When the email from the United States reached St. Alban's, England split seconds later, Jeremy Gere was still working in the booklined study of his estate. It was going on midnight, when his computer chimed twice like Big Ben striking the hour, once for each incoming message.
"Bloody nuisance," he mumbled to himself, but he was unable to resist the temptation to see who was contacting him. More than a year had passed since he had succumbed to the wizardry of electronic communication. It had quickly become an important part of his business and his daily routine, so much so that he rarely bothered to shut the computer off anymore.
Much to his surprise, the screen displayed what appeared to be two messages from Stacey, Bets' friend in America, and one attached file with his name on it. "Why on earth would she be writing to me," he wondered aloud.
On closer inspection, however, he found that although both messages were from Stacey's account, one had been written by Judge Carl, Bets' friend and mentor. He opted to read that one first, and the news of Bets' disappearance hit him like a blow to the midsection. Then, bypassing the email from Stacey, he read the attached file, Bets' letter to him, and felt the full force of the situation he had had a hand in creating.
"My God," he gasped. "Oh my dear God. What shall be done now?"
First, he thought of New York, the fine weekend he had only so recently shared with Bets. He thought of his return to England, his remorse, and his decision to break off their relationship. He thought of Bets. He thought of Judge Carl. And he thought of his wife Jenny and his five yearold daughter, now soundly asleep in their rooms in the estate. He thought and he thought. And then, cooly, calmly, he composed an email reply to the judge he had never had the pleasure of meeting.
Thank you for your words.
I, too, am extremely worried about Bets, and also fear the very worst. At the time of writing to you, I have not read Stacey's words to me. I feel I want to respond to you with an uncluttered mind. I hope you understand, being here alone and hearing that someone you love is missing is most difficult.
Bets has spoken of you on many occasions, and your understanding of your relationship is most accurate. She has the utmost respect for your judgement, compassion, and love. You have helped her on many occasions, for which she has been very grateful. I, too, although in these circumstances feel I have no right, thank you for what you have done.
It is very difficult to explain the relationship Bets and I have. Yes, it has all the elements of love, the feeling, the tears, the happiness, the longing. And now the feeling of absolute despair.
I am a honest person. I cannot lie. I met Bets in New York and had a wonderful time. We laughed like I cannot remember laughing before. We left all sad subjects alone, as if there was no need to discuss them. We just knew. This is not to say that we did not touch on them, but it was clear that Bets wanted happy memories from our meeting, not a weekend of tears.
I do not know what more I can say at this time. I am frightened. I promised Bets I would hold her hand through the difficult days she had in front of her. I feel I have failed her.
Thank you once again for you words.
Yours sincerely,
That summed it up, he thought to himself. It was a proper reply. It stated only the truth. If this were some kind of ploy by Bets, to make him change his mind, to make him give up his resolve to return to his family and the world he had toyed with leaving... well it was not going to work. And on the other hand, if it were true, there was nothing he in England could do but wait and worry. He felt helpless.
"A drink," he said, stabbing the air with his forefinger to secure the thought. He poured himself a single malt scotch, neat, before venturing to read Stacey's letter. He knew how acerbic she could be. He took a heavy swallow of his drink before reading it, and then another, heavier one afterwards.
"The girl is mad with grief," he told himself. But in fact, the grief was within him as well. If Bets were harmed in anyway, he would lay blame upon himself. He would hate himself, too. Stacey was not wrong, and he decided to give her a reply worthy of Bets' friendship for her.
I, too, have been very worried about Bets. I have thought and thought but I do not know where she would have gone. She has written to me a few times over the past week, and she was clearly very sad. I, too, have worried about her doing something. I even spoke to her about it most directly. She wrote back in a brighter mood. I thought she was just low, but ok.
I wish I knew where she has gone. Oh god, I hope she is ok. I really do not know where she is, or what she might be doing,
Stacey, you have never understood me. I see no reason for this to change now, but nevertheless I would like to explain: Bets and I love each other very much, and we always will. Even now, as I worry about where she might be, I feel her sitting in my study watching my tears stream down my face.
Love comes wearing many different clothes, as does life. My Bets lives in my heart, where she engraved her message. We met in New York to say I love you. Both Bets and I knew this.
I am most sorry Stacey. I just do not know.
Love, J
The part about the tears was almost true. He could feel them welling up and ready to fall. But he held them back. He reread the letter once, and then he sent both replies, irretrievably, into the web. He would not sleep well that night, he knew. But he could not waste time in self pity or regret. The decision to leave Bets had already been made. He could not turn back the clock. And even if he could, he would not. He had chosen duty, wife, and child over romance. He had made his commitments and he would keep them.
The electronic messages from Stacey and Judge Carl did not fly immediately to their destination. They went out on the telephone line to a mainframe computer in Syracuse, where they were added to a packet for international transmission. Half an hour later, all of the gathered email in that packet was released onto the internet, the intricate web of wire and silicon fiber that spans oceans and continents. The network is totally unfeeling. It makes no distinction between good news and bad, delivering both with speed and mechanical precision. Once sent, the words cannot be retracted.
Dear Judge Benson,
Jeremy GereStacey,