A Closed Heart by Oster, Camille (guided reading books TXT) 📗

he’d come to see what they were doing. It had comforted him seeing them doing the most mundane things.

“There you are,” Octavia said.

“You cannot simply barge into my bedroom,” Julius said. “What if I had been in a compromising position?”

“It’s noon. It was hardly likely, was it?” she said and sat down on his bed, looking around, then returning her appraising look on him. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I didn’t feel like going out.”

“Or going downstairs, by the look of it. I brought Atticus, because you seem to have overlooked collecting him.”

It had simply seemed too much of an undertaking, and he’d been perfectly fine at her house. Probably even preferred it there, playing with his cousins. “He can use time to play with his cousins.”

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked accusingly.

“Nothing.”

“Have you become senile already?”

It was too stupid a question to bother answering, so he simply glowered at her. “I’m just tired. Maybe I’ve come down with something.”

Octavia rose to come put her hand on his forehead, but he growled and tried to swat her away, even as he knew it was pointless, because when Octavia was intent on something, it happened. “You haven’t got a fever. This is about her, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said blatantly.

“You know, with the train, you could be there in three hours.”

“She doesn’t want to see me.”

“Really? Did you ask?”

Why would he need to ask when she’d been so direct in rejecting him?

“She might enjoy seeing you. You could see how her work is going. Maybe even buy one off her. She wouldn’t scoff at a purchase.”

Julius snorted. That was a lame excuse if he’d ever heard one.

“Or you can sit here and molder in your bedroom.”

As much as it hurt him to admit it, she had a point. If something needed to change, then change needed to be brought around. This malaise wasn’t going to resolve itself by lying in his bed.

“Atticus can come stay with us a bit longer. He likes it perfectly well with us.”

Probably preferred it, Julius thought, but knew it was the malaise speaking.

“Well,” Octavia said. “I’ll leave you to sort yourself out.” As she approached the door, she stopped and turned. For a moment, it seemed as if she wished to say something else, but couldn’t find the words. It dragged on for a moment, until she finally nodded and disappeared.

As he sat there, he heard her taking Atticus with her as she left the house.

Should he go to Brighton as Octavia suggested? An irrational hope in his chest jumped on the idea, because he would see her. What good would it do? But he would see her—breathe her scent, take in her lovely face—speak to her. He enjoyed speaking to her—among other things. Then there was the hope to be with her again, to feel the intimacy they’d had—to be the lovers again.  But what good would it do?

The truth was that now that his heart realized it was an option, he simply couldn’t not go. She was mere hours away. Saying that, it was a poor time to go. It would be night when he’d arrive, and he didn’t know where to find her. The logical thing to do would be to wait until the morning, and he hadn’t quite lost his head enough to go running off half-cocked into the night. Going first thing in the morning was the reasonable course of action, but he still wanted to just run out of the house—maybe run all the way there. Idiotic.

So he sat and he ate his supper when it was brought to him, then lay awake most of the night with sleep eluding him. In the morning, he was both tired and elated. The carriage took him to Victoria Station at an obscenely early hour. Even so, quite a few passengers were waiting for the train, set to make the most of their day trip to the seaside. Children were too tired to fuss, so it was largely quiet as they made their way onto the train and took their seats. Julius had purchased a compartment to himself, as the last thing he wanted was someone bending his ear for the next three hours.

The Brighton train station was a fairly modern building, and the town itself was much more sedate than London. The frantic pace of London simply wasn’t there. Each moment, he tried to see it through her eyes, to understand what she loved about this place. Other than her stint in London, it was the only place she’d ever lived—besides various commissions here and there. This was her home. People seemed both brighter and cleaner. There also lacked the stark poverty that existed in London.

Ladies walked leisurely along the streets. Holiday makers were heading to the seafront. There were a few Italian ice cream parlors setting up for the day. Julius stopped at one of them and asked if they knew of a café run by an Italian that imported wines from Italy. These were the things he knew about this place she visited most days. After a moment’s consideration and deliberation with a family member, he was given a name and direction to the business they thought he referred to.

As it turned out, it was on the other side of town, away from the main mercantile district. As he walked, he saw less holiday seekers and more leisurely strolling ladies who seemed to live here.

The café was small with large glass windows, and Jane wasn’t inside. A spear of disappointment shot through him. The wooden tables and chairs inside were worn, but it had a very cozy feeling. Italian landscapes lined the walls. She must have studied these paintings, he thought as he entered, the bell pinging above him. The man behind the bar smiled at him. Clearly an Italian.

“Please,