Just passed bright-yellow shop awning. Reminded me of what you said about sunflowers. Sitting on hands & offering no assistance to damsels in distress. You’llbe proud.
And last night.
Existing on a diet of coffee, ham sandwiches and government directives. Whenever I lose patience negotiating over the tiniest detail, I look out my window at the Manneken Pis, below. A statue of a cherub pissing into a fountain. I imagine you sitting on the edge, cooling your bare feet in the water, eating Belgian fries from a rolled-up paper-cone.
He was on the money; that was exactly what she would do. Henry had never known her so well afterten years.
Henry who? She’d already forgotten him.
“What’s going through that head of yours?” Du Montfort. Again. “I love my old books, but they don’t make anyone smile like this.” He put down his magazine. “Come tell me what it is you’ve been dreaming about. Since your day trip to Blue Sage Bay, you’ve been walking ona cloud.”
Millie’s mind reeled. Lying never came easily, and the old man was no fool. She smoothed her skirt as she stood up from the desk and hoped by the time she went to his corner by the window, she’d have thought of a suitablediversion.
“Can I get you a drink?” Surely this ought to work; he liked a little something mid-afternoon.
“No,” he said. “One of us should keep a clear head, and that’s not going to be you, is it?”
She pulled an upright chair opposite him and sat with her back straight, her hands in her lap, and hoped for something to happen and save her from his questioning gaze. She liked the old man, but really, sometimes! Oh, how shelongedfor the early days when he couldn’t stand the sight of her.
“It can’t be the bushes and weeds on the headland that’re occupying your mind, so what is it?”
Oh, thank God. Du Montfort had unwittingly thrown her a lifeline. With a wide smile, she launched into a detailed description of the herbs, the flowers, the weeds, the smells, the flavours, the colours, her dream of renovating the cottage. By the time she’d started on what to paint the boardwalk, she had the perfect strategy. If anyone wanted to ask her what she was thinking, they’d get a long, long description.
If she couldn’t talk about George with anyone, then the cottage where they’d nearly made love was close enough.
“I’d love to renovate it, but George thinks the structure isunsound.”
“Trust my son to rain on everyone’s parade.”
She hadn’t meant the conversation to go there again. “No, I think he was just concerned.”
“My son...” He sighed. “Ants crawl over his skin if he has too much fun.” He sighed again.
No longer obsessed with Millie’s mood, he was on to his favourite topic. “Case in point, I offered to hand over the governing of La Canette to him. He’d make an outstanding seigneur.” Du Montfort’s eyes took on a faraway look. “You can see it. He inspires loyalty with a minimum of effort. People just like him and want to follow where he leads. So it’s patently clear he should take over, but no-o-o!” The old man stretched theovery long. “He won’t take it. Youknow why?”
It was a rhetorical questions, and didn’t answer.
“Because,” he answered himself, “in the back of that dark brain of his, he suspects he might actually enjoy the job. So, he only does the minimum. Annoying little administrative chores. He huffs and puffs and grinds his teeth for two weeks, and just when it becomes interesting, he runs back to London.”
Did the old man criticise George because it allowed him to talk about the son he wished could be closer?
“Maybe he is happier in London,”she said.
“If there was any chance of actual happiness in the capital, he’d have left it years ago. My son’s afraid of being happy. I see it in him. As soon as he starts to enjoy himself, he finds a reason – something. I’ve lost count of how many perfectly suitable girls he’s dated. He plays knight in shining armour for a few months. Then, just when the poor girl’s getting her hopes up”—Du Montfort clicked his fingers—“he switches off like a spent light bulb.
The old man gazed out of the window. “It would have to be a very unusual woman to finally smooth his sharp angles and get him to grow up, and I suspect such a woman would be in for a rough ride.”
OceanofPDF.com
EIGHTEEN
Two weeks later. La Canette, afternoon.
Keys still in his hand, George held the door open with his shoulder while manoeuvring his suitcase, duty-free bags and folded jacket just as his phone started ringing. He pushed the door shut with his foot as he dumped the bags on the floor in front of the hall table and dug in various pockets, trying to findhis phone.
Sod’s bloody law.His phone would have to be in the last pocket he looked. He emptied everything on the table—keys, wallet, passport, Millie’s birthday gift, pen, and finallyhis phone.
Rob Matthewsflashed on the screen. George wasn’t in the mood to talk island business; he’d just had three weeks working almost round the clock just to get everything organized in Brussels. The family lawyer would have to wait. George rejected the call and slipped the phone into his trouser pocket, then pulled his bags to the bottom of the stairs. Where waseveryone?
