The Lovers

by Irina Shapiro

  “No,” Rhys replied sheepishly. “I saw it on the news.”

  “What?” Quinn gasped. “I’m on the news?”

  “Yes. ‘Historian attacked when she walked in on a robbery,’” Rhys quoted.

  Quinn nodded in disgust. “I might have known. There was a reporter at the hospital last night—for an entirely different case, mind you. I feel strangely violated,” Quinn joked. “It seems odd that strangers know what happened to me.”

  “That’s life in the public eye for you,” Rhys replied as he shrugged off his jacket.

  “I’m hardly in the public eye. I’m a historian, for God’s sake.”

  “Get used to it. Once our program is aired, you’ll get a lot more attention than you ever expected. Believe it or not, people lap this stuff up. ‘History made real, the dead brought back to life,’” he intoned, using an announcer voice that made Quinn laugh.

  Rhys handed her a shopping bag. “Here, I brought you something to make you feel better. I know I promised not to force-feed you cake, but I think you’ll like these. I made them this morning just for you.”

  Quinn pulled out a square plastic container out of the shopping bag and stared at the bell-shaped blobs of dough. “What are these?”

  “Canelés. They’re French. Caramelized crust on the outside, chewy on the inside, with just a small dollop of custard filling,” he said, somehow making the description sound seductive. “I dare you to resist.”

  “You truly are evil,” Quinn replied with a chuckle as she opened the container and inhaled the heavenly smell. “Are you trying to make me fat?”

  “No, I’m trying to give you a moment of pleasure,” he replied, all innocence. “And if you don’t want to get fat, come for a walk with me. It’s a lovely day outside. I’ve never been here before, so you can show me around the village. Was this a church?” he asked with some surprise as he gazed up at the vaulted ceiling and stained-glass windows.

  “It was a private chapel a few centuries back. Now, it’s my home, and I love it,” Quinn said proudly. “There’s such . . .”

  “Peace,” Rhys finished for her. “It just envelops you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you show me the rest?” he asked.

  Quinn was glad she’d made the bed before getting into the shower. She led Rhys into the bedroom, watching his expression of delight.

  “It’s breathtaking,” he said as he took in the massive four-poster bed and the heavy carved armoire. “Simply stunning. It’s like walking into another century. No television?” he asked as he looked around.

  “No, I don’t actually own a television. I do have electric lights and running water, but those are my only concessions to modernity. I like the ancient feel of this place, and I don’t wish to spoil it. If I want to watch something, I watch it on my laptop.”

  “It really is beautiful. The candles are a nice touch,” he added, referring to two massive candles in tall, medieval stands on either side of the bed.

  The kettle began to whistle, and they returned to the main room, where Quinn poured them tea. She reached for a canelé and took an experimental bite. “Oh my God,” she murmured with her mouth still full. “This is delicious.”

  “I know,” Rhys replied with a satisfied grin. “My specialty. I make them only for the most deserving people.”

  “Flatterer.”

  “Guilty as charged. Now, pass me one of those.”

  Quinn laughed and passed him the container. She suddenly realized that she felt happy and light despite everything that happened the previous night. Gabe’s presence had been comforting and reassuring, but there’d been a spark of tension between them. Gabe had made it clear that he no longer wished to be just friends, and Quinn felt cornered by his sudden intensity. She was flattered by Rhys’s attention, but they didn’t know each other well enough to have any expectations of each other, and it felt good just to spend time with him without feeling as if an answer were expected.

  “Take a coat,” Rhys said as they got ready to leave. “It’s chilly outside.”

  “You sound like my mother,” Quinn protested but reached for her leather jacket and wound a colorful scarf around her neck.

  They walked at a leisurely pace down the lane and toward the village. The air was crisp and fresh. Leaves fluttered and twirled in the wind, slowly falling to the ground in front of their feet. A cool sun held court in the cloudless sky but didn’t provide much warmth, and Quinn was glad that she’d listened to Rhys and taken a jacket.

