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‘OK,’ I said casually and wandered towards the main part of the house. But as I wandered wide-eyed around that sumptuous, awe-inspiring edifice, I realized that Foxgrove should not be
confused with being merely a house.
It was a blatant status symbol built to show the rest of the world in no uncertain terms that its occupants were superior, untouchable beings. It took me almost an hour to see just one
room filled with sculptures and artifacts from around the world. The sensation I had was similar to walking into one of the rooms in the British Museum. All these amazing sculptures, no
doubt some illegally brought back from their countries of origin to England.
I turned around and went back to the breakfast room. Foxgrove’s idea of a breakfast room was my idea of a palace. There were gilt moldings, ceilings painted with angels and people in
robes. There was velvet and brocade and different types of marble on the walls and floors.
‘Hey,’ Ivan said from behind.
I turned around. ‘Nice home you have,’ I said politely.
‘Yes, it is nice. I sometimes forget.’
Lee came into the room, walked to the long table, and pulled out a chair for me on the nearest corner.
I took it and Ivan sat next to me so we had the table corner between us. The muffins were brought in. They were still warm and delicious. Lee disappeared and we started to talk.
Cautiously. A bit about me, but I kept the conversation flowing mostly about him.
I learned that he had spent a few years in America. Mostly in New York, a place that he loved and still went to a lot as he had a lot of business dealings there. He loved the fact that
you could travel for hundreds of miles in America and still be in the same state. He thought America was one of the most beautiful countries in the world, but he hated the American
prison for profit system.
Just as I was getting to know him, he got another phone call and we had to return to London. At my request he dropped me off outside One Turtle, and I didn’t see him again for the rest
of the day.
CHAPTER 18
Tawny Maxwell
I opened my eyes the next morning and knew without a doubt that the wisest thing I could do was to go out and get myself a lick of space. Taking off to the island alone was the best
option for me. Right after our wedding I should take off and get some perspective, figure my shit out. Because only a fool couldn’t see that I was blindly waltzing in the wrong
direction.
Yesterday, I allowed myself to get too close to Ivan.
Yesterday, I started to think foolish nonsense about Ivan. Things I had absolutely no business thinkin’ about since it was obvious as hell that any feelings I developed for him would be
doomed from the start.
Sure, the sexual thing was there in spades, but there was something else too. Something not right. A thing I couldn’t put my finger on. He was hiding a secret from me as sure as I was
hiding a secret from him.
Even though I was dying for my morning coffee, I waited in my room until I heard him leave the apartment before I opened my door. After a strong coffee and a quick breakfast, I took a
cab to the One Turtle Foundation’s office. I had only managed to clear a tiny amount of work yesterday, and there was actually quite a lot of stuff that needed my attention. I threw
myself into it gratefully. For a while I even forgot to think of Ivan.
The proper return back to work was also nice because one of the first islands that Robert had turned into a sanctuary had just been gifted to the locals to manage on their own, and they
had sent lovely thank you cards with pictures of baby turtles enclosed. There were also many unopened condolence messages waiting for me. I replied to all of them.
By the time I looked up from my desk it was already lunchtime.
After a hearty meal at a Moroccan deli with Angela and two other girls from the office, I went out to the shops to buy a few more bits and pieces that I would need for my holiday.
Mosquito repellent and all the other stuff that was essential on an island.
Although I planned to go barefoot most of the time, I bought two pairs of flip-flops because the monkeys are always stealing them. I also bought lots of boxes of chocolates and biscuits
for the volunteers who crave chocolates made in the West. Local chocolates simply didn’t taste as good as they had to be made with palm oil to stop them from melting in the heat.
