With a shaky hand, Chelsea set the diary on the table.
At some point, Eleanor had pulled out a handkerchief. “I didn’t know it would affect me so to hear those words again. I’ve not read that passage in years.” She dabbed her cheeks.
“How did you survive?” Chelsea asked.
“I could ask you the same thing, my dear. How did you survive being separated from Bailey?”
Chelsea thought back to the lonely nights, the empty days, when she could barely summon the strength to get out of bed. She’d cry herself to sleep only to awaken in the middle of the night and sob from the remembrance of a vivid dream of Bailey making love to her.
She met Bailey’s eyes when answering Eleanor’s question. “I honestly don’t know. I was so lost.”
“Much of this mirrors our own lives,” Bailey said in a soft, but sure voice. “I kept traveling with my research, clueless to the damage I was inflicting on our relationship. I was so damn selfish.”
Chelsea gripped her arm. “Stop. We’ve talked about this. It wasn’t just you.” She glanced toward Eleanor. “I kept letting the months go by, afraid to say anything, until it was too late.”
“As you will learn, it’s never too late,” Eleanor said. “I used my savings and the remaining money my father had sent me and bought my plane ticket for the long trip home to England. I had no idea what I’d do when I arrived. I’d corresponded with my father but not to the extent where he’d welcome me into his home while I tried to get my feet back on the ground.”
“You had to be frightened,” Bailey said.
“Oh, I was terrified. Not because I had to face my father again, but because I was alone for the first time in four years. That was daunting. You see, I didn’t think we’d ever get back together. Not after this.”
“What happened when you returned to England?”
“I stayed with my father and stepmother for a few weeks while I worked at a bookstore in town until I had enough saved to rent a small cottage. The lease agreement stipulated I was to keep up the garden, which wasn’t a hardship at all.”
Bailey asked the question that was on Chelsea’s lips. “Did Daphne ever try to contact you?”
“She sent a slew of letters to my father’s home for about eight months after I moved out. I read them all. Each one of them begged me to come back. Once they trickled down to nothing, I received a visit from Gordon. He’d located me through my father. He told me Daphne was heartbroken and could barely work. He asked me to reconsider and travel back to California with him. I, of course, refused. After that, I didn’t hear from them during their marriage.”
Her expression saddened. “But I’ll admit to grabbing every piece of press ever written about them. There were plenty of photos—they were the darlings of Hollywood, after all. In those photos, I saw the life that she and I could never have. Let’s continue. Bailey, I think it’s your turn.”
Chelsea scooted the diary across the table to her.
“You’ll find I’ve marked a place in 1955.”
Bailey opened the book and began reading.
“Wednesday, 13 April 1955. Work has occupied my time, and for that, I’m grateful. I’ve made a good friend at the bookstore. Her name is Helen…”
* * *
We’ve worked the same hours at times and, afterward, have ventured down to the pub to have a pint or two. She’s a remarkable woman. Blonde, blue-eyed. Very Scandinavian in her appearance. At the store, when arising from placing a book on the bottom shelf, I’ve caught her watching me from the register. Her cheeks would redden, and she’d immediately focus again on the customer. When we’ve gone to the pub, she sits closer to me than what’s necessary, pressing her knee against mine under the table. I haven’t been sure what to do in these instances, so I’ve left them alone.
She’s asked me to accompany her to a film Friday night and join her at her flat afterward for drinks. While apprehensive, I’m also curious and a little excited at the attention she’s paid me.
Friday, 15 April 1955. Helen and I left from work to enjoy dinner together and then walked on to the cinema. The Country Girl was a wonderful picture. I’ve always loved William Holden, especially after meeting him once at a party at Daphne’s. He was such a gentleman. During the movie, Helen rested her hand on mine. I shot her a quick look, but she continued to watch the movie as if nothing were amiss. I had to admit that I enjoyed the touch of a woman again.
We strolled down to her flat, which was a few blocks from the cinema. She switched on the light as we entered, illuminating a small, but well-kept living area.
“What would you like to drink?” she asked as I sat down.
“What do you have?”
“Cream soda and Coca Cola.”
