CHAPTER 16

LONDON

MAY 2019

“Are you ready to go, Nana?” Colin asked solicitously as he settled a peach-colored shawl over Precious’s shoulders.

She patted his cheek. “Of course. I’ve always loved a weekend at Hovenden Park. Your grandmother Sophia used to throw the most elegant house parties back in the day. I love Penelope and James, but their entertainments are smaller. And don’t tell your mother I said this, but they aren’t as swanky as Sophia’s, either.”

Colin gently took hold of her arm and led her toward the front door. “They don’t have a staff of fifty, Nana. It’s hard to pull off ‘swanky’ without that sort of help.”

“Ah, yes. The good old days,” Precious said, her voice wistful.

Colin looked at me, and I stifled a laugh. With her arm on his, he carefully led Precious out to the lift.

“I’ve got the newspaper clippings,” Arabella said, emerging from the dining room. “All organized by date, thanks to Colin’s diligence. And the hatbox of photos is already in the Rover, next to the groceries for the dinner you’re preparing tonight, Maddie. Takeout is a bit dodgy up there, so I threw in some canned beans and bread. Aunt Penelope and Uncle James eat much too healthy for my taste.”

I lifted the small cosmetics case I was carrying. “I’ve got all of Precious’s makeup and her pills—thanks to Laura. I don’t know which one Precious would be more upset about us forgetting.”

“The makeup,” we said simultaneously, then followed Colin and Precious out to the lift.

As we descended, Colin said offhandedly, “George is waiting in the backseat. Since Nana is sitting up front with me, I’m afraid you two will have to share with him. I hope you don’t mind.”

“If we do mind,” I said, “can we make you run alongside while one of us drives?”

His response was a raised eyebrow. He opened the lift gate, then held the door while Arabella escorted Precious through the lobby and down the steps. In the car, George was clearly excited, his large head held out of the rear window, as an impressive amount of slobber dripped down the glass.

We settled the rest of the luggage into the back of the Land Rover, then took our seats, Arabella and I fending off an exuberant greeting from George that lasted for the first few miles before he settled down in the middle, his head on my lap, looking very pleased with life.

Arabella picked up a wadded towel from the floor—probably used for window wipe downs after car trips with George—and handed it to me. “You might want to put this under his head, so it doesn’t look as if you’ve had an accident.”

I did as she’d suggested and grinned wryly as I stroked George’s big head while he looked at me goofily. “I wish Oscar was here to see this,” I said.

I met Colin’s amused gaze in the rearview mirror for a moment, then turned away. Remembering the photograph of me that I’d been pretending I hadn’t seen on his desk, I focused my attention out the window as we made our way through London’s Friday afternoon traffic.

The week had been typically drizzly and chilly, but there were gaps in the clouds and the weather forecaster promised warmer temps and blue skies for the weekend. I knew better than to believe it and would check my weather app often, but it was a nice hope after a week of rain.

The scent of Precious’s perfume drifted from the front seat, a sweet floral scent that might have been jasmine warmed with deeper and darker woodsy notes. Something exotic. It wasn’t a perfume I recognized or even a scent that might have been popular with today’s preference for louder, bigger fragrances and celebrity spokespersons. It was the kind of perfume that made me think of old movies and women smoking cigarettes with lacquered red lips, wearing long, elegant dresses, and looking fabulous while they managed to save the day as the world fell apart around them.

I recalled the scent that had risen from the pile of clothes when I’d retrieved my buried jacket the other evening, and thought it might have been the same one.

“I love your perfume, Precious. What is it?”

The side of her mouth turned up. “It’s Vol de Nuit. My model friends and I used to stop by the perfume counter at Selfridges to spritz on a sample before going out, which is why I don’t buy it anywhere else now that I can afford it.” She gave a little laugh. “I suppose I feel obligated.”

I leaned forward, putting a hand on the back of her seat. “Did Eva wear it, too?”

After a long pause, she said, “Yes. It was her favorite. She told me that the perfume had been created for adventurous women. That’s why she liked it.”

“And was she?” I asked. “An adventurous woman?”

I heard something in her voice, as if she were telling a memory of ghosts. “She wanted to be. She thought life was supposed to be like the movies she loved. I think she played a character, someone she wanted us to see. I don’t know if anyone knew the real Eva Harlow.”

“And her family—where were they?”

She shook her head slowly. “She had a difficult childhood, and she didn’t like to talk about her past. We’d both been very poor. But being that poor and hungry damaged something inside Eva.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, aware of Colin trying to meet my eyes in the rearview mirror.

Precious’s hand, with its beautifully painted peach nails, stroked the shawl on her shoulder like a child petting a security blanket. “Eva never really knew what she wanted, until it was too late. I think that’s what broke her heart in the end.”

