By the time she’d put the children to bed Sunday evening, Julia’s sense of calm had gone.
She’d woken up that morning in the Kensington house feeling refreshed. She’d put on a long, A-line skirt of dove grey wool, a matching turtleneck that was ribbed from the waist to just under her br**sts and from wrist to elbow, the effect making her waist look tiny. She added a pair of soft, soot-grey, suede boots and the diamond studs her brother and Tammy had bought her for her birthday years ago. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck and went forward to face the day for the first time in a long time in a light-hearted, maybe even good mood.
She found Douglas, not in his study but in the lounge reading the paper. He wore dark brown corduroys and a matching turtleneck and he looked casual and relaxed and, for once, was not working.
“Good morning,” she said as she walked into the room.
He looked at her over the paper.
“Julia.” His face betrayed nothing but his eyes again slowly trailed the length of her body.
She ignored his gaze and smiled at him. Charlotte’s words about him protecting her through Tamsin’s bizarre last wishes and his quiet assumption of the duty of protector were still at the front of her mind.
At her smile he dropped the newspaper and lifted an eyebrow asking without words what was on her mind.
“So… today?” she inquired.
“Today,” he said shortly, folding the newspaper and throwing it on the table in front of him, “Carter is taking you and the children to Patisserie Valerie for breakfast. I’ve a couple of calls coming through, so I’ll need to stay behind. You’ll make a few more stops with the kids to see the sights. You should find something to bring home for lunch. Then we’ll go back to Sommersgate.”
She wasn’t listening; instead, she was looking at the paper he’d thrown on the table. In it, a large, colour photograph of her and Douglas was displayed.
They were walking into the gallery, their hands clasped firmly, their arms stretched out between them as Douglas pulled her forward. He was in profile, his expression hard and showing nothing. She was staring at the ground, her pashmina had dropped off one shoulder and was hanging in the crook of her elbow. To keep up with Douglas, her stride was long and the slit at the side of her skirt had opened to accommodate it, showing a shocking expanse of leg.
Regardless of the distance between them and their expressionless faces, the clasped hands conveyed a closeness that could easily be misunderstood. In fact, if she had been looking at two other people in the same positions, she would have assumed they were lovers. Friends or siblings didn’t walk together like that, hands clasped tightly, the man forging through the crowd leading, and protecting, the woman.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, losing her composure as she stared at the photo.
Douglas’s eyes dropped to the paper.
“Forget it,” he said in a tone that Julia was beginning to wonder if he expected would be readily obeyed regardless of the ridiculousness of his demand. She just couldn’t “forget it” simply because he told her to.
It was the first time in her life she’d ever had her picture in the paper, for one thing. They looked like a couple of lovebirds on a night on the town, annoyed at being trapped by the paparazzi.
What would the children think if they saw it?
“But –” she started.
“It’s nothing,” he interrupted her, rising from his seat and then he prompted her, “Children. Breakfast.”
And that was all he said, leaving her in the room alone with the photo and his final command to see to the kids.
She stared in complete disbelief and diminishing calm at the doorway he’d walked through. Then she grabbed the paper and ran upstairs with it, shoving it in her bag so none of the children would see it.
Leaving Douglas behind, they’d had a beautiful breakfast at a fabulous patisserie. Afterwards, Carter drove them to Buckingham Palace to the now unhidden delight of Veronika. The children had seen it before, save Ruby who walked hand-in-hand with Veronika and gazed in awe upon the palatial estate with its huge black gates with gold crests. Instead of being driven, Julia decided they’d walk the short distance to Westminster Abbey and Big Ben, then across the bridge to stand in line for what seemed like forever eventually to take their spectacular ride on the London Eye.
A fight ensued between Willie and Ruby as to what was for lunch, burgers (Willie) or fried chicken (Ruby) which Julia solved by making Lizzie decide. She’d been trying to draw out her older niece and although she’d managed to force her to take a shower every morning, wash her hair and have more than a few bites to eat, Lizzie was still resolutely withdrawn.
Upon Lizzie’s verdict, they took home a big bucket of chicken and Julia helped Veronika get the children settled, then Carter and Veronika disappeared.
Julia went to find Douglas who was in his study on the phone. She knocked and, at his command, opened the door. He was standing rather than sitting behind his desk, his arm outstretched and pointing to a place on a piece of paper when he looked up at her.
Having his gaze levelled on her made her legs feel like jelly. He was so damned attractive, tall and compelling, his dark eyes intense.
She recovered her composure, setting such silly thoughts aside with a silent curse to herself.
She stood politely in the doorway and used the universal sign language to communicate silently that food was available (in other words, she pretended to fork food into her mouth and chew). Realising what she was doing, feeling like all kinds of fool, she quickly left him to his call.
The kids were devouring the fried, fatty, forbidden treats that had been a hallmark of the weekend when Douglas walked into the dining room.