Shadows of the Past
Veronica shook her head slowly. Had the past not taught her how to deal with what was to come? She doubted it.
She clutched her handbag, staring intently out of the train window, looking and not seeing the sun glinting off the car window screen below, not seeing the blurred streaks of green as the train sped through fields. Her eye intent on not seeing the friendly gentleman opposite, not wishing to be drawn into conversation. There was too much to consider without the distraction of a stranger, who in a moment may not be so strange.
She could see her reflection in the window and was startled to see how in the double glass of the window how different she looked. There was an unusual paleness to her dark hair, a youthful gleam to her face and a sparkle of vitality in her eyes she had not seen for years. She looked like herself and yet not like herself. Her hand tentatively touched her cheek. The skin felt dry and creased, just as she had seen that morning in the bathroom mirror, before lavishing on her skin moisturizer. She looked again to her reflection and tipped her thick rimmed glasses askew. She hurriedly replaced them while scanning the train to see if someone had seen. She caught sight of her reflection in the window once more. The endearing, smiling face looked back at her. It so reminded her of herself from many years past. The perfect white teeth, the freshness of youthfulness before bursting into maturity.
Veronica blinked.
The face beamed happily back at her.
She turned to the empty seat beside her. Not even the seat across the train was occupied. She realized with a fluttering heart that other than the guard reading the paper and eating a sandwich, that she was quite alone with the handsome gentleman opposite. Her glance flickered past his softly chiselled features, catching her reflection in his cobalt blue eyes before looking rapidly away.
“Have you forgotten, Veronica?”
She started. His voice was velvet, with undertones of reeds. He could have sung the words no more beautifully than he spoke them. “Have we met?”
He smiled. A warm embracing smile. It lit up his face not with passion but compassion. She instantly felt its warmth wash over her, with a very tiny skip of her heart.
“It has been a very, very long time,” he said smoothly, confidentially. His hand moved across the table.
She instantly withdrew her. She glared at him. There was something. They had not touched yet she felt he had taken it as his own. “Who are you?”
“Gerald Armonde.”
The name sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that name. It was a name that evoked a memory that was yet to be remembered.
“Veronica?” he said.
“My name. I did not give it to you.”
“I would like to keep it,”
“It is not yours to keep,” she said uncomfortably. This young stranger was flirting with her. A stranger from another place, another time, whom she had forgotten. She could not have forgotten that smile nor the comfort with which he embraced the world. She looked to the window avoiding any further conversation. She saw his reflection. That smile. That, oh so handsome, smile. Those brooding, piercing eyes, so deep in colour as to be the deepest purple before black. There was a charm. An irresistibleness that drew her in and threatened to drive the breath from her lungs. How long had it been since such passion stirred or indeed had been stirred, in her fluttering breast? Why so the unease?
The train lurched into awkward slowness. Her hat fell forward. She caught sight from the corner of her eye as the same awkward scene was played out by the younger reflections. The same and yet different. The coyness of youth, the passion of experience. Side by side, yet divided by glass.
Then to her surprise she saw the reflection of the young chap stand and leave. The young girl was distraught. Heartbroken, sobbed so daintily into her handkerchief.
Veronica found her hand had been taken by Gerald. She neither saw him move nor did she realized. His hands embraced hers as an unfolding tulip.
“What’s happening?” she asked breathlessly.
The carriage filled with cold air.
He was standing.
“Where are you going?”
“I was never going to stay for long. This is good bye, Veronica.”
“Good bye?”
The world outside the train fell into the darkness of the incoming storm. Rain fell onto the roof and splattered against the windows. Voices from outside the train carried in on the rain, guards marched by crunching over wet gravel. The train juddered into motion.
“It is time,” he said. He leant over and kissed her before turning. “Remember me,”
“I never forgot you,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. She brushed them aside. When she looked. He was gone.
Her eye caught her reflection. The face that looked back at her was not the youthful child on the cusp of womanhood. It was her own as she was then. Old, and wrought with the heartbreak of loves lost.
©️Lorraine Poulter 2016
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