“In the end?” I prompted. “When she left London?”

As if I hadn’t said anything, Precious went on. “At some point, either Eva or I—I don’t remember which one of us—obtained a bottle of Vol de Nuit. We shared it, but that bottle remained nearly full because we were both so careful not to use too much.” She tilted her head. “I wonder whatever happened to it.”

“Maybe Eva took it with her when she left,” I offered.

“Maybe.” She turned her head away. “Have you had any luck finding her?”

“We’re working on it, Nana,” Colin said. “Mother’s friend Hyacinth Ponsonby works with the National Archives. She thinks she should be able to find something about Graham. We’re hoping something in his records will lead us to Eva.”

She nodded. “I do hope they ended up together, wherever they are. They were so in love.” She turned toward the window, ending the conversation.

In the backseat, Arabella began fanning through the folder of yellowed news articles and chuckling to herself. “Colin—Sophia was apparently a big reader of The Tatler and The Bystander. Most of the clippings your mother found are from those—and then after nineteen forty, it’s The Tatler and Bystander because they merged. Still very gossipy, but also literary, so I’ll try not to hold reading tastes against Sophia. Daphne du Maurier published her first short story in The Bystander, after all. And I’m reading some of these articles, and they’re quite brilliant.”

“Really?” I asked. “How so?”

After waiting for me to pull out my notebook, she said, “Here’s an article entitled ‘From the Shires and the Provinces,’ dated February 1939. It’s all about how sad it is that something as inconvenient as a war might interfere with hunting season and British lives in general. Listen to this.” Arabella cleared her throat and began to read.

Political uncertainties no doubt have an effect on hunting and it would be quite possible to work ourselves up into a terrible state of jitters if we allowed ourselves to think of such things as our horses being taken from us, our hounds being destroyed to save food and money, our homes filled with strangers, etc.

“That’s February, did you say?” Colin asked.

I nodded. “Yes. Precious—you were living in London then, right? Great Britain didn’t declare war against Germany until September, so I’m curious—what was it like for you and your friends earlier in the year? Were you all worried about what was happening in Europe?”

She was silent for so long that I thought she hadn’t heard me. When she did speak, she kept her gaze on her folded hands. “We were busy living our lives.” Her shoulders lifted in a tired shrug, as if the burden of memories had become too heavy. “Europe seemed so very far away. It wasn’t until men we knew signed up to fight that it suddenly became real to us. It was as if I’d left my house unlocked. When a thief came and stole everything, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I was. Those are the worst kinds of surprises, aren’t they? The ones you never see coming.”

The last word caught in her throat. I sat back against my seat, something that she’d said echoing uneasily in my head. Maybe it was her reference to a thief and how I’d always felt my mother and my childhood had been stolen by the same stealthy intruder. But there was something else, something dark moving behind Precious’s words—something in the way her voice changed in the telling, something even more devastating than a declaration of war.

“You Yanks will find this amusing,” Arabella said, breaking the tension. “You’re always joking about British understatement. Here’s an article in that same gossip rag. The title is ‘And the World Said.’ It’s dated September 13, 1939—so a little over a week after the declaration of war. There’s a photo of a wedding party, and the caption reads, ‘Among the many marriages that have been hurried up by the current spot of bother . . . ’ Ha! That might be the first time I’ve ever heard the Second World War condensed so spectacularly. Even I’m impressed, and I’m British.”

Colin turned his head briefly toward Precious. “Was my grandmother’s wedding one of those that were ‘hurried up’?”

Precious shook her head. “No. It had been planned well in advance. The war was the reason why I was in the wedding party, though. Sophia’s original bridesmaids had been quickly married. One got pregnant right away and was very ill from the start, and the other was whisked away to an island off of Scotland to stay with family while her soldier husband was in training. I hadn’t known Sophia for long, but we were already good friends. I was happy to be there on her wedding day.”

“And Eva, too?”

A brief pause. “Yes. And Eva.”

I thought for a moment. “Precious, do you know if Graham and Eva were ever engaged?”

She turned her head away, toward the side window. The only sound in the car was the thrum of the tires against asphalt. When she finally spoke, she was looking again at her hands, folded tightly in her lap. “I think they both wanted to get married.” Her chin dropped to her chest. “But then fate intervened.”

“By fate, do you mean that the war intervened?”

“Some might see it that way. But Eva believed that fate was something that happened to other people. As if she could control anything at all.”

Colin sent me another glance in the rearview mirror. I sat back in my seat. I wanted to ask her about Sophia’s cut-up photographs, but I could tell that Precious wanted to change the topic. “I think Arabella has more clippings to share. I’d love to hear your comments about them and how the times you were living through affected your choices about what you wore.”

