CHAPTER ONE
It doesn’t matter how long it takes... I’ll wait for you. No one is going to keep us apart. There’s nobody else on this earth for me but you. You’re the only one who can calm the lightning in my soul and help me find peace. If you ever doubt the strength of my love I want you to know that I love you more than life itself and always will...
IMOGEN READ THE words and it was as though they bled onto the page, such was the impact they conveyed. The depth and power of the sentiment pierced her heart, and something inside, something that had been tight and unyielding for so long, started to melt and unravel... Before she could stop it a stinging hot tear splashed down onto the once tightly folded piece of notepaper in her hand.
In her spare time she often browsed the charity shop shelves in the hope that she might find something new or interesting. The note she was reading had been carefully inserted inside the anthology of a well-known romance poet. As she’d flicked through the well-thumbed pages the unexpected addition had spilled out and revealed itself. The note had landed at her feet.
There was no indication of the writer’s name, just the initials SB. Was the writer male or female? she wondered. All Imogen knew was that the poignant promise ‘I’ll wait for you’ had her longing to experience being loved so deeply that she would never have cause to doubt that she was cared for.
Her recent excoriating experience of being jilted at the altar had almost entirely crushed any hope she had that there were men out there who were genuinely loving and considerate. Yet in a secret corner somewhere Imogen refused to relinquish that hope. Had the note’s writer reconciled with his or her lover after whatever had torn them apart? she mused.
With a trembling sigh, she momentarily shut her eyes. It wasn’t easy to deal with the tumult of the feelings that rolled through her. Sometimes they threatened to spill over and undermine what little confidence she had left.
She’d never experienced such loving devotion and she longed to. If only she could discover whether or not things had worked out well for the couple... It would mean so much to her if they had. She wanted evidence that hopes and dreams could be fulfilled and that true love could last so long as the lovers drew breath...
She made a resolve. Suddenly impatient, she finished her browsing. Carefully reinserting the note inside the book, she moved across to the cashier to pay.
The cheerful elderly assistant smelled liberally of lavender, and her pristine white blouse was perfectly ironed and starched, as though she wouldn’t dream of leaving the house unless it was.
As she surveyed Imogen her face crinkled in a welcoming smile, just as if she was a trusted old friend. ‘Found something nice, have you, dear?’
‘Yes. I have. I’d like to buy this book,’ she replied.
When the sale had been rung up on the till the woman put the purchase into a crumpled carrier bag.
After murmuring, ‘Thanks...’ as she took it, Imogen asked, ‘By the way, can I ask if you know who donated the book? Only I was in here a couple of days ago and I didn’t notice it on the shelves then...’
‘I can’t tell you who donated it, my dear, but I do know that my colleague took a delivery of books from the big house up on the hill yesterday. You must know the one I’m talking about—that splendid Gothic mansion that backs onto the woods? Evergreen, I think it’s called. It used to belong to the Siddons family, but they’re long gone now. I think there’s somebody looking after the place but no one knows who. There’s a rumour that it’s been bought by some business corporation to use for staff training... You can always enquire. Does that help?’
Although Imogen smiled, the expression didn’t come as easily to her as it had used to. She was sad about that. What she wouldn’t give to return to the land of the living, with her heart whole again and the optimism she’d always managed to somehow find well and truly restored.
Clutching the carrier bag against the black bouclé jacket she’d discovered in another charity shop, she said, ‘It does. Thanks for the tip.’ Glancing across at the shop’s thick glass doors, she added, ‘Have a good day... It looks like the sun might come out if we’re lucky.’
‘It does, doesn’t it? But it probably won’t shine on us for very long. Still, I hope that won’t spoil things for you. Perhaps reading some of those wonderful poems will help?’
As she walked back to the small flat she rented in a Victorian mid-terrace down a narrow side street, her route took her across the city’s historic cobblestones, and Imogen automatically glanced towards the formidable cathedral that rose up before her. It was a real Mecca for tourists, but personally she found it intimidating.