12-17-2014, 05:25 PM
He was a juxtaposition; the formal soldier, but shot with something maddeningly playful. She liked that side better, but apparently he'd only allow her to catch glimpses of it in her peripheral.
"I trust to his good intentions. That's different, I suppose."
Actually, though Jay seemed to have read cynicism in her words, she'd only been musing the situation aloud. Danjou was a business man, a dangerous combination of shrewd and charming, very easy to trust. But she did not doubt for a moment that he had engineered the scene before them. Taken calculated risks. She could even hazard a guess as to why, but pulled herself wearily back from the ebb and flow of supposition.
Her father had taught her to ask why, to wonder everything. Natural as breathing, but not always a pleasant insight. His eccentricities had done him little good, either. Bitterness accented the ill feeling Wilson had left her with. A life she'd left behind. She turned away, the smirk of her expression dried up to something closer to a frown, before it erased itself completely. Jay's arms made a solid barrier across his chest, his gaze over her head to the media scavenge she was now eager to leave behind.
Danjou intended to raise Sierra Leone from the raging fires of war, to smother the flames, and give the country back to its people with the stability of peace. Noble. The deaths of his men in Jeddah had hurt him - she hadn't thought his grief feigned back at the embassy; he cared, she was convinced of that. But dedicated to a cause, willing to use all tools at his disposal. Including her. So let Jacques Danjou deal with the politics. Natalie's concerns were far narrower.
She was headed back to the Red Cross offices when the hum of engines vibrated across the camp, loud enough to draw general attention. A sliver of cool iced her veins. Trust, indeed. Her step didn't falter, but she did glance at Jay, face unreadable.
"I trust to his good intentions. That's different, I suppose."
Actually, though Jay seemed to have read cynicism in her words, she'd only been musing the situation aloud. Danjou was a business man, a dangerous combination of shrewd and charming, very easy to trust. But she did not doubt for a moment that he had engineered the scene before them. Taken calculated risks. She could even hazard a guess as to why, but pulled herself wearily back from the ebb and flow of supposition.
Her father had taught her to ask why, to wonder everything. Natural as breathing, but not always a pleasant insight. His eccentricities had done him little good, either. Bitterness accented the ill feeling Wilson had left her with. A life she'd left behind. She turned away, the smirk of her expression dried up to something closer to a frown, before it erased itself completely. Jay's arms made a solid barrier across his chest, his gaze over her head to the media scavenge she was now eager to leave behind.
Danjou intended to raise Sierra Leone from the raging fires of war, to smother the flames, and give the country back to its people with the stability of peace. Noble. The deaths of his men in Jeddah had hurt him - she hadn't thought his grief feigned back at the embassy; he cared, she was convinced of that. But dedicated to a cause, willing to use all tools at his disposal. Including her. So let Jacques Danjou deal with the politics. Natalie's concerns were far narrower.
She was headed back to the Red Cross offices when the hum of engines vibrated across the camp, loud enough to draw general attention. A sliver of cool iced her veins. Trust, indeed. Her step didn't falter, but she did glance at Jay, face unreadable.