Whatever possessed me to think that Marguerite would be a perfect travel companion?
Although we’d known each other for years, we’d never travelled together, save for a few local car trips. She’d been perfectly fine then. Oh, there had been a bit of griping and moaning, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I would simply smile and try to change the subject.
If the car was too hot, I’d roll down the window.
When it became too windy, I suggested she pull on her scarf. (Although I do admit I rather enjoyed seeing her hair whip about like Medusa’s mane, giving her all kind of nuisance and annoyance.)
When she told me to speed up, I simply said “enjoy the ride. Life’s too short to be speeding through it.”
But this?
This trip was to be a beautiful break from a long and wearying court battle that had worn us both out. I thought I could handle it because I sorely wanted company. I did not want to be alone.
But now…now my patience had been tested six ways to Sunday and beyond. No amount of cajoling or humour could reach beyond Marguerite’s icy exterior as she found everything “not to my liking”.
I wanted to package her up and send her back to her sister. But then again, part of my reason for bringing Marguerite along was as a favour to her sister Mary.
I’d been a fool to think that the end of the court battle would be the beginning of another. I needed to send a clear message, and it started: “Dear Mary”
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