Her head spun as the enormity of Pepita’s words sank in. She was planning to spend her life with Frederick—her life. She wouldn’t have another one; this was it.
Closing her eyes, she forced her thoughts to centre, to concentrate on the here and now. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ she heard herself say, wanting to soothe the other woman’s worry.
* * *
Frederick looked up as Sunita emerged from the house. Her face was slightly flushed from the sun, her striped dress the perfect outfit for a sunny day. Her expression looked thoughtful, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Pepita had said—though he was wise enough to have no intention of asking. He suspected he might not like the answer.
Guilt twanged at the paucity of time he had given to this family—people he felt closer to than his ‘real’ family.
He turned to Juan. ‘Is it all right if I take Sunita on a tour?’
‘Why are you asking me? It is your grove, Frederick—I just tend it for you. Go—show your beautiful lady the most beautiful place in the world.’
Sunita grinned up at him as they made their way towards the fields. ‘They are a lovely family.’
‘That they are.’
‘And it’s good to see your royal authority in action.’
‘Sarcasm will get you nowhere—but you’re right. Pepita wouldn’t recognise royal authority if it rose up and bit her. To her I am still the twenty-one-year-old they taught the olive oil business. Right here.’
Sunita gave a small gasp, her face animated as she gazed ahead to where majestic lines of evergreen trees abounded. Olives clustered at the ends of branches clad with silver leaves that gleamed in the sunlight.
‘The colour of those leaves—it’s like they’re threaded with real silver.’
‘That’s actually the colour of the underside of the leaf. When it’s hot the leaves turn light-side up to reflect the sun. When it’s cold they turn grey-green side up to absorb the sun.’
‘That’s pretty incredible when you think about it.’
‘The whole process is incredible. The olives are growing at the moment. They won’t be ready to harvest for another few months. You should be here for the harvest. It’s incredible. The green table olives get picked in September, October, then the ones we use for oil from mid-November, when they are bursting with oil. It is exhausting work. You basically spread a cloth under the trees to catch the olives and then you hit the trees with sticks. The harvest then gets carted off to the mills—which is equally fascinating. But I won’t bore you with it now.’
‘You aren’t boring me. Keep going. Truly.’
Her face registered genuine interest, and so as they walked he talked and she listened. They inhaled the tang of the olives mingled with the scent of honeysuckle carried on the gentle breeze, revelled in the warmth of the sun and the lazy drone of bees in the distance.
It was impossible not to feel at peace here. Impossible not to note Sunita’s beauty—her dark hair shining with a raven sheen in the sunlight, the classic beauty of her face enhanced by the surroundings—and it took all his willpower not to kiss her. That would be a bad move.
She looked up at him. ‘I can see why you fell in love with this place—it has a timeless quality.’
‘A few of these trees have been here for centuries.’
‘And in that time history has played out...generations of people have walked these fields, beaten the trees with sticks, experienced joy and sadness and the full gamut of emotion in between. It gives you perspective.’ She gave him a sideways glance and took a quick inhalation of breath. ‘Maybe you should come here more often.’
‘Because you think I need perspective?’
‘Because Pepita misses you.’
‘Did she say that?’
‘No, but it’s pretty obvious. I’d guess that you miss them too.’
‘I don’t have time to miss them. In the same way I don’t have time to come down here—my days in the olive oil industry are over, and I’ve accepted that.’
‘That doesn’t mean you can’t visit more often.’ She stopped now and turned to face him, forced him to halt as well. ‘No one would grudge you some down-time. And this place means something to you.’
That was the trouble—this place took him off his game, distracted him from his mission, reminded him of a time untainted by guilt, of the man he had once been and could never be again. When Axel had been alive.
Yet he had brought Sunita here today—why? The reason smacked into him. He’d succumbed to temptation—one more day of ‘just Frederick and Sunita’. Foolish. ‘Just Frederick and Sunita’ didn’t exist.