Page 43 of Twin Flames
Cara smiled. ‘One always benefits from a touch of highlighter on the cheekbones. Wow, you’re actually going to be a T.V star.’
He grimaced, shook his head and swore under his breath.
‘Come on. I’m here for moral support,’ she said.
George offered her his arm, and the intimate gesture made her heart swell. She was overcome with love for him and had to work hard to contain her emotion.
‘It’s not that bad. Let’s start in Henry VIII’s apartments; that will set the scene nicely for the interview.’
‘Thank you, good idea, perhaps the Tudor ambience will work its magic,’ he said, grateful that he wouldn’t need to face the interview alone.
They walked through the ancient Base Court, up the stairs, and entered the apartments via the Great Hall, eerily familiarto Cara from her recent visits to the past. She weaved slowly between the long wooden tables and glanced at the tablecloths imprinted with facts about Tudor life. She remembered the lavish banquets with hundreds of courtiers in attendance, where she occasionally sat next to George but more frequently her presence was required at the queen’s table. It seemed so real as if Queen Anne would appear at any moment. Looking up at the intricately carved ceiling, she spotted the eavesdropper statue; the constant reminder that walls have ears. She wandered back towards the entrance, in search of the initials which were carved into the wall, by order of Henry VIII. The Great Hall was built and decorated in honour of Queen Anne Boleyn who the king, at that time, had called his one true love. Cara saw the initials on previous visits, but after her time in Tudorville, she had a burning thirst to re-examine the details. Her long-standing fascination with the period made perfect sense. She stared at the last remaining set of entwined Henry and Anne initials which the king’s craftsmen infamously missed as they scoured the palace clean of any trace of poor Anne, following her execution.
‘Shall we visit Clock Court where the most trusted courtiers had their accommodation? I love those apartments,’Cara said.
They meandered through the network of long corridors and into the apartment which Cara guessed had been theirs between 1535 and 1536.
‘It looks so different,’ she blurted out.
‘Different?’
‘Oh, you know, I’d forgotten what it’s like, it’s been years since I came into this part of the palace,’ her words trailed off.
The energy shifted in the room, and she glanced at George to see if he’d noticed. She could see he was absorbed in reading the placards with historical references about the rooms.
He doesn’t know anything weird is going on.
She let out a ragged sigh of relief. She didn’t want to try and make sense of any of this now. It was too much for her to get her head around, never mind explain to him.
‘It’s lovely in here.’ He turned, a warm smile crossed his features, and his dark eyes shone. ‘You’re right; these rooms have such a wonderful atmosphere; I feel at home. Hard to explain. Do you know what I mean?’
Cara nodded, touched almost to tears.
He leaned over to kiss her; a thoughtful, tender brush of his lips on hers.
So, he does feel it.
They were both conscious of their ever-deepening connection, but neither understood fully how it had occurred.
She tried to look casual, but her heart pounded. She was torn. She felt duplicitous in not telling him what was going on, but where would she even begin?
We’ve got enough to deal with right now without me laying another complicated life on top of the complexity of this one.
She took in the sumptuous decor of the rooms, but in her mind, the apartment looked as it was when it was theirs; the room where she’d been arrested on one of her recent trips to Tudorville, the bedroom where they’d shared some of their most intimate moments. Her heart raced at such a pace; she struggled to say his name.
‘George,’ she called out. ‘George. . .’ He turned and sauntered towards her, palace map in hand.
Cara saw his lips moving but couldn’t hear his words. In that instant, she was pushed back into the time traveller’s vortex. She was going, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She yearned to stay with him and experienced a flash of anguish as the cold air rushed into her lungs and caused her to gasp. She gulped as she tried to catch her breath and clutched the corner of one of the tables to steady herself.
But it was too late. She was on her way. George had no idea what was happening as he enthusiastically regaled her with the story of his legendary ancestor, George Oliver Cavendish.
‘He was an interesting fellow; very close to the king by all accounts, until he was accused of treason and fell abruptly from favour. Being a member of the king’s inner circle was a dangerous business. He’s the one who was married to Cara. Remember I told you about them?’
‘Yes,’ Cara nodded. She observed her other self, engaged in conversation with George before she silently slipped away to Tudorville.
Two timelines; two of me living simultaneously but only occasionally conscious of the other.
Who would believe this?
