Wendy Leigh
Wendy Leigh saw the great love of her 20's after he died
I’ve never believed in ghosts, but three years ago I had an earth-shattering manifestation of the ghost of a dead former lover.
His name was Richard, he was 6ft 2in, with bright blue eyes, dark hair and a smile that could warm an Arctic winter.
Sadly,
he died suddenly of a heart attack when he was just 66. He had been the
great love of my 20s, but circumstances had separated us. Then, by a
strange and dramatic stroke of fate, we met again through work over
three years ago.
Despite
the mega-watt attraction that still flared between us, reality was
against us. He was married, and I, too, was committed elsewhere.
So
we had an affair. A series of beautiful, secret encounters, rippling
with love, sensuality and spirituality, which carried on until the
tragic day I learned of his death.
Devastated,
I locked myself into my office and, with the glamorous Cartier fountain
pen he had given me for my last birthday, just wrote his name over and
over again.
Then the
phone rang in the living room, so I stopped writing, screwed the top
back on the pen, left it on my desk and went next door to answer the
telephone.
After an
intense 20-minute conversation with a dear friend — one of the very few
in whom I’d confided about Richard — I decided to go for a walk. But
just as I shut the front door, I heard Richard’s voice telling me to go
back into my office.
In
a trance, I did. And there, on my desk, was my Cartier pen, with the
top I’d screwed on so tightly on the other side of my desk, far removed
from the pen.
I went into shock. As I did, there was an almighty explosion and every bulb in my office chandelier went black and died.
At
that moment, from afar, I heard Richard’s voice saying the words he’d
said to me on our last encounter, just days before he died.
‘I
love you, and thank you for being my Indian summer. I never thought
this would ever happen to me again.’ And nor did I think I would ever be
haunted by a ghost — but I was.
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