Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Episode 7

Martin was waiting outside the flat when Clara and Elliot arrived.

He stood beneath the broken awning of the building, hands in the pockets of his coat, his face turned towards the rain. The street was narrow and poorly lit. A row of terraced houses pressed close on either side, their windows glowing with the ordinary lives of people who did not know that a ledger had just been carried across the city like a weapon.

Clara saw him before he saw her.

For one moment, she considered telling Elliot to drive on.

The thought came easily. She could avoid Martin, postpone the next conversation, preserve the thin layer of composure she had built since leaving her parents’ house. She had spent years allowing Martin to determine when difficult truths were spoken. She did not owe him another opportunity to decide the timing.

Then Martin looked up.

His expression changed when he saw her. Relief first. Then concern. Then the familiar restraint that always made Clara feel he was holding something back even when he was trying to appear open.

Elliot pulled to the kerb.

Martin approached the passenger side as Clara opened the door. “Are you all right?”

“No.”

He stopped.

She stepped out into the rain. “But I’m not injured.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant.”

Elliot switched off the engine and got out. Martin’s gaze moved to him, then to the leather bag at Clara’s feet.

“You found it,” he said.

“The ledger?” Clara asked. “Yes.”

Martin’s eyes closed briefly.

“You knew my father had it.”

“I suspected.”

“You knew he was involved in the payments.”

“I knew he had worked for Thomas.”

“You knew enough.”

“I knew less than you think.”

Clara bent to lift the bag. It was heavier than it had been when her father handed it to her. Perhaps the weight came from the ledger. Perhaps it came from the fact that she now understood what the money had bought.

Martin reached for it.

She pulled it away.

“I’m not taking it from you,” he said.

“You’ve taken enough.”

His face tightened, but he nodded.

Elliot locked the car. “We’re going to 17B.”

Martin looked at Clara. “You can’t.”

“I can.”

“Daniel asked you to come alone.”

“Daniel doesn’t get to decide who accompanies me.”

“He may be dangerous.”

“So may you.”

The words struck him. Clara saw it, but she did not apologise.

Martin looked towards the entrance of the building. “You need to understand what 17B is.”

“I know. It was Eleanor Ashford’s flat.”

“No.”

Elliot’s attention sharpened. “What do you mean?”

Martin glanced at the rain-darkened street. “It was where Daniel went after he left the cottage.”

“You said you didn’t know where he went,” Clara replied.

“I said I didn’t know where he was now.”

“And you knew about the flat.”

“I found the address in my father’s papers.”

“When?”

“Years ago.”

“Did you go there?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you did.”

Martin’s mouth tightened. “I went once.”

“When?”

“After I found the letter from Daniel to my mother.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know you.”

“You knew me when you took the box.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the flat then.”

“You are always thinking about something you refuse to tell me.”

Martin looked at Elliot. “You should not take her there.”

Elliot’s voice was quiet. “That is Clara’s decision.”

“Daniel may have set a trap.”

“He may have,” Clara said. “But if it is a trap, I want to know who built it.”

Martin stepped closer. “Please listen to me.”

The word was different from his usual requests. It carried no authority, only fear.

Clara hated that fear still reached her.

“What?” she asked.

“Your father is not the only person who kept the ledger.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Daniel may have made a copy.”

“Why?”

“To protect himself.”

“Then what does he want with the original?”

“To force a choice.”

“Between what?”

“Truth and safety.”

Clara laughed without humour. “That is the choice everyone in my family has made for me.”

Martin looked at her. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. You think you know because you left me. You think the pain you caused was part of the same pattern. It wasn’t.”

“I know it wasn’t.”

“You left because you decided I would be safer without the truth.”

“Yes.”

“You made me believe I was unlovable.”

His face went pale.

“You made me believe I had imagined the future. That I had asked for too much. That you had finally seen me clearly and decided I wasn’t the person you wanted.”

“I never thought that.”

“You never told me otherwise.”

“I thought if you hated me, you would move on.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Did you move on?”

Martin looked away.

The silence answered.

Clara felt anger rise, but beneath it was something more dangerous: the tenderness she had spent months trying to bury.

“Is Sophie part of this?” she asked.

“No.”

“Did you love her?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

Martin’s jaw tightened. “No.”

“Then why was she with you?”

“She knew my family.”

