Page 95 of Twin Flames
She read the message:
‘Morning. I tried to catch you before your flight for a quick word. Sorry to have missed you. Have a safe journey home. Maybe we can have a drink when I’m next over.’
The pain clawed at her chest. She slumped into her seat, unable to contain her tangle of emotions. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep so she could turn off the incessant thoughts.
She must let him go. She must begin a new life without him and leave him to his life with Kate. They simply weren’t meant to be together in this timeline.
A thick black wave of depression engulfed her. Not that Tudorville was any better; it looked like she was about to lose him there too. If only she knew what to do for the best.
The cabin crew readied the plane for take-off. She clamped her eyes shut, fell into a troubled doze, and dreamed about a new scaffold on Tower Green.
Seville, 1840
George and Cara settled into the villa with remarkable speed.
‘I feel as though we’ve lived here for ages. There’s something about this place that feels like home,’ said Cara.
‘Yes, isn’t it beautiful? I could see us living here. Let’s hope the queen doesn’t summon us home any time soon, and we can find sufficient occupation to maintain a good cover.’
‘This villa is breathtaking. Carlos is a gem,’ said Cara.
‘Indeed. I forgot to mention I invited him and Edward over for a drink this evening. We’ll have a chance to discuss the manuscript and get a feel for what’s going on in Seville, so we have something to report.’
Later that evening George made arrangements with Edward to meet with his contact who had custody of theTudor Kings’ Manuscript. He would commence negotiations to reacquire the three-hundred-year-old document. He was warned it might take some time because Edward thought the collector was reluctant to sell.
Once they had completed their business, Edward said, ‘I was wondering—are you by any chance related to a Joanna Cavendish of York?’
George spluttered and almost choked on a mouthful of red wine. That was the last question he’d expected.
‘Joanna? That’s an unusual name. I can’t say I’ve heard it before. Is there someone, in particular, you’re looking for?’
‘Yes, she’s a friend of mine, and I’ve lost touch with her. It’s been difficult to get word to England with all of the unrest here. With your surname and links with York, I thought you may be related.’
‘I’m sorry, no. The name Joanna doesn’t ring any bells. Cavendish is a popular name in those parts.’
George excused himself. He was shaken. Why would Edward ask about Joanna who lived two centuries into the future? Itseemed too strange to be a coincidence, but what else could it be?
Recently he’d returned to present day and found himself living in this exact villa in Seville. There was no sign of Joanna and no Cara either. For the brief time that he was conscious of what was happening; he’d appeared to be single and living alone. He’d set out to discover what had happened to his life in York, but the vortex had swept him back to Victoriana without any answers. And now this mysterious Edward had arrived on the scene.
He made up his mind to talk to him alone and find out what he knew about Joanna.
Tower of London, 1536
Cara was relieved to be back. She wore a blue and white high-necked gown and a navy headdress trimmed with tiny jewels. The headdress cast a shadow over her pale face and served to obscure her features. She had used cosmetics to etch deep lines onto her face in an attempt to look older than her years. George’s mother dressed modestly but in a style which befitted her position.
She’d obtained permission to visit George, and she had to consciously slow her step to avoid attracting attention. She wanted to run to him, but that wouldn’t do. George’s mother was a sedate, mature woman, and everything depended on Cara being cautious. Her heart ticked at an alarming rate as she approached the entrance to Cradle Tower. If she was caught disregarding the king’s ruling, who knew what would happen?
The guard escorted her towards the heavy cell door and pushed it open to reveal George, pacing back and forth near the narrow window. He was expecting his mother. Cara hadn’tdared risk a message to say she would be coming. She wanted to brighten his morning, and this way her cover was in place should his mail be read.
His eyes widened as he scanned her face, and his chiselled lips broke into a joyous smile. His beard was long, and his once white shirt was now filthy and in tatters. No one would guess he had been one of the king’s inner circle.
‘My son,’ she said, moving towards George, her arms outstretched, smiling.
The guard coughed and stepped back abruptly. He was uncomfortable with emotional scenes.
‘Ten minutes. I’ll be outside if you need me.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cara.
