Beatrice got up. “I’m sorry you’re busy. I should leave. I just wanted to tell you about Mummy’s invitation.”
“I am sorry, it’s a lovely invitation, butI can’t.”
Beatrice shrugged easily. “I’ll tell her, don’t worry.”
He walked her out.
At the lift, she kissed him again. “You sure about tonight? I know you’re disciplined, but being flexible isn’t bad.” She stepped into the lift, and the doors slid shut. He stood there in front of the polished brass sliding doors. His reflection looked back at him.
Should you be flexible?His conscience asked.
But he had strict unbreakable rules about women, and he never allowed himself to fall in love.
Sooner or later, every girlfriend started dropping hints.Do you know Prince Harry? Do you go skiing with Lady Alexandra?And finally, the question that really mattered to them, what title would your wife have?They didn’t see George; they saw his suitable husband credentials.
Was it too much to ask to be seen only as himself? A lover? A friend?An equal?
When,and if,he ever thought about committing, it would have to be to someone who was his equal in every way. He didn’t want to be seen as“a catch.”
Beatrice is an equal,his conscience argued.at least socially and financially.
But not in other ways.
You’re just making excuses. Beatrice is a lovely girl.
He wanted more.
More what?
Something he couldn’t define, he wanted something that didn’t feel so…inevitable.
At least Beatrice isn’t clingy. She didn’t turn on the tears.
That was true. He could handle anything but tears. It was the reason he never got too close. The reason he ended relationships as soon as they started to get tooemotional.
You’ve been with Beatrice a whole year. That must mean something. She just might be the right girl for you.
She might.
His reflection in the lift doors didn’t look happy.
But he never felt happy. Even when he “looked” it.
OceanofPDF.com
Six
Same day Guernsey, 2pm
The streets of Guernsey seemed loud and busy after three months on La Canette. Several cars stopped behind the red light, and Millie crossed to the other side and walked into a large department store.
She had three months’ generous salary sitting in her new bank account and a nice shiny credit card in her name alone. Women’s wear for every occasion filled the shop floor; where to begin? Her fingers, now free of her wedding rings, trailed along the rack of burgundy suits.
Her divorce was progressing nicely. Henry didn’t even object when she applied on the grounds of infidelity. She felt a little pang that he was so willing to let her go.
Did she really want him to fight for her? Did she want a return to her dark basement job and her darkmarriage?
She walked past racks and racks of elegant garments, and she didn’t need to search at the end for the larger sizes. OK she’ll never be a size eight, but twelve was very good, and far better than sixteen. Was it superficial of her to feel such confidence?