“That is not a reason to bring her to a wedding.”

“She was helping me.”

“With what?”

“Finding Daniel.”

Clara stared at him. “Sophie was helping you find Daniel?”

“She works in private investigations.”

“She looked like she worked in advertising.”

“She does not work in advertising.”

“Did she know about me?”

“Yes.”

“Did she know you still loved me?”

Martin’s silence was answer enough.

Clara felt the rain cool her face. “You told her.”

“I told her I had been in love with you.”

“Had been?”

“I didn’t know how to say it any other way.”

“You could have said you still were.”

“I didn’t think I had the right.”

“Since when has that stopped you from keeping secrets?”

Martin flinched.

Elliot looked between them. “We should go.”

Clara did not move.

“Did Sophie find Daniel?” she asked Martin.

“No.”

“Did she find the flat?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“She found the address, but the building had been renovated. The number no longer existed.”

“Then why is Daniel sending us there?”

“Because there is something he wants you to find.”

“The key is to a door that doesn’t exist.”

“Maybe the door still exists.”

“Where?”

Martin looked at the building opposite them.

“Behind the new wall.”

Clara followed his gaze. The building was three stories high, its original brickwork covered by grey render. A single security light flickered above the entrance.

“What new wall?”

“17B was not a normal flat.”

“What was it?”

“It was a service entrance.”

“To what?”

“The old Ashford properties.”

Elliot’s expression shifted. “The Hall?”

“No. The station.”

Clara looked at him. “What station?”

“An underground platform beneath the city.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“It was built during the war. The Ashfords used it to move records and people without being seen.”

Elliot stepped forward. “My mother knew about it.”

“Everyone connected to the estate knew.”

“I didn’t.”

“You were a child.”

“I was the reason it was built.”

Martin looked away.

Elliot’s voice hardened. “What does that mean?”

“Your grandfather used the tunnels to move you when your mother tried to leave.”

For a moment, Elliot seemed unable to speak.

Clara looked between them. “Daniel used the tunnel.”

“Yes,” Martin said. “He helped Eleanor reach the station. He took the ledger with him. But he did not leave the country.”

“Where did he go?”

“Back underground.”

The rain fell harder.

Clara imagined the hidden passage beneath Rose Cottage, the narrow stairs, the chair facing the wall. Daniel had not simply hidden objects there. He had lived beneath the house, perhaps moving through a network of tunnels that connected the Ashford estate to the town.

“Did you know he was there?” she asked.

“I knew someone had been using the passage.”

“You thought it was Daniel.”

“I hoped it was.”

“Why didn’t you find him?”

“Because he did not want to be found.”

“Until now.”

“Until now.”

Clara looked at the entrance to 17B. “Then let’s go.”

Martin caught her arm.

The touch was familiar, but the intention was not. It was not possessive. It was desperate.

“Before you go,” he said, “there is something else you need to know.”

She looked at his hand until he released her.

“What?”

“The night I found Elliot on the beach, Daniel was there.”

Elliot went very still.

Martin continued. “He was watching from the cliffs. He saw what happened. He could have come down. He did not.”

“Why?” Clara asked.

“Because he wanted Elliot to believe he had been abandoned.”

Elliot’s voice was low. “That is not true.”

“I saw him.”

“You were fifteen.”

“I remember.”

“You remember what your father told you.”

“I remember Daniel standing above the beach.”

“Why would he watch me nearly die?”

“Because he believed making you hate him would keep you away from the family.”

Elliot’s face twisted. “He let me believe my mother had abandoned me.”

“He thought it was the only way to keep you alive.”

“Everyone thinks cruelty becomes love if they give it a reason.”

The words silenced Martin.

Clara felt the force of them. They applied to all of them.

Martin looked at her. “I’m not asking you to forgive me.”

“Good.”

“I’m asking you not to trust Daniel simply because he has suffered.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You want to.”

“I want to know the truth.”

“Those are not always the same thing.”

“No,” Clara said. “But neither is fear the same as wisdom.”

She walked towards the entrance.

The lock accepted the brass key.

Behind the modern doorway was a narrow corridor that smelled of damp and plaster. The walls were freshly painted, but near the floor Clara noticed an older line of stone beneath the render.

Elliot entered first. Martin followed. Clara came last, refusing to let either man place.