Where was Cecilia? She hovered on the peripheries, speaking to no one, always smoking, raising the cigarette to her lips with a rapid, hungry movement, and pulling it away in agitated disgust.
'You saw him then.' 'I know it was him.' 'Let's forgot what you know. You're saying you saw him.'
At first they saw nothing … . then everyone could hear it, and there was a collective murmur and shifting of weight as they caught sight of an indefinable shape, no more than a grayish smudge against the white, almost a hundred yards away. As the shape took form, the waiting group fell silent again. No one could quite believe what was emerging. Surely it was a trick of mist and light. No one in this age of telephones and motorcars could believe that giants seven or eight feet high existed in crowded Surrey. But here it was, an apparition as inhuman as it was purposeful. The thing was impossible and undeniable, and heading their way…this was Robbie.
Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume. The one I had been planning on that evening walk. I can become again the man who once crossed the surrey park at dusk, in my best suit, swaggering on the promise of life. The man who, with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library. The story can resume. I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.
"I like shots of hands. Anyone who’s seen Pride and Prejudice would recognize my slight fetish for hands… not sure what this shot means but there’s some- some kind of poetic meaning to it - that I responded to." - Joe Wright