Tears dripped onto the grass at her feet. She wanted to stop them, but couldn't. She raised her hand, wiping them with the back, but the more she wiped, the more they fell.
He held her hand, not with force, simply holding it, as if grasping something he'd found again.
Flora's tears continued to flow, unstoppable.
She wanted to speak, but her throat felt blocked, able only to utter shattered, fragmented sounds.
"I..." She finally squeezed out a word, but then paused.
Arthur gazed at her, watched her tear-streaked face, her nose reddened from crying, her shoulders trembling slightly from sobs.
She didn't need to say anything because he understood.
She thought he wouldn't come.
She believed he would stay in London, in the world that belonged to him, continue his role as Deputy Secretary, continue wielding influence in White Hall.
She thought she was just a passerby in his long life, a fellow traveler by chance, someone who handed him a tea cup in Kensington Palace, dispensable.
