CHAPTER FIFTEEN

VICTORIA

Part One

"Hello, Alexander."

He didn't answer right away. Rain dripped from the edge of the awning and landed in a dark line on the pavement.

"Victoria."

"You look tired."

"I've had a long day."

"I can see that." Her eyes moved over his coat, his shoes, the bag over his shoulder. She did it quickly, the way she'd always looked at a room. "You look like you've been running."

"Something like that."

"May I?"

She tilted her umbrella to make space. He stepped under the awning but stayed an arm's length away.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

"It wasn't hard."

"Nobody knows I'm here."

"I asked around." She smiled a little. "People like to talk to me. You know that."

"What do you want?"

"Can't I just want to see you?"

"No."

She laughed softly. It was her real laugh, light and quick, and for a second it reminded him of the early days, before the galas and the guest lists and the careful way they had always spoken to each other.

Then it stopped.

"All right," she said. "I'll be honest."

"That would be new."

"Alexander."

"I'm listening."

She drew a breath. She looked, for the first time, uncertain.

"I made a mistake," she said.

He said nothing.

"I shouldn't have left. Not like that. Not on the phone." She glanced at the street, then back at him. "I was frightened. My parents were calling every hour. Everyone was saying things. I didn't know what to do, so I did what they told me."

"You said you needed time."

"I did."

"It's been two months."

"I know." She lowered her eyes. "I've thought about it every day."

"Every day."

"Yes."

He studied her face. It was a beautiful face, always had been. It never gave away anything it didn't mean to.

"What do you want, Victoria?"

"I want to fix it."

"Fix what?"

"Us."

The rain picked up. A car hissed past, throwing a thin spray onto the curb.

"Us," he said.

"We were good together."

"We were engaged."

"That's what I'm saying."

"No. It's not." He kept his voice even. "We were engaged because it made sense. Your family and mine. The company. The photographs."

"That isn't true."

"Isn't it?"

"I loved you."

"You said that on the phone too."

She flinched. It was small. He saw it.

"I did," she said.

"And then you left."

"I told you. I was scared."

"So was I."

That landed. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Part Two

"Let's go inside," Victoria said. "It's freezing."

"I'm not inviting you up."

"I wasn't asking to go up." She looked past him at the lobby. "Is there somewhere to sit?"

"There's a chair."

"Then we'll use the chair."

He held the door. She walked in ahead of him, with her head high, and didn't look at the carpet or the flickering light or the cracked tile near the stairs. She was too well trained for that.

There was one chair, orange, against the wall. She sat. He stayed standing.

"You look different," she said.

"Poorer."

"Thinner."

"That too."

"I heard you took a job."

He didn't ask how. He already knew the answer. People talked, and Victoria had always been very good at listening.

"I'm working," he said.

"At her company."

"Yes."

"That girl who used to carry your coffee."

"Her name is Mia."

"I know her name." A tiny edge slipped into her voice and was gone. "I only meant… it must be strange."

"It's work."

"Is it?"

"Victoria."

"I'm only asking." She smoothed the front of her coat. "I worry about you, that's all. I'd hate to see you humiliated."

"I've been humiliated. It's survivable."

"There are other ways, you know." She looked up at him. "I know people. My father knows people. If you came back, if we found a way to try again, doors could open. You wouldn't have to carry boxes for anyone."

"I don't carry boxes."

"You know what I mean."

"I do." He crossed his arms. "You're offering me a way out."

"Yes."

"At what price?"

She laughed again, but it was shorter this time. "Why does there have to be a price?"

"Because there always is."

"That's a cold thing to say."

"It's what I learned from the people I thought I knew."

She was quiet. For a second, her face lost its polish, and she looked like a tired woman in a very good coat.

"You don't believe me," she said.

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"You called me once in two months. You left with your father's lawyers on the line." He paused. "You come back when I have nothing. I don't think you came here for me."

"Alexander."

"I think you came here for something else."

She stared at him. Then she looked down at her hands, slowly folded them in her lap, and laughed under her breath. It was a different sound, a little brittle.

"You always were clever," she said.

"That's not an answer."

"No." She raised her head. Her smile was back, easy and warm. "Humour me, then. One small thing."

"What?"

"Did you keep anything?"

"Keep what?"

"From the office." She said it lightly, the way a person asks about the weather. "Papers. Old files. Anything from before."