Angelique was strolling (so I imagined) through the harbour market hand in hand with Charles’s fiancée, searching out our luncheon at the market stalls — a live lobster, freshly caught crabs, hand-picked vegetables and fruits — when the tsunami wave struck. Without warning, apart from an awful stillness and an eerie sound keening in the wind, before our world erupted.
Our luncheon was lost — if only it was merely that. So were they — our loved ones; their bodies never recovered. We never recovered, either. After weeks of walking along the deserted shoreline seeking solace from sighing spirits -- sometimes I traipsed along, my sandals kicking at the flotsam — Richard withdrew into his own world. Soon he blamed me, his eyes wide with hate. I retreated to the Manor House with only memories of my daughter, but the high walls that protected us against the tsunami couldn’t protect me from his barbed arrows with poisoned tips hurled at my heart. ‘Your fault, your fault, your fault being Lady of the Manor, insisting on an exotic luncheon.’
I shook my head in response. Many times. Tears flowed down my colourless cheeks; my pleas rebounded off silent ears. How could I explain? How could I rewind time? How could I bring our daughter — the one precious gift we had — back to life?