  “Did you grow up around here?” Rhys asked as he admired the pastoral views.

  “No, my family lived near Lincoln, but I no longer consider it my home. Not since my parents left. I have a cousin who lives in London. She recently opened a vintage clothing shop,” Quinn said. “She was in corporate accounting for years and then just up and left.”

  “There’s always a fork in the road,” Rhys replied. “You know when you reach it, but sometimes you’re just not ready to choose. I guess your cousin took the right path.”

  “Yes. She’s not turning much of a profit yet, but she is so happy. She even looks different.” Jill had gone from wearing suits and a neat bob to wearing colorful kaftans and letting her hair grow. When Quinn visited her, she had it up in two buns on top of her head with several long tendrils framing her face. She looked like a teenager, but the style suited her.

  “Have you reached a fork in the road?” Quinn asked.

  “Not yet, but it is coming,” he replied cryptically.

  “I can’t say that I know what you mean. I’ve always known what I wanted to do, and I’m doing it. I love it—every moment of it. I never want to do anything else.”

  “Then you are one of the luckiest people I know.”

  “I’ve never thought of myself as being particularly lucky, but I suppose you’re right,” Quinn replied.

  “Most people spend their lives working at jobs that bring them no satisfaction, but they have too many responsibilities and too much fear to chuck it all in and pursue something they love.”

  “Not everything you love can be turned into a career,” Quinn replied. “Don’t you love what you do?”

  Rhys shrugged. “I love stories and films, but once you see everything that goes on behind the camera, you can never recapture the romance of the dream of making movies. It’s all about budgets, backers, temperamental actors, unions, and fickle audiences. A truly beautiful, emotional story can never hope to have the commercial success of a film based on a Marvel comic, and that saddens me. That’s why I like working at BBC. We still produce quality television, or so I like to think.”

  “So, you are not courting any offers from Hollywood?” Quinn asked with a smile.

  “God, no. I’m here to stay—at least for now.”

  “Come, I’ll show you the St. Peter and Paul church,” she said as they entered the village. “It’s quite interesting. There’s been a church on this site as far back as Saxon times, even before the Norman conquest. Of course, there’s practically nothing left of the original church except for a few blocks of stone in the foundation. The current structure dates back to Tudor times.”

  Quinn took Rhys by the hand and pulled him along since he seemed to be hesitating. He’d been about to say something but changed his mind. They walked up the path toward the church, which sat squat and solid amid the ancient graves, its tower piercing the sky. Even on a sunny day like today, the church looked dour, its gray stone unchanged by sunshine nor enlivened by the foliage of the surrounding trees. There was something timeless and forbidding about the structure, almost as if it had made up its mind to withstand any turmoil or shifts in views and morality that had undermined the Church over the centuries.

  Quinn only attended church on Christmas these days, more interested in festive ritual and feeling of belonging to a community than any type of communion with God, but she felt a proprietary pride in the ancient structure and was eager to show Rhys the interior. As a lover of h
istory, there were a few points of interest he was sure to appreciate.

  As they approached the church porch, Quinn noticed a woman standing beneath a yew tree. She was gazing up at the church, her expression so wistful that it nearly broke Quinn’s heart. Maybe someone she loved was buried in the churchyard, or perhaps she was in sore need of divine intervention but didn’t feel up to actually going inside and asking for it. She’d never seen the woman in the village before, but that didn’t mean she didn’t live there. The woman seemed startled when she saw Quinn and Rhys approaching, her eyes boring into Quinn in a manner bordering on rudeness. Quinn felt the woman’s gaze follow her as she preceded Rhys into the church. She was grateful to step inside, hoping that the woman wouldn’t follow. Her intensity was unsettling.

  She was gone by the time Quinn and Rhys came back out a half hour later.

