wife; Joachim held out his hand to Lori, asking her to step out onto the terrace and admire the night stars, timing it as the quartet reached the famously dreamy Nocturne.
The strains of the Borodin, the first violin and cello soaring together in an intense, silvery thread of melody, was the final touch. It had all been planned to perfection. Joachim took Lori in his arms and kissed her with the gentle, sweet, chivalrous kisses which had ended every evening of her stay in his country; the embraces had lasted longer every night, but had been confined to kisses on her lips and her hands, caresses of her hair and shoulders, and soft compliments to her beauty, charm and grace. Lori had fallen asleep enveloped in twin clouds of starched linen sheets, fresh each day, and the praise which Joachim had rained down on her, feeling already as beautiful as a queen.
When Joachim pulled back from the kiss, looking fractionally up at her – Lori was a little taller than him in heels, but he had assured her that he preferred tall women, and Lori had always liked short men – his round blue eyes were wide and sincere as he told her that she had swept him away as no woman ever had before, that her beauty, her bearing, her natural modesty, her manners, her fresh, unjaded American charm, had carried him away until he could think of nothing but her. That showing her his country over the last ten days had been the greatest pleasure of his life. That the time was drawing close for her to go home, and he couldn’t bear to let her go. That he wanted her to stay for ever with him, by his side, learning about his country, becoming its Queen. Would she? Would she stay with him, here in Herzoslovakia, agree to make it her new home? She would make him the happiest man in the world if she would say yes. At this moment he was not a king, but a man, a man asking the woman upon whom he had set his heart to marry him.
From the pocket of his dinner jacket, he had produced a velvet box, easing it open with a flip of his thumb. Lori couldn’t help gasping, even though she was worried about seeming vulgar. Inside was a ring with the biggest diamond she had ever seen in her life, set inside an oval of other, perfectly matched diamonds, each of which would have been quite satisfactory on its own. The entire effect, even in the velvet-dark night by the flames of the gas torches, was breathtaking; by daylight, the clarity and colour of the jewels would, literally, be dazzling.
Lori’s mouth dropped open. Joachim, taking silence for consent, reclaimed her left hand and slid the enormous door knocker of a ring onto her third finger. It fitted as if it had been made for her.
‘I took the liberty of having it sized to fit you,’ he said, smiling at her reaction. ‘A maid measured your rings for me and the jeweller estimated the correct size for this finger. It is exact? Good!’ He kept hold of her hand, looking at it with great approval. ‘A family heirloom. Only a woman like you, Lori, could carry off such a magnificent piece. As I looked through the family jewels, I knew that this was meant for you. It once belonged to Queen Elizabetta of Herzoslovakia, who was called the most beautiful woman in Europe. There is a portrait of her I will show you tomorrow – like you, she was tall, statuesque, beautiful. Regal. You will look superb in the crown jewels of Herzoslovakia. You will be the most beautiful queen in the whole of Europe – the whole of the world.’
Joachim enfolded her in another embrace, his kisses becoming more passionate. Lori, her head spinning from his proposal, the romance of the setting, the confidence with which Joachim was kissing her, the music in the background (the quartet were playing the Nocturne on repeat, as per instructions) and the unusual quantity of wine she had drunk, kissed him back with a passion that easily matched his. Joachim allowed his hands to slide down to her waist, pulling her even closer. She felt the warmth of
The strains of the Borodin, the first violin and cello soaring together in an intense, silvery thread of melody, was the final touch. It had all been planned to perfection. Joachim took Lori in his arms and kissed her with the gentle, sweet, chivalrous kisses which had ended every evening of her stay in his country; the embraces had lasted longer every night, but had been confined to kisses on her lips and her hands, caresses of her hair and shoulders, and soft compliments to her beauty, charm and grace. Lori had fallen asleep enveloped in twin clouds of starched linen sheets, fresh each day, and the praise which Joachim had rained down on her, feeling already as beautiful as a queen.
When Joachim pulled back from the kiss, looking fractionally up at her – Lori was a little taller than him in heels, but he had assured her that he preferred tall women, and Lori had always liked short men – his round blue eyes were wide and sincere as he told her that she had swept him away as no woman ever had before, that her beauty, her bearing, her natural modesty, her manners, her fresh, unjaded American charm, had carried him away until he could think of nothing but her. That showing her his country over the last ten days had been the greatest pleasure of his life. That the time was drawing close for her to go home, and he couldn’t bear to let her go. That he wanted her to stay for ever with him, by his side, learning about his country, becoming its Queen. Would she? Would she stay with him, here in Herzoslovakia, agree to make it her new home? She would make him the happiest man in the world if she would say yes. At this moment he was not a king, but a man, a man asking the woman upon whom he had set his heart to marry him.
From the pocket of his dinner jacket, he had produced a velvet box, easing it open with a flip of his thumb. Lori couldn’t help gasping, even though she was worried about seeming vulgar. Inside was a ring with the biggest diamond she had ever seen in her life, set inside an oval of other, perfectly matched diamonds, each of which would have been quite satisfactory on its own. The entire effect, even in the velvet-dark night by the flames of the gas torches, was breathtaking; by daylight, the clarity and colour of the jewels would, literally, be dazzling.
Lori’s mouth dropped open. Joachim, taking silence for consent, reclaimed her left hand and slid the enormous door knocker of a ring onto her third finger. It fitted as if it had been made for her.
‘I took the liberty of having it sized to fit you,’ he said, smiling at her reaction. ‘A maid measured your rings for me and the jeweller estimated the correct size for this finger. It is exact? Good!’ He kept hold of her hand, looking at it with great approval. ‘A family heirloom. Only a woman like you, Lori, could carry off such a magnificent piece. As I looked through the family jewels, I knew that this was meant for you. It once belonged to Queen Elizabetta of Herzoslovakia, who was called the most beautiful woman in Europe. There is a portrait of her I will show you tomorrow – like you, she was tall, statuesque, beautiful. Regal. You will look superb in the crown jewels of Herzoslovakia. You will be the most beautiful queen in the whole of Europe – the whole of the world.’
Joachim enfolded her in another embrace, his kisses becoming more passionate. Lori, her head spinning from his proposal, the romance of the setting, the confidence with which Joachim was kissing her, the music in the background (the quartet were playing the Nocturne on repeat, as per instructions) and the unusual quantity of wine she had drunk, kissed him back with a passion that easily matched his. Joachim allowed his hands to slide down to her waist, pulling her even closer. She felt the warmth of
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