The Trial ; D.M

35

9th May 2003

Geneva convinces herself to practice patience on her current case. All those mysteries surrounding Theodore, stashed and locked away into a secret box, pushed to the back of her mind. While she cannot find any of the evidence she needs to prove Theodore's connection to Crain, she decides to rest on it for now. Simply distracts herself with any whims that take hold of her, making sure to stay out of her husband's company.

He must not suspect that she has been searching for something. This would only warn him to destroy any evidence that could be useful—perhaps something that could just slip through his fingers. A letter or a photograph. Anything.

But Geneva needs to execute this all perfectly and in good time, following whatever leads she can silently chase. That is the only way she will succeed.

And it thrills her, all of this investigating. It cures her boredom, gives her drive, something to feel motivated towards. Something to distract her from every other factor in her life that currently irks her. It is all quite anxiety inducing too— searching for something that could ruin the man she has devoted herself to since her youth.

But Draco has been assisting her, casting shadows around the Manor, slipping in and out of rooms where Theodore has spent much of his time. He's only doing it so that she does not fall into another manic state like that episode she experienced a few days prior.

Geneva watches Theodore extra carefully now. When she might have previously wanted to pretend he doesn't exist, trying to ignore his presence, she is now fixated on his whereabouts. Suspicion has cunning ways of driving its consumers feral with paranoia.

So now she finds herself in large communal rooms of the Manor, seeming to mind her own business. Yet she keeps an eye up from her reading, or painting, or whatever she might find herself doing. Theodore doesn't try to speak to her as much anymore, perhaps for fear that if he says one word, she might beg for a divorce immediately. She can spot the fear laced within his features every time his eyes set upon her.

And on this particularly withering May morning, they both find themselves in the kitchen, avoiding eye contact and balancing on the heaviness of their silence. Geneva perches upon a stool, leaning over the surface of the breakfast bar, scribbling down a shopping list for bits to pick up from Appleby.

She discreetly peers at Theodore, every few seconds looking up from her list. She tracks him as he prances across the kitchen to the open window, where their post owl rests in the small crack with a letter hanging in its beak. She observes carefully, watching his changing expressions as he breaks the seal and unravels it, eyes scanning the page quickly. First there's apprehensiveness as he practically sweats while opening it. But this sooner changes into a look of relief entangled with disappointment.

He wavers the letter up, clearing his throat.

"We've been invited to Elaine and Richard Cameron's twentieth anniversary soiree. Two weeks time," he states, robotically, his voice monotone. He paces over to the breakfast bar, tossing the letter in front of her.

She watches as it skids towards her. It's a beautifully decorated piece of parchment, all of the details in a glittering, delicate cursive hand, putting all the other invitations in the world to shame. She expects nothing less from the Camerons.

"I think we should go," he adds after she has a moment to glance at it.

"You do?" she asks, sarcastically, tossing it back towards him with a bothered huff.

"Do you really want people to speculate that this is our situation, Geneva? That you can hardly stand to be in a room with me? Just co-operate with me— for once."