Annie watched the scene between Charlotte and Henry with a heavy heart. Around them, the city fanned out in every direction, but for some reason the sounds of traffic and car horns didn’t reach the roof of the Met; all was silent other than the hiss of the wind and the words of Charlotte and the man she’d once loved. Annie knew it was wrong to follow them, but she didn’t trust Henry and wanted to be there for Charlotte in case she needed her.
Henry took a deep breath, his face stricken. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. They told me Layla died.”
Charlotte held very still but otherwise betrayed no emotion. “Did they find her body?”
“No. There was no body.”
“Then how do they know for sure she’s gone?”
“How could she have survived? Once I got to the top deck, the few lifeboats that worked had been released. The ship went down quickly, and we went down with it. I held on to her for as long as I could, but she was sucked out of my arms by the current. I promise you, I tried.” Henry had tears in his eyes. “I didn’t care what happened after that, I gave up, but someone grabbed me and pulled me onto a lifeboat and I passed out. The next thing I knew, I was on land, coughing up water. I crawled to the riverbank, determined to sink back into the Nile where Layla and you were, but they stopped me and took me away.”
A sob burst from Charlotte’s mouth and Henry’s expression crumpled, but neither moved to comfort the other; they stood in place, individual statues of a shared agony.
“I wonder about her every day,” said Henry. “If she would have had my ears. Or your hair, that silver streak passed down from mother to child.”
For the first time, Annie really noticed the stripe of gray that ran from Charlotte’s right temple, a sharp contrast to the dark brown around it. Before, her short haircut had made it almost imperceptible, but it had grown out since they’d first met.
Charlotte spoke. “Mona, before she was taken away, said that Layla was alive, that she knew where she was but would never reveal it.”
“You think she was telling the truth?” asked Henry. He looked unconvinced.
“I don’t know. At first I thought Mona was Layla, and for a moment, I think, so did she. But she didn’t appear to consider that theory very long. As if she knew otherwise.”
“What did she say?”
“She said that Layla was right under my nose, and that it would be a cold day in hell before she told me.”
“Very, very cold.”
Annie didn’t realize she’d voiced her thoughts out loud until she looked up to see Charlotte and Henry staring at her.
“I didn’t realize we had company,” said Henry. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Mona said it would be a ‘very, very cold day in hell,’ ” repeated Annie.
“What does that mean?” said Henry.
A swirl of images ran through Annie’s head. The way Mona had looked as she spoke to them, as if venom dripped off her lips, the sheer joy of torturing someone else too good to pass up. Mona was telling the truth.
Somewhere, Mona had met Layla.
But where? Cairo? New York?
Right under your nose.
She closed her eyes and remembered the soothing light of chandeliers, the feel of a thick carpet underfoot, and, in a rush, the cold, stale air of New York was replaced by the scent of vanilla, the murmuring of soft voices, and the ding of a bell.
She knew exactly where to find Layla.