The question was,shouldshe?
And was she using Constance as a mere excuse to go?
I could carry it off. At the very least, he’ll know what and who I am. He will run a mile, and that will churn me up all over again. But that was always inevitable, and this way, I could help Connie. And when he does run… Well, I won’t take to the gin again.
She turned abruptly and seized the red-and-cream hat, which she set on her head at a jaunty angle. She would go—and decide when she got there whether or not to stay.
Perhaps stupidly, she never doubted that he would be there. And he was, rising to meet her as soon as he saw her. She attracted a few glances and longer stares as she made her way toward him, butSebastian bowed to her and held her chair, as though she were still a lady.
“What a striking ensemble,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You look lovely.”
She laughed. “I know how I look, and lovely doesn’t cover it.”
“I had just made up my mind you wouldn’t come.”
“Well, you weren’t completely wrong. I probably won’t stay.”
“Then why come at all?”
“Curiosity, of course. I’ve never eaten here before.”
His lips twitched, reminding her unbearably of the secret humor they had once shared and thrived on. “Allow me to order. And they do a decent claret, too.”
He already had a glass at his elbow and now poured some from the bottle into the other glass. The table had been set for two.
“Very well,” she said graciously. “If you tell me why you invited me.”
“Why do you think? To remember the old days and find out how you are.” He lifted his wine in a silent toast, and after a moment’s hesitation, she raised her own and allowed the clink of glasses.
“And how do you think I am?” she asked.
“According to your daughter, better than for many years. But I prefer words from your own lips.”
Juliet shrugged. “She generally knows what she’s talking about, does Constance. For instance, she tells me you’re about to be promoted to some new role of high importance.”
“It’s a home posting,” he said deprecatingly, “and allows me to stay in one place. After thirty years of a nomad’s life, I find I welcome it. Age catches up with us all.”
“And just why, Sebastian, have you looked me up at the very time I could ruin your life?”
He smiled with something that looked alarmingly like affection. “No, you couldn’t.”
“Is that politeness talking?” she asked. “Because I very much doubt it is ignorance. You know how far I fell, and how damaging my company could be for a respectable man.”
She thought his hand tightened on his glass, but since a waiter appeared and set a bowl of soup in front of each of them, he might just have been shifting it out of the way.
“May I know about that fall?” he asked when they were alone again.
“No,” Juliet said. “I’m sure you’ve guessed enough.”
He was silent for a few moments, while she ate her soup with an outward calmness she was proud of.
“I suspect it was my fault. Did the old besom read my letters?”
“Oh, no, I burned those. She read my diary—which was quite a feat, since I hid it beneath the floorboards. Clearly, she suspected, though she waited until after you had gone, and then out I went. Without a character, as they say.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“There was no point. I had chosen my bed, and I lay in it. Quite a lot, in fact.”
