you
can depend me to always be here, by your side.”
If
nothing else, that remark proved that Ben was still undecided as to how long he
planned to stick around for.
“I’m
not sure that’s enough,” Catlin whispered, frightened by her own words. “You’d
better go. It looks like we’re going nowhere with this.”
“There
is no need to be so dramatic. It’s one party I’ve said I’ll not go to.”
“I’m
not talking about the party. I mean us. We’re not going anywhere. I’m
asking for more than you’re able to give and you don’t appear to know where
your future lies, so I think, for the time being at least, it’s best we don’t
see each other. Not until we are both able to say for sure what it is we’re
after.”
Ben
went to speak, but Catlin turned her back and he saw any further words would
serve only as a means to make a bad situation worse.
“Okay.
If that is what you want. Goodbye Cate.” Catlin was not brave enough to look at
Ben or trust her voice not to betray the tears that flowed silently down her
cheeks. Neither did he hear him leave, but she was painfully aware of the exact
moment he left her. She felt his presence melt away, his warmth fade and the
apartment where they had created so many happy memories, had never been
lonelier.
Chapter Seven
Determined
not to make the situation more miserable than it was Catlin did whatever she
could to keep busy and, therefore, stay away from her apartment. It was the best
way of stopping herself from dwelling on Ben’s departure. It was fortuitous Guy
had organised a place for her at a local book convention which took up most of
the week. The added bonus with it was that he had reserved a room for her in
the hotel where the convention was being held and with her own place being full
of unfriendly ghosts of the happiness she had shared briefly but lost within
its rooms, Catlin gladly made use of it. In those days she wrote with an almost
obsessive passion. Any spare minute was taken up by her writing. She made great
headway on the sequel she was working on, but also jotted down the plotlines to
three other books and produced a series of poems with such ease it was as if
she had become possessed by some entity which required no food, drink rest or
sleep to survive – only words committed to paper.
Guy
was amazed by the switch in Catlin’s attitude. Overnight she became the hardest
working and most dedicated of his chosen band and seemed to be climbing on
board and playing the game, as he called it. Catlin made some highly
influential contacts too but, for the incessant whirl of activity she was
forever at the centre of Ben was the unshakable and lingering thought that
troubled her. She had wanted to call him up the morning after their quarrel and
try to sort out the mess they were in, but it wasn’t until then she realised
she had no number and no address to reach him at. She had whacked the ball well
and truly into his court and was left with nothing to do but wait to see if he’d
return it.
Then
the night that had caused the problem arrived – the party was upon her and with
the convention over, Catlin had to return to the apartment and the spectres waiting
there to plague her. For a brief moment as she opened the door, it was as if
that night had never been and her senses deceived her into thinking Ben was
there to welcome her back. The apartment had regained the warmth which had
deserted her once Ben walked away, the air clung to the faintest trace of his
scent as if had walked there seconds before she came in, bringing back the
excitement she had felt when she heard his knock on her door or saw him looking
at her adoringly believing her to be unaware of it. But as she went to call out
to him, the charm was broken and Catlin was alone once more.
She
got showered, made up and arranged her hair then changed into the one decent
evening dress she had and, satisfied that she at least looked presentable,
Catlin carefully went
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