We danced, drank, walked and talked. Then we visited the gardens and a bedroom. The servers brought us foods whose names I couldn’t pronounce. I was...Charles Brandon and Pamela, my Mary Tudor, standing on the castle’s ramparts after our wedding.“Tell me my dearest, who are you? When we toasted the king, you said ‘long may she reign,” Pamela said.“A slip of the tongue, brought on by excessive Champagne.”“Your tongue never slipped earlier, dearest.”“Nor yours or your attentions,” I hand her a. Just friends. Can you handle that?”I was angry and hurt at being rejected; but I knew she was right. The age gap was more than a number; she was at the end of her life, I was at the beginning of mine. I had to go to school, I couldn’t be there for her. Even when I got my degree, I’d have to find a job, and there were none out on the island. It was a beautiful place, but an economic wasteland.I was still in love with Ava; the emotional madness of our first couple of years had mellowed, but I. More

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