27.
“You have enough time to visit her, yet you find it difficult to stop by and greet me for even a moment?”
Reflecting on it calmly, it wasn’t just her daughter-in-law who had changed. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it began, but her own son had been acting strangely as well.
At first, she had assumed she’d simply triggered his sympathy by mentioning the mental hospital. Now, it was clear that something had passed between them—something she was not privy to.
“I came here today because I had business to discuss.”
“What on earth could you possibly be discussing with her…”
Mathilde, who had been speaking in a sulky voice, shook her head shortly after.
“No. Fine. If that is what you say, then so be it. Understood. I won’t bother you anymore, so go and rest.”
Max looked at his mother, who made no effort to mask her displeasure, and spoke.
“Mother, I will say this one last time. Please stop paying attention to Freya. I am saying this for your own sake.”
“…What is that supposed to mean?”
When Mathilde asked with a sharp edge, Max sighed and replied.
“As I said before: I will handle my wife myself.”
“Are you saying that again? When you were busy with business, who was it that looked after her in this house? Do you not even consider how hard I struggled to accommodate her? Just because I suggested we have her hospitalized for a while, you brand me a villain.”
“Mother.”
Max’s brow furrowed, signaling that his patience had reached its limit. Mathilde had no choice but to wave a hand dismissively.
“Fine, fine. I won’t pay attention to her, even if you beg me to, so don’t worry.”
Since everything would resolve itself once Freya attended the salon, there was no need to sour the relationship with her son over such a triviality.
“…Mother, please.”
After emphasizing his request once more, Max left the room. A moment later, Mathilde pulled the bell rope hanging on the wall.
“Madam.”
As the butler entered and addressed her, Mathilde, who was leaning against the sofa, lowered her voice.
“Butler, has there been anything strange between those two lately?”
The butler seemed to consider this for a moment before shaking his head.
“There has been nothing particularly unusual.”
“That cannot be…”
Mathilde’s suspicious gaze scanned him from head to toe.
“If you could tell me exactly what aspect you are referring to…”
“Never mind. Just keep a close watch on them, and if you notice anything that stands out, report it immediately.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Despite the vague demand, the butler nodded without complaint.
“You may leave.”
Mathilde dismissed him with a careless wave, her mind returning to the hallway outside Freya’s bedroom a short while ago. More specifically, she recalled her son’s voice, which had drifted through the narrow opening of the door.
“Freya, you said you would take me out of here… I hope you succeed.”
The moment she heard it, she realized. It was a signal. A sign that the connection between her son and daughter-in-law had shifted. If so, that remark likely contained the very reason for their change in temperament.
She had a premonition that if she could only decipher the meaning behind her son’s words, it would not be difficult to force Freya into her place and bring her back under her thumb.
But take him out? Where on earth to?
Mathilde fell into a deep, furrowed-brow study of the problem.
✦ ✦ ✦
Milla tilted her head as she entered Freya’s bedroom.
“Madam, just now outside, the Grand Madam and the Boss were… Madam?”
Normally, Freya would have acknowledged her presence immediately, but she stood rooted to the spot, staring only at the painting above the fireplace.
“…Madam?”
Why was that? For a moment, Milla felt a strange sensation that her mistress might vanish like smoke. When she came to her senses, her hand was already gripping Freya’s arm.
It was a rude gesture, but Freya didn’t seem to care; she didn’t even move. Her gaze remained fixed on the painting.
As if something had just dawned on her, Freya’s lips parted, and a low, muffled voice escaped.
“What could it… mean, to choose death over one’s partner at a place where vows of eternal love are made?”
Until her husband told her today, Freya had assumed Max had chosen that place by chance.
But if he had known the lore regarding that cliff… it meant Max had intentionally chosen that site for his death.
With what kind of heart did you go to the Lovers’ Cliff?
…Did you perhaps want to bid me an eternal farewell there?
While others wished for eternal love at that spot, did you wish for a parting all alone?
With the feeling of her heart shattering, Freya turned to look at Milla.
“Milla, what should I do? It seems I couldn’t even fulfill his final wish.”
The mistress, who usually dissolved into tears at the slightest provocation, was now smiling, unable to cry. Milla, feeling a surge of frustration, spoke up loudly and led Freya to the bed.
“Madam, it’s because you have such a gloomy painting hanging where it’s so visible that you’re having such strange thoughts.”
Trying to soothe her mistress’s heart, she started rambling whatever came to mind.
“And although I don’t know exactly what you mean, if there’s a reason to die at a place where eternal love is vowed… wouldn’t it be the desire to be with the other person in some way even after death?”
Freya had sought Max’s heart, but the answer she received was about her own.
That was certainly true. The reason she had climbed that cliff again half a year after his death was that she wanted to reach his side.
She shouldn’t have done that.
If what her husband really prayed for there was an eternal farewell, then as long as this hell didn’t end, his wish would remain unfulfilled.
*I’m sorry. Because of me, you have to repeat this hell too…*
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Freya turned her gaze back to the fireplace.
The man in the painting was still climbing the cliff, harboring the vain hope that there would be peace at the summit.
She, too, was still standing on that cliff. Every moment she failed to save her husband, she returned to that day—the very moment Max Russell threw his life away before her eyes.
Freya closed her eyes, trying to block out the image.
…Was he truly unable to love her for even a single moment?
To her, every moment had been love. To him, had every moment been nothing but agony?
If these were moments that would never return, she wanted to hear it directly from his lips. Even if she already knew the answer. Even if that answer would someday be erased as well.
But her husband did not answer.
Nevertheless, she had to move forward.
✦ ✦ ✦
Asil Delaporte had a good feeling from the morning.
It was the day of the horse racing competition. Usually, he would have tossed and turned from nerves, but from the moment he opened his eyes, he felt refreshed.
The soft-boiled egg in a coquetier, which the chef often failed to time correctly, was perfectly to his taste today.
Having had a pleasant start, Asil took a carriage to Longchamp Racecourse.
Most of the Jockey Club members joined for their own social interests rather than the sport, but Asil was sincere.
He loved the thrill of riding, but there was something he enjoyed even more: the cathartic pleasure of crossing the finish line in the lead while the ground shook beneath the horses’ hooves.
Today felt like a day when the god of horse racing favored him.
As soon as he stepped off the carriage, his left foot crushed into a pile of squelchy horse manure. The carriage driver, seeing this, grinned broadly.
“Oh, Monsieur. Seeing as it’s your left foot, it seems today’s victory will be yours.”
If one stepped in manure with the right foot, misfortune followed; if with the left, good luck. It was a superstition known to every citizen of Grandcen.
Asil was not a follower of such things, but he couldn’t help but feel encouraged. There was no reason to reject a prophecy of victory.
His mood, already rising, reached its peak when he changed into his silks, mounted his beloved horse, and stood at the starting line.
The moment the red flag fell, his horse shot forward like an arrow.
The sound of the mount cutting through the wind was exhilarating.
The race, which felt like an eternity, passed in a flash. As Asil crossed the finish line first, narrowly beating the previous champion, he thought:
*Ah, could there be a better day than this!*
Asil felt his eyes well up with tears without realizing it.
He could say for certain that today was one of the five best days of his life.