I didn’t know anyone else who would call visiting a residential care home for children a ‘shindig’.
“Where are we going?” I can see Bertie, one of my security guards on his phone. I catch his eye and he gives me the thumbs up. We’re on. I’m allowed off the tight leash of my agenda.
“The Signet Library. It was easy for your team and they had a room free. I believe you’ve been before. And it’s a favourite.”
It was, on all counts. “My mother used to take me there for afternoon tea when my father was away and Lennox was doing boy things. And yes, I like it very much there.”
“Good. I know your team will get you straight there and I can take myself, so I’ll see you shortly.” His smile is calm, unrushed.
I know there’s an underlying reason as to why he’s here, why he’s taken the trouble to find out my schedule and ingratiate himself into it, but it doesn’t matter right now.
I have a forty-five minutes to myself with a man who I find interesting. A man who sets something within me to smolder without speaking a word.
* * *
I’m ushered into a private room; one I’ve had before with my mother when security deemed the shared areas too risky for us to use. The room is Georgian, ornate and light, and I could’ve stepped into the last century. Starched white table cloths, silver cutlery, crockery I know is older than my parents and only hand washed.
Isaac is there already, looking through a book and sipping a glass of wine. He could be anyone, with the way he’s dressed, but he carries himself in a way that induces people to look twice and then not tear their eyes away.
He stands as I approach and I remember how he looked at me when I walked out of the sea on the island, and again, how he watched Ben and I that night.
“Thank you for joining me.” He bends down and kisses my cheek, his hands grazing my arms.
“Thank you for arranging this.”
He laughs quietly. “It was no trouble.”
And I know he’s right. He’s a fixer. For him there are no problems, only paths to be ploughed and ways forward to be created.
“I don’t suppose anything’s much trouble for a kingmaker.”
He holds out my chair for me to sit down. A three-tier stand filled with tiny sandwiches, all crust less; little delicate cakes and macaroons, plus the scones with jam and clotted cream. There’s Champagne and wine, and a pot of tea.
And silence.
“It has its advantages. Tuck in.” He picks up a sandwich and looks at me as he bites in.
I giggle.
I haven’t giggled since I was about thirteen, but that sound was definitely a giggle.
I tuck in.
He doesn’t ask me any questions. Between the sandwiches and the scones, we talk about stuff, mindless chatter that’s inconsequential and isn’t Isaac trying to find out about Lennox or my father or some political point.
“When does parliament re-open.” I sit back in my chair and eye the cakes.
“End of the month.” There’s a sigh. “It feels like it’s time to go back to school. You know, those last few days when the weather’s warm and there are thunderstorms and that dread begins.”
I remember them well. The latter years of school were bittersweet at this time, because it wasn’t just home I was leaving. It was Ben too.
“Those evenings came with a sense of dread.”
“They did. They still do. Like a week of Sunday evenings. Every day brings you closer to the end.” His eyes glint.
“You’ve reminded me of a pirate since I first met you.”
His laugh is loud and free. “Really? Do I have a parrot following me?”
