“No, you didn’t.” Daffy embraced her sister. “I love you and forgive you.”
“I promise not to give away any more of your diaries.”
“Well, that would be lovely if I had any more diaries.” Daffy kissed her sister and parents good night and headed for the door. “Thanks for the pudding, Mum.”
Tomorrow she’d start over. Reboot into her new life. Run to the paint store for the supplies Dad jotted down. Spend the day painting, windows opened, blasting an oldies station so loud the neighbors would bang on the walls. The spring air would clear away paint fumes, along with any memories and any lingering scent, real or imagined, of Prince Gus.
Monday, she’d touch base with the businesses where she’d submitted her résumé and set up profiles on a few more online employment sites.
The world was her job pool. She’d go wherever, whenever. Make a fresh, exciting new start. And move far, far away from the coming tsunami. The queen’s secret baby was sure to be the story of the year if not the decade.
Proud of yourself, Leslie Ann?
Poor Prince John and Lady Holland would be overshadowed by the stories to come. The constant chatter and musings on telly talk shows around the world. Wedding? What wedding? And what of Scottie and Trent?
What an incredible choice the queen had to face. Even in the hip ’80s, the Crown Princess was not to have a child out of wedlock.
So, see, everyone had burdens to bear. Some more weighty and public than others, but heartbreak crossed all social and economic barriers.
Disembarking the bus, Daffy started toward her flat, but the lights of Pub Clemency beckoned. Cutting across the street and through a fragrant stream of night-blooming jasmine, she entered the warm atmosphere with its laughter and clinking glasses, music and wood smoke.
She smiled at the waitress as she made her way to her usual table. She didn’t anticipate it being empty on a Saturday night but—
She stopped. Indeed, it was not empty. Thomas and Blinky canoodled while sitting with a couple she didn’t know.
Turn around before they see you. She wasn’t ready for this scene.
“Daffy, over here. Join us.” Did Blinky have no sense of propriety? Really? Was she so unaware as to call Daffy over?
Spinning round for the door, Daffy left the pub and hurried home, her thoughts numb and cold. When she arrived at her building, she noticed the twinkle lights in the courtyard.
Crossing the lobby, she stepped into the fragrant garden and chose a bench under a cluster of trees. Jazz music floated from the open window of a ground floor apartment. With an exhale, she closed her eyes and listened, releasing her anxious thoughts on the rising vibe of the music, and on every craggy, dissonant note.
* * *
Gus
“Daffy, open up. I know you’re in there.” Another insistent round of pounding. “Please. I went by your parents’. They said you’d gone home.”
A door creaked open behind him and a man with weekend scruff on his cheeks peered out. He looked to be a member of Clemency Street high finance.
“Your Royal Highness.” He gaped, then bobbed a bow. “Are you looking for Ms. Caron?”
“Have you seen her?”
He turned aside. “Darling, do you know if Ms. Caron is home?” Then to Gus, “She’s been out of town lately.”
“Don’t reveal her habits to a stranger.” The wife, another soul with a weekend look, but who bore the distinct air of the educated and careered—lawyer, perhaps—peered into the hallway. “Your Royal Highness.” When she curtsied, she fell against her husband. “She’s out. I saw her in the elevator a few hours ago.”
“Did she say where she was going?” He glanced at his watch. It was nearly nine. Where would she be this time at night? “A friend’s? Her sister’s? Pub Clemency?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“If you see her, please tell her to ring me.” This exchange would be on social media the moment he rode down in the elevator to the lobby, but good. He wanted Daffy to know he was coming for her.
“We will.” The wife moved in front of her husband. “Are you two an item? Is she really the lass in the photos?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m in love with her.” He walked backward, arms wide.
