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Julius looked at her in her perpetual grey and thought of the fresh air she had breezed into his life, and how the best bit of his day was making Beatrice smile.
He could see her eyes flashing tears, but still she would not cry, and he hated it that she couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
He had left Jasmine sobbing, his mother weeping and reminding him of the promise made, and yet Beatrice’s pinched, angry face and her refusal to bring it all to the table hollowed him.
‘You don’t know the half of it, Beatrice.’
‘Perhaps not,’ she said.
He knew he could never discuss the hold his father had on him—not to a temporary employee, nor to a lover.
‘Then again,’ Beatrice said, ‘you’ll never know even the half of me.’
He saw she was done.
‘Good luck.’ She gave him a smile as she tipped her cold coffee onto the ground. ‘I might see you at my leaving party.’
‘You won’t.’
He stood, and therefore so did she.
‘Sir,’ she said.
And for all the world, if anyone were watching, they would think he was thanking her for a job well done.
All the passion only he saw and felt was just for him, he knew, and he watched her walk off as if nothing had occurred. She even waved to Tobias as she passed by.
Ever polite, Tobias halted, then he smiled and shook her hand, and wished her well before coming over to him.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘the Queen has requested lunch, and Princess Jasmine has asked that you call her urgently—’
‘Tobias,’ he cut in, ‘they’ll have to wait.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DUTYFIRST.
Yes, he might have coloured outside the lines sometimes, but Julius loved his country. And now, on this most important of days, he’d left it behind.
Julius was approaching Trebordi from the sky.
Three jagged cliffs fell away to the ocean, so sharply it was as if they sliced like a hot knife through butter. Certainly, their slicing was a lot neater than Beatrice with a cake knife!
It was a beautiful, brutal place. Even in summer the wind meant a rather careful approach for the helicopter was required.
He saw the convent as they swept past it, and the hilly walk from there to the village. He saw the church, the cemetery, and he glimpsed a little of the life she had lived. This woman he might never see again.
The chopper came down on a dark flat area cut out from the trees—a scar on the very beautiful landscape.
‘I don’t know how long I’ll be,’ he said to Tobias, and took off his headphones.
‘Sir.’
He felt the gravel crunch beneath his feet. This was the place where Beatrice Festa had been told she was born. He walked around, kicking a few stones. In truth, he didn’t know what he was doing there...knew simply that he needed to think.
He walked through the village, garnering a few looks, but the people soon went back to their coffees—and he really didn’t care.
