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‘That enormous oak tree was just to his side—far enough away to prevent shade from darkening him, but close enough to dwarf him. He was a big man, your grandfather. Tall and strong—built for battle.’ Her lips twist with undisguised disgust. ‘But not strong in spirit. His spirit had been broken and the tree made that obvious to me.’
Her eyes flick back to mine and I feel it, too. Just like she did. The weight of silent communication and understanding.
‘I loved him instantly.’
My heart does a weird little palpitation in my chest. ‘I can’t imagine that.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s just unfathomable to me.’
‘That’s because you haven’t met someone worth loving yet,’ she says with a shrug of her elegant shoulders. ‘One day you’ll know just what I mean.’
I quirk my lips, hoping my smile seems dismissive. My pulse has speeded up. I try to quell it.
‘I don’t think it always works like that.’
‘Perhaps not. Your grandfather was special.’
‘What you shared was special,’ I murmur, reaching across and squeezing her hand.
Grandma’s eyes flicker, her lips tighten and she nods, as if to dismiss the conversation. The waiter appears, brandishing a bottle of champagne, and begins to unfurl the foil top. Grandma stares resolutely at the view as the waiter performs his ministrations, and doesn’t smile when he pours two fresh glasses.
She is very much the Duchess in instances like this: a woman who has become so used to service and being served that it isn’t even an act she needs to be grateful for.
I smile my thanks as he leaves.
Grandma waits until we are alone again. ‘You will never meet anyone—no lover, no special friend, no one—if you are behind your desk all day.’
Out of nowhere I picture Jack. I picture the way he drapes himself against the doorframe, the way his body is so languid and sensual, and my stomach flops.
‘Have I told you the foundation is almost ready to launch?’
Grandma tilts her head to one side. ‘I admire your commitment to that...’ she says, clearly trying to frame whatever she’s thinking carefully. ‘But you have money. If philanthropy is your aim, why not set up your own charity?’
‘Perhaps I will—one day. But my job is more than just one thing... You know that.’ I expel a sigh, frustration gnawing at me. ‘You’ve always championed my work.’
‘You’re very clever. And I know you’re brilliant at what you do. But you’re sacrificing too much now. I champion
ed your work because I hoped you would find a way to pursue your career and still live your life. You, more than anyone I’ve ever known, have the ability to keep multiple balls in the air at once. So why aren’t you doing it?’
I drop my head, my eyes not meeting hers. There is so much truth in what she’s saying, but the criticism hurts.
‘I...I am.’ It’s a lie. We both know that. But reality is not something I want to face.
‘All of you is focussed on that job. On that man. I’m worried you’re going to wake up one day and realise what you’ve sacrificed. And all for him.’
My heart bumps against my ribs, banging them with its frantic racing. ‘He’s brilliant.’
‘And a bastard, by all reports.’
Yes. A beautiful, arrogant, brilliant, sex-obsessed bastard.
Was it only yesterday he was inside me? It feels like forever ago. I am at a fever pitch of want—want only he can answer. My insides clench instantly, remembering him, needing him, craving his touch, smell and taste...
‘He’s not that bad.’ The words are hoarse, punctured by breath and memory.
‘With him and that job in your life you’re never going to be truly happy.’
