Affairs of State(16)

In the first store they looked through some old paintings and drawings, all rather in need of restoration, and admired a painted cupboard. In the second, Ariella became entranced by a group of tiny snuff boxes. She loved to open them and find the tobacco smell still there, as if the owner had just finished the last pinch.

“Which is your favorite?”

“I’m not sure.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “The silver one has such delicate engraving, and I love the colors on this enameled one. But I think I like this black one best.” She picked up a shiny black box. She wasn’t even sure what it was made from. Possibly something insubstantial like papier-mâché. It had a delicate painting of a girl standing under a tree that must have been painted with the world’s tiniest brush.

He took it from her, which surprised her. She grew even more surprised when he handed it to the shop owner—who had to be roused from some old books he was sorting through—and paid for it. After the shopkeeper had wrapped it in tissue and deposited it in a tiny brown paper shopping bag, Simon handed it back to her. “For you.”

She blinked. “I didn’t mean for you to buy it.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

“I don’t think a man has ever given me a snuff box before.” She kept her voice hushed, not wanting to convey any impression of romance to the store owner.

“You can’t accuse me of being clichéd, at least.” That infectious smile again. She found her own mouth curving up. Surely there was no harm in the gift. It wasn’t terribly expensive, just a sweet gesture. “I notice you like miniature paintings. I saw several at your flat.” He opened the shop door and they stepped out into the sunlight.

“I do. A perfect world in microcosm. And just for one person at a time to look at and enjoy. Maybe it’s the opposite of my parties where everyone must have a good time all at once.”

“You keep giving me a new perspective on things I take for granted.” He smiled. “Our driver, David, tells me there’s a state park near here. What do you say we take a picnic lunch there?”

“That sounds great.”

It was lucky she agreed because David had already been given orders somehow. The car was piled high with white deli bags and a newly bought cooler containing chilled drinks. She was so used to creating fairy-tale meals for other people that it was rather bizarre to have someone else pulling all the strings. All she had to do was enjoy.

David drove them into the park, past several battlefield sites, to the bank of a winding river. He spread a pretty French provincial patterned cloth—which must have been a rather expensive purchase back in Danes Mill—and unpacked the deli bags filled with gourmet salads.

Ariella settled onto the cloth and Simon poured her a sparkling glass of champagne. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this pampered.” They helped themselves to a warm tortellini salad and a crisp slaw of carrot and beetroot with a sesame seed dressing.

“You deserve it. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately and it’s time for you to let off some steam.”

She sighed, and they sipped their champagne. Not surprisingly, it was very good. “Is your life like this every day?”

“If only.” That intoxicating smile again. “My life is usually far more prosaic.”

The driver had tactfully vanished, and they were all alone beside the rushing stream. Tiny yellow flowers bloomed along the banks, and the rich mossy smell of the trees and the soil soothed her frazzled nerves. “I used to wish my life would go back to normal, but if this is the new normal, I’m not complaining.” She looked up at him and spoke with sudden conviction. “And I intend to meet both my birth parents.” Her confidence had grown since she met Simon. “It’s too big an opportunity to waste. Sure, I’m scared, but the potential reward is worth the risk.”

“Fantastic. I’m glad you’ve come to that conclusion. I thought you would. Have you managed to make contact with your mother?”

“I wrote to her but I haven’t heard back yet. It’s so odd that I don’t even know what she looks like. All I’ve seen is her high school yearbook photo from the year she got pregnant with me.”

“What did she look like then?”

“Young, sweet, sort of shy. She had a terrible hairstyle. It was the 1980s after all.”

He laughed. “I bet she’s a lot more nervous than you are.”