“Margaret! And Jane, too!” Angela’s voice is bright, but a little strained. “How lovely to see you!”

She ushers them into the garden. It smells of jonquils.

“Angela,” Margaret tries to keep her voice warm. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Oh!” Angela sounds uncertain. “I’ve been well. Helping in my father’s shop. It’s a busy time for us, you know.”

Margaret smiles a little. “Yes, I know.” The conversation grinds to a halt. She takes a deep breath, then speaks. “Angela, I know you are marrying Baptiste.”

“I – Oh – Baptiste? But he went away?” There is a rustling, as if Angela has risen.

Margaret reaches out to her. “Angela, please. Tell me the truth. Are you in love with him?”

Angela sighs, and sinks back down onto the bench beside her. “Margaret, I’m so sorry.”

Margaret’s heart twists. “How long have you – why didn’t you tell me? Angela, I thought we were friends.”

Angela jumps up again. “Oh no – I didn’t mean – of course we are friends, Margaret. I just… my father forbade me to tell you and I didn’t want to hurt you and so I thought it would be best…” her voice trailed off.

Margaret felt as though her voice was coming from someone else. “You thought it would be better if I didn’t find out until you were married to him.”

Angela’s voice is very quiet. “Yes.”

Margaret clenches her fists in her skirts. She cannot afford to cry. “Angela, you know I love Baptiste. But if you love him and he loves you, then of course you must marry, and I will not stand in the way of your happiness.”

Is Margaret telling the truth?



[Oh dear. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Take me back!]

[Take me back to the start]


Michel-Ange – Auteuil fleur9left Jasmin fleur9right Ranelagh

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