“Is there anything you want to know?” He asks after about five minutes of awkward silence have crawled by.
“No. Is there anything you want to ask me?”
He nods. “Do you work hard at school?”
I shrug. It depends who you ask and as long as it’s not my teachers, the answer’s yes.
“I know you’re top of your class.”
Another shrug.
“You’re clever. I want to make sure you use what gifts you have and not end up as some fisherman without two pennies to rub together.”
I want to argue about the fishermen, because I know them and what they have is the waves and the sea and the space around them, not some stuffy house in a city that’s full of smoke.
I don’t say anything.
“I get this is a lot to take in, but I want to get to know you. See how I can help. Your mum and Ivy as well.”
I may be thirteen but I’m not an idiot.
“Thank you.”
He pats my hand.
“Maybe next time I see you, you’ll have more to say.”
I watch him as he stands up, smooths down his clothes and glances at the sky. It’s still warm and there’s just enough wind for an afternoon of surfing.
I don’t say anything.
Years later, I’m still saving my words.
Chapter Three
The next time I see Blair it’s in a Georgian mansion in the English countryside. She’s wearing blue, her blonde hair tied up in what Ivy taught me was a messy bun and her eyes as blue as the summer Cornish sky. There isn’t an ounce of princess about her; instead there’s business, determination set in a firm jaw.
We don’t speak other than a greeting. There are no whispered words or brushes of hands as we pass. We sit around a table in this house, belonging to some heir to an obsolete title. There are twelve of us; English, French, Irish, Scottish, all their to represent our countries in some attempt at agreeing on a trade deal.
An attempt that’s been ongoing for nearly a decade.
For four hours, twelve of us sit there. Ten of us talk. I catch Blair’s gaze infrequently and see her frustration, the same look that I know matches mine as the talk goes around in circles with no one willing to give.
There’s a break in the rhetoric as coffee is served, expressionless waiters wearing anonymous black, mourning for a conclusion that’ll never be born.
It’s Blair who speaks while everyone else adds their cream and sugars.
“Esteemed colleagues,” she says, using the appropriate address. “Can I suggest that we adjourn this meeting until we can return with the desire to compromise and reach an agreement. This serves no purpose. We all understand our own country’s needs and requirements and after this length of time, we understand each other’s. Without the desire to meet in the middle, we will never find any common ground and instead our time and that of the people we serve will be wasted. Time to swallow your pride, gentlemen, and think not of your own careers but the good of your people.” She stands and walks away, not looking back and leaving the rest of us in silence.
An hour later I find her in an upstairs room, brocaded curtains and William Morris wallpaper her scenery as she sits in a winged chair that’s upholstered in tartan.
“You were brave.”
She nods, her only acknowledgement that I’m there.
“Might get things moving.”
“Have you heard from Ben?” Her eyes have softened, her chin slacker than it was before and vulnerability cloaks her.
