Chapter Six

The weekend seemed interminable. I longed to see Lena again, to know how she was doing. I pored over my background materials, trying to come up with some deep, interesting questions. All I really wanted to ask was how she was. Would she get worse? Was she going to die? The more I tried not to think about it, the more morbid my thoughts became.

On Monday, I found myself again at the entrance to the palace, being escorted through the gates by the guards. And once again, the Information Minister was waiting for me.

“I trust your weekend was pleasant?” he greeted me.

I began to answer but quickly realized that it was a rhetorical question and he didn’t really wish to know how my weekend was. We walked through the arbours into the antechamber and followed the familiar hallway to the back of the palace.

Lena was already seated this time, and the tea service was on the table. She invited me to sit and shooed the minister away with a nonchalant wave. He grimaced and retreated. Now, alone with Lena, I suddenly felt very nervous about the interview. How could I chat with her about mundane things when she was facing such a terrible illness?

My anxious demeanour did not escape her notice. She frowned and set down her teacup.

“Bianca, what’s the matter?” she asked with genuine concern.

I froze, unable to answer. There was no way I could let on that I knew.

“Is something wrong?” she asked again, moving closer to me on the couch. “Tell me.”

I looked up at once, aroused as much by the sweet scent of her nearness as her gently probing voice. Her eyes were focused on me now, soft as velvet and filled with kindness. Her hand was on my arm, her long delicate fingers touching my skin, oh, so gently. My breath caught in my throat. She was saying my name again and I had to remind myself to breathe so I could answer her.

“I’m fine,” I managed to reply. “It’s nothing. Really.”

She smiled, and much to my delight, revealed the most irresistible dimples. I couldn’t help smiling back. What on earth was happening to me? I felt as though I’d been swept up by some inescapable, benevolent force and deposited into the middle of a fairy tale. This couldn’t be happening. I was completely infatuated with her and had yet to manage a single question or even get the interview going. It was all too hopeless and damn it, she was sitting so close to me.

“Come with me,” she said suddenly, standing up.

“Where?” I asked.

She was already holding out her hands invitingly, reaching for mine as I looked at her, stunned. I felt my fingers slip into hers as she began leading me out of the room. It seemed royal protocol was out the window.

She led me down a hallway to a door, then opened it and pulled me inside. I was flabbergasted. Where on earth was she taking me? There were a few steps down and soon we were in a narrow room. It was dark and cool inside, with a stone floor beneath my feet. I heard Lena switch on a light and gradually the room took shape before my eyes.

It was a wine cellar, and an impressive one at that. But of course, what else would one expect? Lena led me through the racks, explaining the vintages as we strolled along. It was so cool and quiet, and so … private. I began to feel an intense, not unpleasant sensation in the pit of my stomach.

We came to the final row near the back of the cellar, and Lena retrieved a bottle from the rack.

“This is my favourite vintage,” she said, admiring the dusty label. “Sixty-one Bordeaux.”

“Was that a good year?” I asked. Stupid question. Why else would it be in the Sultan’s cellar.

“Classic.”

“I had no idea the Sultan was such a connoisseur,” I marvelled as she wiped the bottle with a cloth and inspected it.

“He’s not,” she replied dryly. “I am. We have a lot of international guests here and part of my role is to entertain them. That means I have to know my wine, among other things.”

I followed her over to a small table where she picked up a corkscrew and made quick work of the bottle. Soon, she was offering me a small glass of the delicious nectar, watching intently as I sipped, smiling as I let the taste of it wash over my tongue and slip down my throat. It was warm, pleasant. My eyes closed briefly as I savoured the finish.

“Exquisite isn’t it?” she asked. I lowered the glass from my lips and my eyes met hers.

“Yes.”

For a moment, I felt something like a current course through me. She was closer now, it seemed. Or was it just my imagination? No, her forehead was almost touching mine and she seemed to be leaning in, her lips slightly parted ...

“Oh damn!”

The sound of the glass hitting the stone floor shattered the moment. Immediately, I bent down to gather the shards.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasped. “I don’t know how I did that.”

“No, no. Just leave it,” she replied, walking briskly back to the stairs. “I’ll get one of the servants to clean it up.”

I hurried to the steps, following her up and through the door. My heart was pounding and adrenaline rushing through me. What the hell just happened? Back in the sitting room, Lena returned to the sofa and sat down, looking relaxed. She smiled at me calmly, as though nothing were amiss.

“So where were we?” she asked politely.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The interview. Where were we?”

For a second or two, the thought crossed my mind that I had imagined the whole scene in the cellar. But as I sat down across from her, speechless, she gave me a conspiratorial smile.

“Next time I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said. Again I had to wonder if my imagination was playing tricks on me. Indeed, I could have sworn she winked at me.

“I don’t understand …” I began, but my sentence was cut short by the entrance of the information minister, who had of course returned to collect me.

In the limo on the way back to the office, we sat in silence. I was confused, embarrassed and yes, even a little scared. The minister, for his part, seemed deep in thought. Then suddenly, he spoke.

“I do hope you are being discreet.”

I was mortified. Discreet? What did he know? And how? Did he catch me blushing in front of Lena? Surely I couldn’t be that easy to read. Maybe he saw us coming out of the cellar.

“Pardon me?” I replied.

He looked at me and frowned slightly, a smile emerging on his lips. I realized that he was referring to my knowledge of Lena’s illness.

“Oh … yes, of course,” I answered, recovering quickly. “Absolutely.”

He smiled and nodded. But then he gave me a look that could only be described as appraising. His gaze swept over me, taking me in, measuring me in the most impertinent manner. It was as though he were seeing me for the very first time.

Unnerved, I almost shuddered in response, my eyes dropping to the floor of the limo. Submissive. Deferential. I hated him for making me feel that way. I turned my head away from him and stared out the window. Minutes later, we arrived outside my office and I was relieved to make my exit from the limo.

“Goodbye,” I said, closing the car door.

For a brief moment he was still visible in the narrow crevice above the door. He nodded, slipping on his dark glasses. Then he disappeared from view, leaving only the tinted, impenetrable windows reflecting my image as the limo drove away.