For a fraction of a moment, Caroline froze, as if seeing it with new eyes. Her precious daughter, pandering to this bully, just as Caroline herself had been doing all these years.
She followed Annabel into the kitchen, taking the ashtray from her to empty it herself. ‘You shouldn’t let him order you around,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll go to the shops. You go upstairs and start your homework.’
But Annabel’s hand kept hold of the ashtray. ‘We both know how bad he gets.’ She shrugged. ‘Isn’t it safer just to do what he says, like you do?’
And there it was.
The world seemed to stop, the clock the only sound, ticking her life away – both of their lives away.
In the back of her mind, she’d always known this time would come, that living under Frank’s control and seeing Caroline’s own timid fear would impact Annabel in some way.
But this? To hear that Annabel had somehow learned to besubmissive, going against her natural bravery to allow this man to dominate her? It was more than Caroline could bear.
Yet, with the Balmoral trip at stake, Caroline knew she had to let Frank win this particular battle.
And so she took the ashtray from Annabel and pasted a smile on her face as she fetched her coat to go to the shop.
Regardless of whether she was up all night washing a dead woman’s clothes, she was still alive and going to Balmoral.
And as she hurried through the dusk, holding her arms around herself, she imagined she was already there, galloping through the heather, up and up into the mountains, until she was lost forever.
MIRANDA
MIRANDA SAT AT HER DESK,FOCUSING DETERMINEDLYon her work. Ever since the awkward situation in the minister’s boardroom yesterday, she’d been worrying about how she’d explain it to Sinclair. How foolish she’d been to find herself in such a situation!
If he suspected her of spying, she hadn’t a clue what she’d do. Her last article had caused a stir – she’d included a titbit about Philip’s lunches and weekends away – and the palace was looking for the leak. Sinclair was an astute man, and he might even wonder if she was the notorious J. Marshall. Then her palace job would be over.
How careless she’d been, not thinking of the risks.
Also on her mind was another conundrum.
What would Sinclair say or do about what had passed between them? She blanched as she thought of their almost kissing. It was an image she had reimagined countless times throughout the night, each time with varying degrees of complete mortification, annoyance with herself for putting so much on the line, all underlaid with a despicable exhilaration:How might it have felt to actually kiss him?This was quickly pushed aside. Physical attraction was a base, pointless exercise. She was infuriated with her body for being so treacherous as to even be tempted by someone other than Jack.
Yet, she deliberated, if Sinclair was indeed attracted to her, wouldn’t he be more likely to think her innocent?
A little romancing might be needed to throw him off the scent.
As she forced her thoughts back to her work, she barely noticedSinclair’s arrival, spotting him in the corner of her eye as he walked straight to his desk, not even stopping to say hello.
So ready had she been with excuses as to why she was inside the minister’s boardroom that she hadn’t anticipated that he might not immediately seek her out. And so she sat, studiously trying to appear absorbed in her own work while not reading a word.
That is, until a reprise came from an unlikely source.
A few of the junior civil servants were gathered, as usual, discussing some plan or other, and when one of them used an incredibly mild curse word, Hilda’s voice rang clearly through the room. ‘With language like that, perhaps you’d be better off working for the London sewerage.’
Covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing, Miranda looked across to one of the men, who had let out a guffaw of mirth, making everyone want to laugh all the more.
And it was then, as she looked across the room, that her eyes met Sinclair’s, just briefly, their acknowledgement of the hilarity subduing quickly as the connection transformed into something else, something more unsure.
But then the spell between her and Sinclair seemed to break, the connection between them gone as they both shook themselves and refocused on their work.
And yet, after that, when she found her eyes straying over to him, he looked up, too, as if sensing her gaze.
In the middle of the morning, they both were in a meeting with Villiers, who was as arrogant yet useless as ever. Miranda found herself exchanging glances with Sinclair as Villiers proclaimed, ‘I have been working night and day, single-handedly organizing these stands.’
And then later in the day, as she passed Sinclair in the corridor, he brushed his hand next to hers so lightly it was impossible to know if it had been on purpose.
It wasn’t until evening, her table lamp throwing a cone of light onto her desk, that the last people in the office packed their things for the night, leaving them alone.