“Cream soda’s fine.”
She popped the lids off two cream sodas, handed me one, and sat beside me on the sofa, draping her arm across the back. She took a sip and watched me over the bottle.
“How have you fancied moving back to England?”
I studied the bottle, not looking up. “I’m doing okay.”
“I can’t help but notice a little sadness with you, Eleanor. As if a part of you died when you returned from the States.”
It surprised me how many people were aware I’d returned from the States after living there for four years. I’d assumed it had been because of my father sharing the information, but apparently, people had noticed my two appearances in Daphne’s films and talked them up.
Not knowing what to say to her keen observation, I kept silent.
Helen shifted so that her knee pressed into mine. “I hope I haven’t gotten the wrong signals from you,” she said. “You’ve not pushed me away when I’ve sat close, nor did you pull your hand away tonight at the cinema. If I’m misreading your body language, please stop me.”
She shifted nearer. Then she touched her lips to mine.
Uncertain of what I was feeling, I didn’t react at first. But her kiss became more ardent. I parted my lips, and she dipped her tongue inside. She pushed me into the arm of the sofa and draped her body on top of me. Our kiss became even more intense. She brushed her lips against my neck on the way up to my ear.
“Ellie,” she whispered as she cupped my breast.
Daphne, I’ve missed you. But then it struck me that it wasn’t Daphne’s husky voice speaking. I pulled away.
“No. Stop, please.”
She sat up and straightened her dress. “I’m sorry, I thought…”
I also smoothed my dress. “Don’t apologise, Helen. You did nothing wrong. It’s just that—”
“Your heart belongs to another. A Yank, I suspect.” There was no accusation in her tone. She smiled gently as she spoke the words.
“I guess it still does. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”
“I know, Eleanor. And I want to apologise for calling you Ellie, but I was lost in the moment. You’re such a lovely woman.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
She laughed. “There you have it. We both think the other is quite the catch.”
“Yes, I guess we do.”
She held out her hand. “Friends?”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” I checked the time. “Well, it’s getting on, and I should start for home.”
She walked me to the door. Then she leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Whoever she is was a fool to let you go.”
A rush of emotion flooded my senses. “Thank you for those words.”
“Don’t thank me for something that’s so plain to see.”
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow morning.”
A drizzle had started, and she peered up at the light mist. “Hold on. Let me get you my brolly.” She hurried inside and came back with her umbrella. “You can return it to me tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Good night, Eleanor.”
“Good night.”
On the way to my cottage, I thought of the evening’s events, thought of Helen’s lips pressed against mine. And I thought of Daphne and how much I missed her. I didn’t realise I was crying until tasting the salty tears that trickled down my cheeks.
* * *
Eleanor interrupted Bailey before she could continue to the next passage. “That was such an odd feeling, kissing a woman other than Daphne. It was soft and supple but not the same. And having someone else call me ‘Ellie,’ well, that just wouldn’t do. I don’t know if either of you experienced that during your separation.” She looked at Chelsea. “Perhaps I’m wrong about that.”
Bailey noticed Chelsea’s flushed face, and a sharp pang of jealousy shot through her. Was it Rebecca? She didn’t like the woman anyway. Now she had the overwhelming desire to crack something hard over Rebecca’s head.
“Go to the next marked passage, Bailey, which is about a year later, in May 1956.”
Relieved that she had something else to focus on other than an image of Rebecca kissing Chelsea, Bailey flipped to the next bookmark.
“Saturday, 19 May 1956. Today was our spring inventory at the bookshop. The job was tedious, but I enjoyed going through the stacks, ensuring all was as it should be. Somehow it was a comfort since I felt my own life was lacking in order…”
* * *
Helen and I had been cracking jokes all day, much to the chagrin of our dowdy manager, Mrs. Baldwin. She never found the humour in anything we’d say and didn’t understand how we could possibly perform our jobs if we were cutting up together.
Six o’clock arrived. It was my turn to balance the register, but Helen shooed me out the door.
“You’ve done this a million times for me, Eleanor. Go home and enjoy what’s left of the weekend.”
