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‘Of course. Is it a tradition that you go each year?’
‘No,’ Julius dismissed, then added, ‘Claude did, though. It was his favourite thing.’
‘That’s good. Could it be that you wanted to honour hisjoie de vivreby going in his place?’
‘Don’t go there,’ Julius warned. ‘I won’t use him as an excuse. And anyway...’ he mused with a mixture of pensiveness and affection. ‘There was not a lot ofjoie de vivreto Claude. He really was rather staid.’
She glanced up at the shift in his tone. He’d confided in her!
Beatrice wanted to stand on her chair and point! To call her missing friend to help her name this feeling.
Beatrice would have liked to understand this moment, because these rare insights felt like something so precious, so rare—like nothing she could find out from her colleagues or hours on the computer...
‘Actually...’ Julius too seemed to realise this veer from the norm, for he added, ‘Don’t go repeating that!’
‘That’felt as if it was just for them. But she blinked herself out of any delusions by looking again at his beautiful dance partner and reminding herself that he would be married soon. And anyway, she had no idea about men.
None.
Just the dreadful ones whose chaotic private lives needed her ice-cold touch.
And so she gave it now.
‘I suggest “no comment” to the photos.’
In her time here at the palace she had held fast to her strategy, and there had been no comments nor apologies made following any tabloid pictures of the Prince.
‘Actually,’ Julius said. ‘In this instance I’m not sure.’
This was a rare moment of indecision on his part. So rare that Beatrice had actually never seen the doubt that now flashed over his features.
‘Doesit merit an apology?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘A response?’
‘No.’
‘Because if it does...’
‘Julius, no.’ Beatrice was adamant, almost cross in his defence. ‘You’ve lost yourbrother. If dancing helps, then please...’ she raised her hands ‘...sign me up for the classes...’
‘Thanks.’ He gave a half-laugh at her honest and unusually passionate response. ‘I always forget you’re Sicilian.’
‘Oh, believe me, I try to.’
Beatrice wanted to take that back. It wasn’t Sicily she wanted to forget—it was one woman. She knew he’d seen that little flash of venom, but thankfully he politely ignored it as she dived into her work bag.
‘I should have some...’
‘What?’
‘Antihistamines...’ Beatrice knew there were none there, and nor did she need them; she just wanted to hide for a tiny second. ‘I must have left them at home.’
‘That’s not like you.’
No.‘Well, leave everything with me.’ She gave him a tight smile and really hoped he’d take the cue and leave.She had never felt less together at work than she did this morning.
