading, I would stretch out on my comfy purple velvet sofa, listening to music from the court of Henry VIII; music that evoked powerful memories of joyous dancing, juxtaposed with quiet intimate evenings dining alone with the King. I knew many of the songs well, and often closed my eyes to be transported to Windsor or Greenwich. Such halcyon days were the happiest of my life; a life which in my modern day world was blighted by so much loss and grief.

Both parents and my elder brother were killed in a car accident when I was just five years old. I was pulled from the wreckage alive, although I had no recollection of it. My kind and generous grandparents took care of me and lavished all the love and affection that I would never receive from my own parents. Yet for all their heroic efforts, efforts for which I was deeply grateful, I always felt different to other children. I yearned for the parents and siblings that I would never have. By that summer, both my grandparents had been dead for several years. With no family to speak of, I quickly grew to cherish the loyal and loving, tight-knit Boleyn family that nurtured Anne at the centre of its world. I could even forgive them for their ruthless ambition; a price I had been willing to pay for a sense of belonging that I had never known throughout my own childhood.

On that particular morning, I was awoken by the bleep of a text arriving on my mobile phone:

‘Happy birthday! I have managed to wangle out of the meeting this afternoon. I have a treat for you. Will pick you up 1 pm.’

I smiled to myself, stretching my body languidly beneath the duvet before throwing it back, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and appraising the day ahead. It was a day which had undoubtedly just taken a turn for the better; I felt flushed with giddy excitement at the mystery that lay ahead.

At a little before one o’clock, Daniel appeared at my front door looking unbelievably handsome. Without hesitation, I put my arm about his neck, drawing him into a passionate kiss.

‘Umm, that’s a nice welcome!’ he said as our long and sensuous kiss ran its course and finally, we broke free from each other. ‘If you keep on like that, we’ll never get out of here!’ I raised an eyebrow coquettishly, as if considering whether I should rise to the challenge. ‘Now, my lady I have a picnic and a bottle of
Veuve Cliquot
in the car, what pray is your pleasure?’ Daniel was only playing the gentleman in addressing me as ‘lady’, but inadvertently he aroused deep and primitive associations with another lifetime and a world which I still daily longed for. Rising up from this hidden place, came the name of one destination that suddenly called to me with a siren’s song; an ancient place which knew me well and beckoned to me to return once more.

‘Runnymede,’ I said resolutely. ‘There is a place there that I have always longed to visit,’ I lied of course, as I had been there as Anne on many previous occasions. However, that would take too much explanation, so I added, ‘There is an ancient yew tree known as the Ankerwycke Yew; legend says that King Henry VIII and Anne used to court there in the heady days of their romance. I think it might just be a perfect place for a picnic.’ I smiled mischievously. Daniel knew of my lifelong love affair with Anne Boleyn, and several times during our relationship, I had teased him about the parallels in the stories between a long dead king of England and his lady, and our own tumultuous and often bumpy romance—its great passion, and many twists and turns. I suspect he thought my obsession slightly odd, but to his credit, he always accepted me for who I was, and I was deeply grateful to him for it. However, this suggestion clearly confused him;

‘The Anker . . . what?’ I laughed aloud, repeating myself for the sake of clarity.

‘The Ankerwycke Yew.’

‘And you say this place is near Runnymede?’ He asked, still frowning at me.

‘An hour’s drive, just near Runnymede. Apparently, there are lots of open meadows and a ruined priory. I think it will be simply idyllic, a perfect place for a romantic picnic!’ I said reaching up, clasping both my arms around the back of Daniel’s neck and planting an affectionate kiss on the tip of his nose. With that kiss, we had made our plans; then, gathering up our things, we set off for a long, lazy and romantic afternoon together in Daniel’s ‘snow shadow grey’ Aston Martin.