I stopped by the bakery on the way to the cottage to buy some bread and a Danish roll for my morning tea. Rain greeted me as I left the store. I pushed open my brolly and glanced up at the dark clouds overhead. The weather was about to get ugly fast.
I hastened home and walked through the front door before the deluge. Still, I had managed to step in all the puddles on the way home, despite my best efforts not to do so. My shoes were soaked through, clear to my stockings. A hot bath and a warm fire were in order.
A shiver ran through me as I gathered the firewood stacked beside the stone fireplace. After getting the fire started, I drew a hot bath—as hot as I could stand it—stripped down, and slid into the water. I stayed there, removing the plug and twisting the hot water spigot every so often, until I was becoming a prune. With great reluctance, I stepped out of the tub, dried, and dressed in my flannel pyjamas and robe. I entered the living room, pleased to find the fire going full force.
I made a sandwich from leftover fish and sat with my back against the cushions of the sofa, my stockinged feet pointed toward the warmth of the fire. I watched the flames and became drowsier by the second. Not wanting to leave the cosy living room yet, I curled up onto the sofa and pulled a thick quilt over my body. I drifted off into a restless dream about storms and scary branches banging against my windows. The banging increased in volume. Disoriented, I jerked awake. Was that someone at my door? No, it couldn’t be. Who would be about at night in this dreadful weather? Another knock told me I was wrong.
With my heart pounding in my ears, I approached the door and chastised myself for not insisting the landlord put in a peephole.
“Who is it?” I asked but couldn’t make out the response. If I wanted to find out who my nocturnal visitor was, I’d have to chance it and open the solid wooden door. Hesitating for a split second longer, I unlatched the bolt and cracked open the door. A gust of wind and rain blew in, stinging my face. I blinked several times, finally able to focus on the forlorn, soaked person before me.
Daphne.
Drenched, her long dark hair clung to her face. Visibly shaking, she hugged her body. Her teeth chattered so much that what was probably intended as a smile became a grimace.
Jolted out of my stupor, I opened the door farther, pulled her inside, and shut the door with great effort against another gust of wind. I turned around and had to swallow my nervousness before I spoke.
“What… what are you doing here? And how did you find me?”
“Gordon.”
“You mean your husband.” The hurt and anger returned in an instant.
“No, I mean Gordon. He told me where he’d hunted you down before. I hoped I’d get lucky and you hadn’t moved.” She kept shaking as water pooled around her feet from her coat.
“Here. Take that off and stand by the fire.”
She stood placidly, allowing me to undo her coat and slide it off her shoulders. My fingers trembled as I undid each button. I tried to blame it on the draft that had rushed into the cottage from the open door. But I knew better.
Daphne moved to the fire and held her hands toward the flame as she rubbed them together.
“We’ve divorced,” she said in a voice so quiet, I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly.
“Divorced?”
She remained facing the fire. “Yes.”
“What about your career and the possibility of being blackballed?”
“We’ve been married long enough that there’s no speculation anymore about our sexuality. The press now sees us like any other troubled Hollywood couple. We’re no longer together but remain friends. We’ll always be friends.”
Not sure how to take this bit of news, I just stood there.
She turned toward me. “It’s you, Ellie. It’s you I love. You’re the one who haunts my dreams. You’re the one I’ve yearned for these years apart.”
Glad I stood by a chair, I gripped the cushion tight between my fingers and dug into the soft material in an effort to control my emotions.
“You have a funny way of showing it, Daphne. And forgive me, but I think I’ve heard this speech before.”
She took a step toward me, but I made no effort to move toward her. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be that easy.
“Marrying Gordon was—”
“A move to save your career.”
She lowered her head. “Yes. It was.”
“It was something I couldn’t stay and watch, despite how much I loved you.” How much I still love you, I added silently.
“I understand.” She looked up at me. “Is there any chance for us, Ellie?”
I wanted to say no. Wanted to have the strength to send her on her way, back to the States, back to Los Angeles. But the word died on my lips.
Daphne’s face fell. “I guess… I guess I should leave you in peace.” She took a step toward her coat but staggered. I hurried to her and gripped her elbow to keep her from sinking to the floor.
