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Just as this thought came to him, he heard a buzz of a text being received. He fished his phone out of his pocket, smoothed down a corner of Harry Black, and clicked it on.
Ben was ordering for them both with an elderly lady who had appeared from the huddle by the donation box, but he was glancing at Aleksey enquiringly.
Aleksey stowed his phone.
Their elderly server was still hovering, so Aleksey thanked her with a long, effusive speech in Russian.
She went back to the aged cluster, possibly to report the arrival of enemy spies.
Ben gave him an irritated look. ‘We’ll probably get a measly bit of cream now, idiot. And I’m not going to ask. You’re just going to tell me, because that’s what normal people do.’
Aleksey angled his face to the sun once more. ‘You’re not going to like it, so I am debating possible outcomes of telling you.’ He opened one eye, saw the reception this had received, and added with a sigh, ‘Phillipa wants me to come over and see her.’
‘What? Why?’
Aleksey took off his glasses. ‘Honestly? I don’t know. And that’s the truth, Ben. I have absolutely no idea why she would want or need to see me anymore. But that’s what it said. “We need to meet.” Here, see for yourself.’
Ben began to play with the sugar bowl. ‘Maybe it’s about me.’
‘What, they’re trying to find you and arrest you for treasonable incursions into the royal bedchamber?’
‘Don’t laugh about it. It’s not funny.’
‘Probably not so much at the time, no. I don’t know, Ben. I’ll go, and then we’ll know.’
Ben snapped his head up. ‘You’re going to go! Bloody hell, Nik! What is it with you and her? It never ends!’
It was interesting, Aleksey reflected, that it was Ben who’d decided his name for him, but Ben who was the one who stoutly refused (or forgot, if Aleksey was being more charitable), to use it. He re-donned his glasses and studied Ben through their concealing lenses. It genuinely did not seem to have occurred to Ben that they were soon to be more-than-acquaintances of the Queen of England. Did he not see the opportunities that might afford them? The advantages? But his ex-wife was still an issue for Ben. Not only did they not talk about the Nate Situation (as the professor had admitted they were all calling it behind his back), by association they didn’t talk about the Phillipa Situation either. If their positions were reversed, he would roil with jealousy, too. He seemed to remember he had. And hence the Nate Situation.
Suddenly, he leaned forwards, laid one finger on the back of Ben’s hand to save the little china bowl from destruction, and said with simple directness, ‘You think that because I slept with Phillipa when I was also sleeping with you that I somehow betrayed you. But that could not be further from the truth, Ben. Think about me for a moment. What do I always do if someone suggests something to me? Wants me to do something? What? You’re the person who knows me best in the world. What do Ialwaysdo?’
‘You do the opposite, even if you don’t want to, and even if the original suggestion is something you’d have liked. Straight to the offensive, battling windmills.’
‘Exactly. Me sleeping with Phillipa forone nightwas to prove to myself that what I had with you wasn’t love. That I wasn’t falling in love. So that then I didn’t have to acknowledge that you weren’t heartless, and that, in fact, the opposite was true: you wantedmorefrom me. When you have discovered things about my past before, I always tell youthis doesn’t concern youorthis isn’t about how I feel about you now,but this is different. One night with Phillipa was my final attempt to keep the walls of my heart shored up against you. I knew, Ben. Iknewwhat you portended even then: you were the thing that would change my life forever and I wasscared.’ He leaned back in his seat again and a silence fell between them until he muttered, ‘I think the Don Quixote reference was a little harsh, however. He was entirely mad.’
‘Who? The what?’ Ben leaned forwards, elbows on the table, but whatever he’d been about to say was forestalled by the tea and scones arriving. Apparently, the ladies had actually decided that the very pretty green-eyed young man was being held against his will by the awful Russian giant, and so had heaped Ben’s bowls with extra jam and more cream than two scones really needed, just to perk him up a little.
Ben poured the tea and muttered, ‘Sorry.’ Whether he meant this for forcing Aleksey to admit for the first time in his life that he’d had been afraid of something, or for the obvious preference given him by the formidable WI members, was anyone’s guess. Aleksey just nodded in acceptance of either and scooped a large portion of Ben’s cream onto his own plate.
Fat as clotted cream had a nice ring to it, too.
* * *
Feeling a little nauseous by the time they got home, Aleksey took himself off to his study for some respite and to work out what he wanted to reply to the surprising text. All the effort to keep up good relations between them so far had come from him. Sure, she answered his calls, and they had a fun sparring match for a while, but it was frosty. He supposed she was walking an even more delicate line than she had been before. Then she still had great freedom. As he’d once pointed out to her, his wealth gave her power and a lifestyle she did not need to change for one that, as far as he could see, was worse. She’d not viewed it this way, however, and now here she was. Married. With things apparently about to change a great deal more in her life. Neither she, nor the family in general, were as well liked as they’d once been. They must all be wondering, he assumed, how much longer it could all continue. He felt fairly sure that they were all equally aware that none of the current alternatives were much to write home about either. His own country had, obviously, gone through a very similar change at the helm in 1917, and look where that had got them all.
It was ironic really, he supposed. It didn’t seem to matter who was in charge—king, emperor, tsar, president—they all needed the trappings of wealth, and seemed to spend their entire time in power acquiring personal fortunes. He wondered what the world would look like if the only qualification for being in office was a sincere and passionate wish not to be given any such position at all—if the quiet, centred people of life got to rule. Possibly the meek. He snorted quietly as he thought about someone who had also proposed that slightly revolutionary idea. Didn’t do him much good, he seemed to recall.
He sat in his chair, swinging it too and fro a little, tapping his phone against his lips. His desk drawers were empty of anything good now too. Ben had seen to this. Once, undecided, feeling slightly sick, and in considerable pain from being cramped in a tiny convertible and standing too long, he’d have had a party of one, cheered himself up.
Now, he was just in pain.
He texted, ‘When, where?’ just to add to his current misery.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
Aleksey had not fully appreciated the changes inhislife until he attempted to meet with his ex-wife as she’d requested. As he’d so recently thought, she was still living a double life; but now he had complete freedom to come and go as he pleased. She had to give the appearance to a world that scrutinised her every move that she was a stalwart consort to the Heir to the Throne, carrying out endless and exhausting royal duties. In reality, however, she was trying to continue the life of a landed aristocrat who had never met a pheasant or peasant they would not wish to dispatch. Dogs, mud, blood and long walks with stout walking shoes were her passion; fashion, handshakes, inane chitchat and photographs were now her lot. To enjoy the first, she had to do some remarkable trickery to imply she was busy doing the second.