“I suppose,” she said quietly before turning her head toward her side window again for the rest of the drive.

---

—

The spring breeze had pushed the clouds away by the time we arrived at Hovenden Park, the afternoon sunlight painting the fields in shades of sage, lime, and olive. Fieldstone fences meandered over the landscape, which was punctuated by the occasional farmhouse, pasture of sheep, or field furrow. It was so different from the landscape of red Georgia clay beneath parched summer grass and the fields of cotton and soybeans I was familiar with. It was as if someone had dipped a paintbrush into two separate palettes and painted two soothing interpretations of what home should be. The effect on the viewer was the same—a pulling at the heart that returned a person to their childhood, at least for a moment.

Colin parked the Land Rover in the drive as the front door flew open and a dog that looked a lot like George burst out down the front steps, rounding the SUV to my side of the vehicle. George went crazy, pawing at the door, and I immediately opened it so I wouldn’t get slobbered on to death.

“Sorry,” said Colin, his expression not reflecting the apology as he pulled my door open wider. “That’s Charlotte, George’s sister—yes, as in Princess Charlotte. You didn’t get to meet her last time you were here because she was with my dad. They’ll probably find a good mud puddle or cowpat to roll in, but as long as they’re happy . . .”

“Right,” I said, and climbed out, hoping there’d be a chance for a dog bath before the drive back to London on Sunday. I followed Colin to the passenger side, where his parents were helping Precious exit the vehicle. I watched Precious kiss Colin’s father on the cheek and for a brief moment cup his jaw with a veined hand, her rings catching the light. It was a touching exchange, reminding me of how Precious had adopted Sophia’s family as her own. I couldn’t help but consider that the adoption might have been mutual.

I greeted Penelope, who turned to the man beside her.

“Maddie, this is my husband, James. He’s been eager to meet you after hearing so much about you.”

I slid a glance toward Colin, who was patently looking away, and shook his father’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

Colin’s father was tall, fit, and lean, despite being in his seventies, with the rugged good looks of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. His blond hair had threads of gray at the sideburns, but it was still thick and wavy and entirely unfair to the majority of the female population.

I stopped midshake, studying his face closely, unsure of what I thought I’d seen. He and Colin shared the same build and coloring, but James’s eyes were hazel, not blue, and no freckles decorated the bridge of his nose. His smile was all Colin’s, though. Full lips that still managed to be masculine in a smile that could have been mocking but for the tilt of the head and the dimpled chin that was both charming and devastating.

“Is something wrong?” James asked.

“No, not at all.” I slipped my hand from his but continued looking at his face. “I guess I’m trying to figure out who Colin favors.”

“After looking at the photo you discovered in Sophia’s things, Penelope and I think he’s a dead ringer for his great-uncle Graham.”

I nodded. “Yes, but there’s something in your face that’s so familiar, too. I’ll have to go back over Sophia’s photos from when she was younger. Maybe it’s there.”

“Certainly. And Penelope has pulled out the wedding album for you to look at in the library. Hunting for photos has been a nice distraction from the newly discovered roof leak in the west wing, so thank you for that.” He grinned. “And welcome back to Hovenden Park. We’re delighted you’re able to stay for the weekend, and we thank you for bringing Precious. I understand that you’ll be dazzling our palates with a few Southern dishes tonight. I know we will all enjoy them, but especially Precious.”

We turned to see her hanging on to Colin’s arm in front of the steps, staring up at the facade of the house, the light from the sky hiding the ashy tone of her skin and making her appear young again.

“This house always brings back memories,” she said.

“Good ones, I hope,” Colin said, leading her up the steps.

“Mostly.” She looked straight ahead as she walked into the foyer, almost as if she were walking back in time, expecting to see someone inside waiting for her.

While James and Colin brought in the luggage and the assorted bags of food, Penelope escorted Precious, Arabella, and me past the Henry VIII tent panels and through an arched doorway into the library. A blazing fire roared in the large fireplace. The smell of woodsmoke made me think of home again and cold winter mornings spent at my grandfather’s house.

“It’s been chilly at night, and the cold will permeate these walls and linger until we get a longer spell of warm days and nights,” Penelope said as she situated Precious in one of the two facing sofas near the fire.

I looked up at the vaulted, beamed ceiling and the large front-facing window. The small glass panes reached almost from floor to ceiling. The heavy velvet curtains were opened to let in the light, but I wondered if, even closed, they could really help stave off the chill hovering beyond the circle of warmth from the fireplace.

“This must be a bitch to heat,” I said. Then, realizing I’d spoken out loud, I looked in horror at Penelope. “I am so sorry—I didn’t mean to say . . . It’s just that my aunt Cassie used to say that about my grandfather’s house, before she decided she was going to stay and live in it, and the coziness of this room reminded me of it.”

