Forever by Margaret Pemberton Read Free Book Online Page B

piteously. ‘Dead.’ Two large tears slid down her face and then Eden circled her in her arms and the dam broke. The tears that shock had refused to release poured down Gussie’s face as she sobbed and sobbed.
    â€˜How could he die, Eden? How could he die when I love him so much? I shall die, too. I know I shall!’ Her voice rose hysterically.
    Eden shook her hard. ‘Stop talking like that, Augusta Lafayette! He’s dead and I don’t blame you for crying, but it’s not as if it’s your father or your boyfriend!’
    Gussie wrenched herself away from Eden’s grasp, her eyes wild. ‘How … dare … you say such things to me!’ she said, gasping the words between her racking sobs. ‘He was my boyfriend. He was more than my boyfriend. He was …’ She was choking on her own breath.
    â€˜He was a man you spoke to only half a dozen times in your life. A man you danced with once. A man who barely knew who you were,’ Eden said cruelly.
    Gussie grasped a bedpost for support. ‘He would have loved me! He would! I shall never be able to love anybody else! I shall stay true to him! I shall never forget him! Never!’
    â€˜You will,’ Eden said with a maturity beyond her years. ‘It may seem like the end of the world now but in six months’time you’ll barely remember the name of Beau Clay.’
    â€˜I will!’ Gussie cried vehemently. ‘I swear I will!’
    â€˜Come on,’ Eden said gently. ‘Mae is waiting. Change your clothes and come for a drink and something to eat.’
    Gussie’s tears flowed with fresh impetus. ‘How can you talk of eating when Beau is dead? Can’t you understand what has happened? Can’t you understand that I’ll never see him again? Never hear his voice?’
    â€˜You’re overreacting, Gussie. Even if he’d lived, you would only have seen him at a distance or perhaps once a year at your cousin’s.’
    Gussie threw herself full-length on her bed and beat the pillows with clenched fists.
    â€˜I wouldn’t! He would have loved me! Oh, Beau! Beau! I wish I were dead too!’
    Eden regarded her despairingly. She had known Gussie would react badly to Beau Clay’s death, but had not anticipated distress on such a scale. It was patently obvious that she could not take her for a drink and a hamburger when she was in such a state of emotional hysteria. She was weeping unrestrainedly, seemingly, oblivious of Eden’s presence. Reluctantly Eden left the room and closed the door behind her. For once in her life she felt unable to deal with the situation with which she was confronted.
    With none of her usual zest she drove sedately to Esplanade Avenue and squeezed into the crowded bar. More newspapers were out, the headlines screaming Beau’s name. As she made her way through the mass of bodies she heard the same words repeated on every side.
    â€˜A tragedy …’
    â€˜Such a waste …’
    â€˜Dead, at twenty-seven …’
    â€˜â€¦ speed must have been suicidal …’
    She sat beside Mae and sipped the glass of wine that was pushed across to her.
    â€˜Where’s Gussie?’
    Eden nursed the wine glass. ‘Face-down on her bed and crying as if her heart is broken.’
    â€˜It probably is,’ Mae said compassionately. ‘She was head-over-heels in love with him.’
    â€˜She barely knew him,’ Eden repeated. ‘None of us did. He was a film-star figure. Someone whose picture was always in the paper. Someone whose private life was led publicly. You may as well say the women who swooned when Valentino died were in love with him . They weren’t. They were in love with the idea of being in love with him.’
    A hint of colour returned to Mae’s cheeks.
    â€˜I’m glad you said that, Eden. It makes me feel better. I was getting so worried; thinking all kinds of stupid things. Of