Free A Deep Deceit by Hilary Bonner Page A

arms round me, giving me comfort the way he always did, the way only he could. ‘Nobody can see us, not in here, we’re quite private, you know that, really.’
    As usual, he had read my mind. More than anything I hated the thought of someone watching us when we were together in bed, the way that awful letter had suggested. Of course it couldn’t be true. I held on to Carl tightly.
    Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked quietly.
    â€˜I suppose I didn’t want it to be real,’ I replied.
    He kissed the top of my head, my face, my throat, my neck. ‘I’m going to make it go away,’ he told me. ‘It won’t be real for long. Nothing is going to hurt you, how many times must I tell you . . .’
    I could not stay awake, then. The need to sleep overcame me. The unwelcome visitor could be kept at bay no longer.
    I slept until early afternoon the next day. Carl had worked yet another of his miracles and I somehow managed it without dreaming – or certainly without any of the horror dreams.
    He was sitting in our old wicker rocking chair watching me when I finally opened my eyes.
    Nobody who has not suffered the kind of nightmares that have plagued me could ever understand quite how I felt at that moment. Nobody who hasn’t endured total debilitating exhaustion and yet fought off sleep as if it were his or her worst enemy, even though only sleep can bring relief, can know what it is like to have given in and to have survived a night of rest to wake in peace.
    Suddenly the demons had retreated a little again. I was beginning to realise that they would probably never leave me, but the world did not look as bleak as it had the previous day.
    â€˜Are you feeling any better?’ he asked.
    I told him I was and even managed a wan smile.
    â€˜I will find out who is doing this,’ he said. ‘And I will stop it.’
    I believed him because I always believed him. Carl had never let me down in the whole of our life together.
    He made me boiled eggs and toasted soldiers from good local bread spread thickly with Cornish butter, and I sat up in bed and ate.
    â€˜Do you feel strong enough to talk about it?’ he asked, pouring me a second mug of coffee.
    I nodded.
    Together we tried to think of anyone who could have sent us the letter. There was no one we could realistically suspect, certainly nobody from our new life together. We never got close enough to anybody for them to learn much about us, let alone to discover the past.
    Mariette was the nearest I had to a friend, but even she was only barely a friend. You share your life with your true friends, and I couldn’t do that.
    Nonetheless Carl asked me if I was sure about Mariette.
    I shrugged. ‘What’s to be sure of?’ I asked. ‘I like her company. I like listening to her stories. But she knows nothing about us.’
    â€˜She told you she was jealous of us, of you. People do strange things out of jealousy.’
    â€˜Oh, she wasn’t serious. Mariette has men like other people have hot dinners. She has nothing to be jealous of.’
    â€˜Are you sure?’ asked Carl again. ‘From what you’ve told me, Mariette’s love life consists of a series of one-night stands. I think she has a lot to be jealous of us about.’ He touched my hand gently.
    I shrugged again. ‘In any case, I’ve never told her anything about our lives before we came here,’ I said.
    Carl nodded. ‘Well, all right, I suppose it couldn’t be her, really.’
    I shook my head. ‘Anyway, she’s too nice,’ I said.
    â€˜People can have more than one side to them,’ muttered Carl.
    â€˜You don’t,’ I said.
    â€˜Yes I do,’ he replied. ‘It’s just that you bring out the best in me.’
    I smiled. ‘In any case, it just can’t be Mariette,’ I insisted.
    â€˜No, I suppose not,’ Carl agreed. ‘But who,