It was not until she observed the hour upon her Ballon Bleu de Cartier, that she fully realised the newness of the day. It was 7:07 a.m. to be certain and the sky was obscured by a grey veil of fog. Even so, she was not disenchanted, as there was a subtlety to the calamity between Apollo and the shade. From the helipad, it appeared as though the sky might clear, giving way to a crystal morning on the Côte d’Azur. And yet, despite his renown, the overwhelm of moisture laden clouds was not to be outdone by the god’s incandescent brilliance. Claire Mulberry continued to stare out onto the horizon. She was entranced by the particular quality of the tide and the manner in which the sea foam found its way ashore. She observed, intoxicated by the spirited waves, accompanied by the wind, as they swept the mist against the coastline. The spectacle was continuous, the vapor becoming synonymous with the air, as though a whisper of the Nereids were lost upon the plume.
And as she sat within the leather comfort of the EC 135, the Hermès interior an aromatic reminder of their current locale, she continued to contemplate an eternity within her husband’s embrace, the genius of his hands, and the profoundness of her love, which was far deeper than the Mediterranean beyond the aircraft windows. As the helicopter prepared its ascent, she gave her thoughts even more leisure to roam. In fact, she thought of Rome, the simplicity of Florentine cuisine, and their suite at the Plaza Athènèe in Paris, where the duplex accommodations with sweeping views of the city, provided inexplicable comfort on 31 December, as they celebrated the dawn of a new year.
She loved New Year’s Eve in Paris. They both did. It had become tradition.
So had the Hotel Du Cap. However, an appearance upon its secluded beaches had generally been reserved for mid-summer.
Still, she did not question him.
Nor his love.
Which she knew to be far greater
Than the Mediterranean, beyond the aircraft windows.
Implode. Part LXXXII – DK