Penelope looked amused. “Does she still say that?”

“I haven’t lived there for a while, but she probably does, if only to prove her point.”

“Well, she’s absolutely correct, and I wouldn’t be truthful if I told you I’d never thought those exact words. I could feed a third-world country for a year with what it costs to heat this house for a month in winter. It’s one of the reasons why we opened up the dairy to the public, for school group tours and the like. It keeps us warm, at least.”

Anna, the young woman who’d waited on us out in the garden when we’d come for lunch, appeared with a tea tray. Turning to Penelope, I said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get started battering the chicken. I just need you to point the way.”

“I’d be happy to take you,” Colin said, entering the room with his father. “Every once in a while, we find skeletons of visitors in random passageways. They lost their way and were never found.” I knew he was joking, but his face was so serious I had to look twice.

“And I can show you how to use the AGA,” Anna offered. “She’s a bit temperamental.”

We excused ourselves and headed toward the kitchen, passing through a door almost hidden in the paneling of the great hall, then down passages that were more maze than hallway. Eventually, we burst into a large, brightly lit room that was surprisingly modern despite the deep fireplace with centuries-old soot staining its bricks. Shiny white subway tiles adorned the walls behind the counters and AGA; all the appliances were stainless steel. It could have been cold and industrial, but a cozy bench with embroidered pillows and a scarred wooden table with six chairs in front of the fireplace warmed the room. A large bowl full of water sat on the floor by the back door, of which a doggy panel took up most of the bottom half.

Anna spent a good ten minutes showing me how to operate the AGA. Once she was satisfied I knew what to do, she said, “Can you find your way around the kitchen by yourself? I’ve got some tidying up to do, but I’ll be happy to stay until you get the lay of the land.”

“I haven’t got any plans, so I’ll stick around for a bit,” Colin offered.

“That’s really not necessary . . . ,” I began, but he’d already started to unload the grocery bags onto the counter, organizing the food by type.

Satisfied, Anna smiled and said good-bye, then left. I turned to see Colin holding up a bucket of Cool Whip. “I’m almost afraid to ask what this is.”

I yanked it from his hands and placed it on the white stone counter. “Be careful with that—it’s not easily found in London. But oh, the uses of Cool Whip are legendary. Most involve food in the kitchen.”

“Most?”

I faced him and felt blood rush to my cheeks, suddenly remembering the picture of me on his desk, and how since I’d seen it I hadn’t been able to relegate Colin to the shadowy corner of my memory where he’d existed since I’d left Oxford.

I grabbed a grocery bag and began to empty its contents so I’d have something else to look at. “Yes, well, it’s basically processed whipped cream but sweeter. I’ve read somewhere that it has uses outside the kitchen.”

“Um-hm,” he said, carefully folding up one bag before turning to another. “I’m assuming you’ll need the Wi-Fi password so you can contact your aunt Lucinda to help you with the dinner preparation?”

I nearly dropped a can of crushed pineapple. “What do you mean?”

He leaned against the counter and casually folded his arms across his chest. “You hate to cook. You had to go online to find out how to boil eggs when we were at Oxford. And you used to Skype with your great-aunt quite a lot as I recall. But please, forgive me if I’m being presumptuous.”

Without another word, I pulled my laptop from my backpack and opened up the settings. “Go ahead,” I said primly.

He managed to give me the password without a single smirk. “Do you need me to stay? Not that you’ve ever asked, but I do know my way around a kitchen.”

The accusation stung, but I busied myself by focusing on opening up the Skype app. “No, but thank you. I’ll let you know if I need any help.”

I felt him watching me and forced myself to lift my gaze to meet his.

“Are you ever going to ask me why your photograph was on my desk?” Colin said softly.

I was too stunned by his bluntness to think of an answer.

“I kept it because it was the only thing you left behind. Not even a good-bye. I thought—stupidly, it turns out—that you might come back for it.”

I nodded, the only response I could muster.

And then I remembered the other photo, the one of him in a stroller with his parents at the Atlanta airport. I wanted to let him know that I’d noticed, that he wasn’t invisible to me no matter how much I wished he were. “You were a really cute little boy,” I said, wondering if my words sounded as stupid to him as they did to me.

He tilted his head in question.

“The other frame on your desk—the one of you with your parents. It looks like you’re at the Atlanta airport. You were so adorable in your little socks and shorts.” My smile fell quickly at his pinched expression.

“That wasn’t me,” he said. He pulled himself away from the counter. “I’ll ask Anna to bring you tea.”

I started to tell him not to bother, but he’d already gone.