You Will Never Know How Much I Love You

To my Darling Love:

Do you remember
the precious moments we shared-
all those better times
I never seem to forget?
Where are you now?

Can you not hear me?

Destruction is beautiful
Far more than one thinks
How sweet ours was!
I once refused to bow and bend
and lower myself
But even in my ruination
I still want you

Wentworth begged once
And now so do I:
A word
A look
Anything

Tell me that you love me
Tell me that you adore me
Tell me that you worship the very ground I walk on
Tell me that I am your Goddess Divine
For I am yours
as long as you are mine

Give me even the merest of signs
and we can love anew
Else you will never know
how much I love you

- Trivia

The crowd in the cemetery is quieter, much more somber. She supposes that the pomp and pageantry of the state funeral yesterday was very draining on those who attended, and besides, the people here were the ones who knew him best… the ones that loved him the most.

She had been surprised when she received an invitation to the private funeral, having gone as a part of the American delegation to the larger one, but when she had received a handwritten note from his daughter, she could hardly refuse.

His daughter is approaching her now.

She looks like his ex-wife from what little she remembers, having only caught a glimpse in a crowded party years ago, and she's not that much younger than herself.

(Her insides coil a little at the latter observation, having never gotten used to that particular aspect of their relationship).

They exchange pleasantries, and she offers her condolences in a formal manner- really, what else can she do? The woman is clearly in the depths of grief, and can barely talk about her father…. until she does.

"He spoke about you often," his daughter says suddenly.

"He did?"

"None of us were blind about how he thought of you… it never was as just his protégé, was it?"

She's a little blindsided by the insinuation, but she cannot bring herself to feel anger, because she is so tired. Her mind had been occupied by him and him alone for far too many years, and to leave this world the way he did, and then for her to receive an invitation to say a final goodbye… it's all she's been thinking about for the past week.

"No… no I suppose not."

"We thought- hoped- he would move on afterwards, but he never could." Her eyes fall on the wedding band she's absently toying with. "He never could, but you did." It's cold, almost accusing the way she says it, as if it's her fault for his inability to move on.

In some ways, it almost feels like vengeance to her- the world had looked at them and seen a powerful, charismatic man with a brilliant future ahead of him, and the little girl who had gotten caught up in his golden web.

That's what she had been, wasn't it? A mere girl- an innocent naif that he had ruined and made depraved beyond measure…. and she had enjoyed nearly every moment of it.

But it was more than that. It was always more than that.

Because somewhere along the way, he had fallen for her as much as she had fallen for him. That love had nearly destroyed her- he had nearly destroyed her. She remembers the frantic, heady passion and the simmering tension beneath the surface, the secrets and lies and the knowledge that their time together could be over in a moment's breath.

But she had survived it all, and she had moved on, refusing to look back at a time in her life she would always remember as being filled with what she could only describe as la douleur exquise- the heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone she could never truly have.

That pain must have been on both sides, she now realizes, because while she had moved on, he never did, and isn't that a testament to the strength of the memory- no, the dream- that was their brief relationship?

He had been as burdened as she had once been.

"You will never know how much he loved you," his daughter says softly, and at that, her startled eyes shoot up to meet hers, finally noticing how they are precisely the same shade of amber as his had been.

For a second, she can almost see him looking at her with those eyes the first time that they met, how his gaze was warm, gentle, penetrating… how once upon a time, he only had eyes for her.

But in a moment, the connection is broken, and she watches as his daughter stiffly walks away.

"I know," she says to no one, her gaze flicking back to the coffin for the last time before she turns to leave.

I never want to know.

Well, I guess you can tell whose funeral this was.

And as a reference, this takes place 25-30 years after the previous chapter, and it is hinted that Amy and Ian had an affair following the previous chapter for the better part of a decade, until they finally put their careers first, decided it was too toxic, and Amy eventually married another guy that was closer to her age (probably Jake the expatriate). Ian divorced his wife, despite the optics of him coming to Number 10 as a divorcé. Somehow, no one ever found out about the affair other than Ian's family, because he talked about her fondly for years afterwards, and requested before he died that she be invited to his private funeral.

I guess this serves as a cautionary tale, because affairs like this rarely end in any sort of happily ever after. Indeed, there is a certain amount of irony in this situation because the man who so clearly held the upper-hand in the beginning of the relationship was gradually reduced (if you notice, the shift in power is visible from the first to the last chapter) until he was essentially haunted by the memory of her, while the student, the younger woman in the relationship, moved on and found solace in something more stable.

"Wentworth" in the poem refers to Frederick Wentworth in Austen's "Persuasion", specifically, the letter he writes to Anne.

I saw in the reviews that some of you were uncomfortable with the age gap, as well as the dubious morality of the whole affair. Regarding the age gap, I figured I'd say it somewhere, and it was meant to make people a little uncomfortable. And regarding an affair being un-Amyish, maybe you're right, but then again, as the series went on, I always thought Amy's morals became a little more fluid. And as for her not wanting to do that to his wife, I wonder, don't you think the same sould apply to Ian? Actually, shouldn't majority of the blame rest on Ian's shoulders, as the adulterer? Because to be fair, he is the one that's married. Amy only marries once she breaks off this relationship.