She scowls like a child who’s found broccoli hidden in their macaroni cheese.
We pass a sign that says cirencester 20 miles. It’s a pretty village in the Cotswolds and a good place to stop for coffee.
“You didn’t believe me when I said I was a people person. I am, you know. I like being around people, finding what makes them tick.”
Glancing out the window, she says, “You didn’t seem like a people person because you don’t t
alk that much. Usually.”
“I listen. I watch.”
“Good qualities in a bodyguard.”
“I like to think so.”
“You know what else is a good quality in a bodyguard?”
“What’s that?”
She burrows down deeper beneath the wool and cashmere. “Having a warm coat.”
I smile at her. “It’s the most important consideration, especially when looking after young ladies who don’t dress for the weather.”
The fact that she hasn’t lost her sense of humor gives me hope that today will go well, but I can still sense so much anger simmering just beneath the surface.
A few minutes later we get off the A-road and head into Cirencester. It’s a bustling market town, the winding streets lined with eighteenth-century dwellings and shops built from warm yellow Cotswold stone. I find a parking spot near the church and we walk along the main street.
Adrienne stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets and looks around at the village, taking in the storefronts and the shoppers.
“Do you want to tell me about your mother?” I ask, casually as I can manage.
“No.” She starts walking quickly along the street, her eyes fixed on the shop windows.
I catch up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Don’t walk ahead like that, okay?”
She shrugs me off without a word but slows her pace. I glance around for a coffee shop that we can get a seat in and when I look back she’s twelve feet ahead of me again. There’s an archway leading through to a courtyard filled with antiques and she turns into it and disappears.
I feel my jaw bunch. It’s going to be one of those goddamn days.
When I catch up with Adrienne I grab her by the wrist and pull her round to face me. “I said stay close. What about that do you not understand?”
She glares up at me. “I’m in your sight. Why isn’t that good enough?”
“You weren’t in my sight. You walked very much out of my sight.” All the hatred and sadistic violence in the hate mail she hasn’t seen swims in my vision. I want to protect her from that but it means she has a very poor appreciation for the danger that she’s in.
“Just because we’re not in London doesn’t mean that nothing bad can happen,” I say. “People have guns. And knives. And acid. I will get shot, and stabbed, and burned for you, if it comes to that, but I can’t do any of those things if you’re not by my side. I’m not allowed to carry a weapon in this country. I’m not allowed a gun or a knife or a Taser or even a can of fucking pepper spray, which means that anyone who wants to hurt you has the advantage already. That’s why,” I say, shaking her wrist for emphasis, “you have to stay close.”
I’ve kept my voice pitched low and my face close to hers throughout this little speech. Anyone looking on will see two people having a confidential conversation. It’s up to her if she wants to turn this into a scene.
But my words must have scared her because she doesn’t act up. Her face pales at the mention of acid and knives, and she nods a little, and I let go of her wrist. I don’t want to frighten her but it seems like the only way that I can make her listen. In those few seconds she was out of my sight I saw her bleeding and hurt and dead in a myriad of ways. I breathe hard, trying to rein in my emotions. “All right. Good. Let’s find a café, shall we?”
Adrienne doesn’t speak while we drink our coffee, but on the way back to the car she asks in a small voice, “You would do that for me? Get hurt, I mean?”
“Of course.” Being ready to act without hesitation and putting yourself in danger for a principal is part of the job. I’m constantly anticipating the danger of a given situation. It comes naturally to me, like breathing, and normally I find it about as taxing as breathing. With Adrienne it’s different. When I imagine her threatened or someone hurting her my chest feels like it’s in a vise.
She’s not just another principal to me. She’s got under my skin like no one else has, like my sub would, and it’s not just a job to me, protecting her. It’s become something much more. And I start to consider how much more we could have.
Chapter Seven