  Chapter 29

  Quinn was in much better spirits by the time Rhys left in the late afternoon. He’d walked her to the door but declined her invitation to stay for dinner, claiming that he already had plans in London, which was just as well. The time they spent together felt almost like a date, so Quinn was relieved when he said good-bye, kissed her on the cheek, and headed back to town. She liked him enormously and felt at ease in his company, but she had no wish to send any misleading signals.

  The few hours she spent with him distracted her from thoughts of Elise, and more importantly, Gabe. If she didn’t tread carefully, she’d lose Gabe for good, and her resolution not to get romantically involved with him in order not to risk their friendship now seemed pointless. She wasn’t ready to face her feelings for him just yet, but deep down she knew that Gabe was the person her soul instinctively reached out to. Whenever she was worried, elated, or simply in need of a chat, it was Gabe she longed to talk to, to share with. She’d realized over the past two weeks that she hardly thought of Luke. She missed him from time to time, simply because they’d spent eight years together and he’d been intricately woven into the fabric of her life, but it was Gabe she most often turned to when she needed a friend. Luke could be dismissive and aloof when preoccupied with his own thoughts, but Gabe always found the time to listen and to help Quinn work things out without actually telling her what to do, the way Luke frequently did when his patience ran out.

  Quinn shrugged off her coat, put the kettle on, and studied the contents of her fridge. She wasn’t hungry enough to make a large meal, but she was feeling peckish and a little light-headed. Perhaps an omelet with fontina cheese and mushrooms. It was quick and easy. She was suddenly tired. Perhaps she’d overdone it a bit so soon after her injury. Quinn whipped up her omelet, made a piece of toast, and retreated to the sofa to enjoy her meal. She’d make a fire later, but for the moment, she felt too worn out.

  As Quinn popped a forkful of fluffy egg into her mouth, she suddenly wondered about Rhys’s private life. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, and she was fairly certain that he wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean he was single. A man in Rhys’s line of work probably met many interesting women. She’d felt a frisson of attraction on his part, but perhaps he was naturally flirtatious and attentive to all women. It’d been a long time since she was single, and the rules of the game had certainly changed since she was twenty-two. She’d found other men attractive, of course, but had never allowed her thoughts to stray any further, her loyalty only to Luke. Now she was single for the first time in nearly a decade, and she was no longer the starry-eyed girl who’d been easily seduced by good looks and a veneer of charm. She’d have to get out there whether she liked it or not.

  Quinn was distracted from her thoughts by the ringing of the phone. She set aside her plate and went to retrieve her mobile. She’d left it on the nightstand and now noticed that she had seven missed calls.

  “Quinn. Where’ve you been? I was about to come down there to see if you’re all right,” Gabe chastised her. “You should be taking things easy.”

  “I walked to the village with Rhys. Sorry, I forgot my phone,” she replied in a conciliatory manner, but this was clearly the wrong thing to tell Gabe.

  “Rhys was there?” Gabe demanded, his tone suddenly cool.

  “Yes. He came by to see if I was all right and brought me canelés. He likes to bake,” Quinn added lamely.

  “Does he, now?”

  “Gabe, what exactly are you upset about?” Quinn demanded, going on the offensive. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and Gabe’s ill-disguised jealousy was unnerving.

  “Nothing. Never mind. Glad you’re OK. I’ll ring you tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m coming to London tomorrow. I plan to visit several churches in Mayfair. I’m going to look through their archives for any mention of Elise.”

  “Want some company? I have the morning off,” Gabe suggested eagerly, his earlier pique forgotten. Gabe liked nothing more than doing research, especially if it culminated in a nice pub lunch.

  Quinn actually cringed before answering. “Rhys is coming with me. He didn’t think I should be wandering about on my own after being hit on the head.”

  “Right.” Gabe growled. “I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” And with that, he hung up.

  Quinn replaced the phone on the bedside table and returned to the living room. Her earlier good mood had dissipated, leaving her tense and upset. A part of her wished that Gabe was coming with her tomorrow so that they could recapture their easy camaraderie and delve into this project together as they had so often done in the past, but a part of her was annoyed with his attitude. He had no right to be angry, nor did he have any cause to feel threatened by Rhys Morgan.

