Free Black Diamond by Rachel Ingalls

take?’
    â€˜Two years,’ she said.
    â€˜This is a joke, isn’t it?’
    â€˜I think we ought to be sure.’
    â€˜Because if it isn’t, it’s an insult. If you don’t want to, Beatrice, just say so.’
    â€˜I don’t even know you,’ she burst out.
    â€˜That doesn’t matter.’
    â€˜Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped. ‘Of course it matters. We’d be living with each other for the rest of our lives.’ They’d be one. The thought suddenly terrified her. She didn’t know if she wanted to be one with anyone at all, ever.
    â€˜But that’s all just going to happen as we go along. The important part is what we knew from the beginning.’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Yes. That instant attraction.’
    â€˜I feel that way about lots of people,’ she said.
    â€˜Oh?’ He looked so scandalized that she didn’t know how to explain: to say that the kind of emotion she meant was something that would come over her suddenly or, just as quickly, would go away; and it didn’t seem to have much to do with who the man was, or whether he was likeable, or what the wives would have called ‘possible’. Sometimes just seeing the way a man turned his shoulders as he lifted a load of stones or swung a pickax was enough to make her feel interest and excitement.
    â€˜I’ think it’s better to find out what we’re like,’ she said.
    â€˜Is there any point? If you don’t love me?’
    â€˜I love you, but why can’t we wait?’
    â€˜That means no,’ he said. He walked off.
    She was so discouraged that she almost ran after him. A long time afterwards she realized that his abrupt departure was calculated. By then, she had also understood that he’d been right: whatever she’d said, she had meant no. But at the time, she didn’t want to let go of him and of the idea of being wanted. She tried all through the evening meal to catch his eye. She stared at him across the table. He wouldn’t lift his head. As soon as the company broke up, he rushed away.
    She had almost made up her mind to go charging after him, when one of the wives called her back and, talking about inconsequential matters, took her arm and led her away from the others. ‘When I was your age,’ the woman said, ‘I never imagined that I’d be part of a scholarly expedition. It’s really most absorbing, despite the inconvenience. And the many discomforts. Yes – I know this one’s a model of its kind, but you’re used to it, my dear. You’ve had invaluable training, simply by being near your father. This life was new to me when I married. But now I see the familiar faces every year. And the young ones come and go. It’s a shame that Paul won’t be with us next year.’
    â€˜He hasn’t resigned, has he?’
    â€˜Not at all. But his scholarship grant runs out at the end of theseason. So, unless he can find some way of financing himself privately, I suppose he’ll have to go back to Canada.’
    â€˜I see‚’ Beatrice said mildly. She hated the woman for telling her. Undoubtedly the action was meant kindly, although she didn’t think so at the time. Later she would also wonder – after it was too late to ask him – whether her father had had a hand in the disillusionment: whether he’d asked the woman to speak to her. He might have felt that it was the sort of thing a real mother would do. Girls whose mothers were living, Beatrice knew, had to put up with that kind of interference all the time, and with the fear induced by constant protectiveness and warnings; whereas she had never had anything but the beauty of the dream she’d invented around the absence of her mother.
    She kept quiet and waited. Paul tried to make up. He accused her of insincerity. She said to him, ‘That’s not true,’ but she could tell