“Why,”
Tom asks, as he sparkles through shades of orange and yellow, “Is
there a billboard sized portrait of your wife hanging over this
ballroom?”
“I don't
know,” Robert replies absently, “But I've a mind to find out.”
He sidles
over to the edge of the cheering crowd, gently tapping a middle aged
woman on her arm.
“Excuse
me,” he says, “Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me who she
is?”
“You
don't know?” the woman replies in astonishment.
“No,
sorry,” Robert apologises, shaking his head slightly.
“You
really don't know,” the woman presses him, seemingly unconvinced by
his response. “Where have you been living for the past six months,
in a cave?”
“No,”
Robert shakes his head, “But I am kind of new to this...realm.”
“Well
then, that explains that,” she says, folding her arms and nodding
at the picture, “That, my dear, is the Intended, if the Prince can
ever ruddy well find her.”