  Rhys’s canelés still sat on the table, their aroma enticing Quinn to eat one. She was normally very strict about what she ate, but she felt she deserved a treat to lift her spirits. She reached for a canelé and took a bite, savoring it. She couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Rhys baking these for her. He really was something of an enigma.

  Chapter 30

  May 1665

  London, England

  “Wakey, wakey,” Lucy sang as she drew apart the bed hangings and flooded the previously dark space with bright spring sunshine. Lucy looked annoyingly chipper, which made Elise want to bury her head beneath the blankets and stay that way until the girl went away.

  “I ain’t leaving till ye get out of bed, wash, dress, and come down to break yer fast,” Lucy said, her tone bossy.

  Elise didn’t bother to argue. It was pointless. Lucy wouldn’t go away. She would just stand there, talking to her, until Elise was unable to go back to sleep, as she longed to do. The past few months had seen a change in her. A deep melancholy had taken hold, shackling Elise to her disappointment and grief. Lucy thought it was the pregnancy that was making Elise so tired and listless, but Elise didn’t believe it was. What she felt was utter despair. She had no reason to get out of bed. What was the point of planning meals that no one would eat or dressing in gowns no one would see?

  Elise spent her days in near solitude, her only company being the servants and Barbara, who hardly spoke and gazed off into the distance with a half-smile on her face, as if there was something beautiful just beyond the window that no one but she could see. Elise had tried to engage Barbara in conversation and cajoled her to take walks in the garden from time to time, but Barbara, although compliant, never left the confines of her own world, leaving Elise as miserably alone in hers as ever. Elise hardly saw Edward these days, but it didn’t matter. They lived separate lives, and now that she was with child, he hardly noticed her, other than to ask after her health. She always told him that she was well, which effectively put an end to the conversation. And she was well, physically. It was her heart that needed healing.

  Gavin was gone. Her family was gone. And even James was gone. Elise discovered that she missed him. James hadn’t been much of a talker, but she missed his touch. He had been the only person to show her physical affection, but now even that was over. She supposed they’d developed a certain unspoken bond d
uring the months before she conceived. He never spoke to her of his feelings or thoughts, but their lovemaking had changed over time. It had become tender, and more pleasurable for them both, although neither of them would ever admit to it. Elise found that she missed the feel of him inside her and the weight of his body as he lay on top of her and gazed into her eyes. He never uttered any words of love, but she could see in the depth of those gray eyes that he wasn’t indifferent to her. They’d grown fond of each other without ever saying a word. And the secret of Harry’s final resting place was something that they now shared, something that bound them in a conspiracy of silence.

  Elise reluctantly sat at the dressing table and closed her eyes, refusing to meet her own scornful gaze in the mirror. She couldn’t bear to see her reflection; she didn’t recognize the person staring back. Her hair was tangled from tossing and turning during the night, but Lucy did her best not to hurt her as she pulled the brush through the thick mane and dressed it for the day, forgoing the elaborate hairstyles favored by the ladies of the court and just winding the hair into a bun at the back of Elise’s head with a few playful curls left to frame her face. The simple style made Elise look more mature, like a married lady soon to be a mother rather than the girl she’d been only a few months prior. It was fitting. That girl was gone.

  Elise placed her right palm against her belly, as she did every morning. She was hardly showing, but there was a tiny bump beneath her nightdress—just a slight swelling, almost as if she’d eaten too much. It was difficult to imagine that a human being was growing inside her. She didn’t feel anything, not even the sickness that other women complained of in the early stages of pregnancy. Her mother had been terribly unwell when pregnant with Anne, retching into a bucket every morning, and, at times, well into the afternoon. But Elise felt like her usual self. Her breasts were a bit tender, and she got terribly hungry between meals, but otherwise, she felt no change. What if it had all been a mistake, and I’m not pregnant after all? she wondered. But she hadn’t had her courses in three months now, so it had to be true.