He walked into his room and closed the door. “The thing is. I am not going to be able to see you, after all.”
“Just Friday or ever?” Her voice went very quiet.
“The latter.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, there is no easy way to say this. I thought it was a good idea yesterday, because you’re a lovely person.Youare. It’s—” He was about to say something lame about timing, about being ready, anything for an easy get-out. But none of it would be true, and he detested lying. He tried to say it as gently as possible. “I’ve had second thoughts.”
“I see.” She took an audible breath “What’sher name?”
No matter how many times he did this, it never got any easier. He searched his mind for something nice to say, but what? What?
But Beatrice didn’t give him time. “I hope she doesn’t break your heart.”
“Beatrice, let’s not do this.” He didn’t want to confirm or deny that there was another woman; he just wanted this over. He leaned against the door. Just twenty yards away was Millie, and her golden-brown hair curled softly over the back ofher neck.
Eventually Beatrice spoke. “All right, George.” Her voice was calm. “I’ll always remember our beautiful time together, and if she disappoints you”—her voice lifted, became cool and bright, the easy, relaxed woman he always knew—“I’ll be here. I’ll take you back, darling, no questions, no recriminations.”
George stood behind his bedroom door, staring at his phone. A phrase unfolding in his mind:how classy, how very civilized. No doubt it was how she wanted him to remember her.
Every time he walked away after a date, after a party, every time he turned down an invitation, Beatrice’s voice, cool and bright, let him think she didn’t mind either way, that she wasn’t needyor clingy.
For an instant, just now, her mask slipped, then, in a minute, less than a minute, the care-free civilized voice was back in place. She would make a great society wife. He could just see her in the future, taking a husband’s infidelity with a smile.
Realization washed through him like an icy wave as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. Had Beatrice been just as clingy as all the others, only better at hiding it? Had she been playing him fromthe start?
She’d fooled him for a year, and he’d been about to go back to her.
“George is very controlling,” old Du Montfort said. “He’s like a chess player, arranging people on his board. And God help any of his pawns if they move contrary to his orders.”
Millie let her eyes wander out of the bay window of the study as she listened to him complain about George. There had to be a way to get father and son to make peace. The old man was too proud; it would have to be George to make the first move. For a start, he was young and less set in his ways; besides, he was more likely to listen to her.
“And he is stubborn,” Du Montfort said, almost echoing her own thoughts. “He will have things his way or not at all.”
“I think he must take after his dad. Just a bit,” Millie couldn’t help saying.
“Less of your cheek, young lady.” He gave her a stern look but couldn’t keep it up for long before his lips twitched. “I don’t know why you take so much licence. I’m clearly too lenient with you.” His eyes twinkled, then looked over her head, and his smile faded. She twisted around and saw George standing in the doorway.
“Good morning, Father.” He stayed by the door, looking cool and relaxed in beige chinos and a white oxford shirt. He flicked his eyes at her, and there was a look, hot and hungry, just for an instant before he faced his father again.
Her heart somersaulted.
The old man still held her hand and pulled it to get her attention. “I need to speak to my son.”
She rose to her feet. “Let me pull a chair overfor him.”
“My son can pull his own chair. What good is that gym where he spends hours?”
She sat back down, feeling like an awkward ten-year-old. George still hadn’t come closer. What was he trying totell her?
Du Montfort let go of her hand. “Can you go downstairs to the library? I am not in the mood for current affairs. Find me something else.”
Wonderful. Now that George was in the room, she was being sent away? “What are you in themood for?”
“Something enjoyable. Fiction, history and brave derring-dos.”
She had little choice but to go. As she neared the door, she made a face at George and mouthedSod’s law.George gave her a tiny wink before stepping out of her way.
“Maybe some Walter Scott,” Du Montfort called out.
She turnedto answer.
