He squinted at it and then brightened. I reached inside the cabinet and felt around until I could position the key against the lock. The key slid in and let me turn it with a neat click.
“Nothing happened,” I lamented.
“Oh yes it did,” Nick replied.
I pulled my head out of the cupboard and saw that the allegedly decorative panel had popped open like a giant file drawer. It was crammed full of stuff, typical for Georgina. There was a huge photo album, overstuffed with what looked like news clippings and pictures, and an old Chanel shoebox with a photo taped to the top of it. I lifted it out and recognized its subjects immediately: In a room I couldn’t identify, Georgina, probably in her early twenties, sat on a stool, the sort of industrial metal number you’d see in chemistry labs, smiling widely at the camera in a slinky black cocktail dress. Behind her, holding what looked like a remote trigger for the camera in his hand, a handsome young man gazed down at her with absolute naked adoration. His other hand was smoothing a wayward piece of her hair with undeniable intimacy.
“Grandfather,” Nick whispered.
The lid came easily off the box. It was full of papers and some curling old photographs. Nick and I read them, traded them, consumed them in total silence. Finally he grabbed at my arm.
“Freddie,” he said, sounding strangled. “Bex, we have to get Freddie.”
CHAPTER FIVE
My love,
I hated leaving you in tears like that, knowing it may be the last time we’re alone. I couldn’t stand the thought of today’s words being the last private ones we ever share. We said so much in anger and in sorrow, and I’m afraid you won’t remember all the things we also said in love. And I do love you, Georgie. I will love you until they bury me.
The moment you kissed me, all those years ago, I was gone. I wish it hadn’t happened when it was too late. I wish I hadn’t been too weak to do the right thing. I’ve always been weak. That isn’t artful self-deprecation, or an excuse for my infidelities (unfaithful to Eleanor in my heart and in our marriage, unfaithful to you because I dutifully go back to her bed every night). You knew I was weak even when you were a child, and I wonder if that’s what ultimately drew you to me: my need to be warmed by your fire. You are so strong, so brave, so ready to seize what you want; you make even someone like me feel like a warrior. But my weakness has ruined you, ruined me, ruined us, possibly even ruined Eleanor (as much as she can be ruined; she’ll outlast us both). I can’t ruin our child as well.
I know it must kill you to see him in Eleanor’s arms. I can’t look at him without seeing you, and what was stolen from you—from all three of us—and I know it must be exponentially worse for you because, unlike me, you’re forced to keep your distance. All I want is to take our son and run with you to the edge of the world. But that would collapse the whole house of cards, a house built by no less than the ruling family of this country. We could never outrun it. Richard would grow up with it haunting his every move.
But we also can’t keep up this dual life. Hiding in windowless garrets behind wardrobes, consuming each other under cover of darkness, stealing seconds alone in palace halls…I’d have done this forever, selfishly, if I hadn’t walked in on you today and seen you crying. It made me realize that it’s my turn to be the strong one. And that means letting you go.
Get married, Georgie. Have more babies. Live big and loud, the way we wish we could have. There is happiness in the world for you. Please let yourself find it, let it sustain you; that’s the only thing that can sustain me. And then, someday, possibly when we’re both gone, our son will be king. And that is bigger than us all.
Always yours,
Henry
Freddie put the letter down, his face waxen. “Fuck,” was all he said.
Nick’s color wasn’t much better. He’d been green since we unearthed it, his hand shaking so badly when he tried to dial Freddie that I’d ended up having to do it. With a pang of