“God, Daphne, you’re ice cold. You can’t leave like this. Let me draw you a bath.”
She allowed me to lead her to the bathroom and stood silently as I filled the tub with hot water. I heard her teeth clattering together. She seemed to be in a daze and made no move to shed her clothes.
I unbuttoned her blouse and tried not to notice her nipples pushing against her wet bra. I unsnapped her trousers and let them drop to her feet.
“I’ll let you do the rest.”
I walked to the door and was about to leave the room when I heard her whimpering. I turned. She sat on the edge of the tub, hugging her body and rocking.
My heart went to my throat. I couldn’t watch this. I went to her and unsnapped her bra. “Stand up and lean on me,” I said in a gentle voice. Pulling down her underwear, I tried to keep my eyes averted while helping her into the tub. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”
She barely nodded.
“I’ll be right outside the door.”
I shut it and leaned against it, the image of her rain-soaked nude body planted firmly in my brain. I sat down on the closest chair. I couldn’t allow her to leave tonight. Not in her state of mind or physical condition.
About fifteen minutes passed when I heard her muffled voice. “Ellie, do you have any dry clothes I can wear? I left my luggage at the inn.”
I went to my bedroom for an extra pair of pyjamas, cracked open the bathroom door, and offered them to her. “Here.”
She took them from me. “But these are pyjamas.”
“You’re in no shape to leave tonight. Get dressed and come out.”
A few minutes later, she opened the door. The clothing, oversized for me, fit her perfectly.
I held out my hand, not thinking anymore about what she meant to me, but rather how I could help her get warm. We went unspeaking into the bedroom. I turned back the covers and helped her to the bed. She shifted onto her side with the covers pulled up to her chin. I lay behind her and wrapped my arm around her waist. Her cold hand tugged me tighter to her body.
Lying there in the dark with her familiar body pressed against mine, I waited for her breathing to become deeper. As hers did, I relaxed and drifted off.
I awakened sometime in the night with the front of my pyjamas drenched from holding her. I put my hand to her forehead, alarmed when I found her burning up.
“Daphne.” I tried to nudge her awake. “Daphne?”
She turned to me. In the dim lighting, I could see her eyes were glassy with fever. She tried to lift her hand to my face, but it dropped weakly to her side. I took her wrist and checked her pulse. It was rapid, a possible sign of a spiked temperature.
I got aspirin and a glass of water and helped her sit up to take the pills. She seemed unaware of her surroundings.
“Ellie?” Her voice was raspy. She began coughing for several minutes. When she was able to take a breath, I offered her more water.
“I think you have a fever, Daphne. I’m going into town in the morning to get Doctor Grayson.”
Without protest, she fell back onto the bed and shivered. I pulled the covers up past her shoulders, now truly worried. This could easily go into pneumonia.
Sunday, 20 May 1956. After staying up most of the night watching over Daphne, I made sure she was sleeping before I left for the doctor. It was Sunday, but Doctor Grayson had been practising in town since I was a small child. He always considered himself “on call.”
He met me at his door, dishevelled and still in his robe.
“Can you come to my cottage, Doctor? My… my friend who’s staying with me is quite ill. I would wait until tomorrow, but I’m afraid she has a high fever.”
“Of course.” He dressed and grabbed his medical satchel.
When we got to the cottage, I took him into my bedroom and roused Daphne.
“Daphne, the doctor’s here to see you.”
She looked at me as though she didn’t recognise me but permitted Doctor Grayson to perform a thorough examination. The last thing he did was take her temperature. He raised his eyebrows when he looked at the reading. He nodded toward the hallway, and I followed him.
“Miss DeMonet is very ill.” He must have noticed my surprise. “She’s still very recognisable, Eleanor, despite her sickness. Her temperature is extremely high. I strongly suggest we admit her to hospital.”
Thoughts raced through my mind, one of which was if I should call her mother. Maybe her agent or even Gordon.
“And I suggest we admit her today,” he stressed.
I agreed. As he was making arrangements over the phone for an ambulance, I went to the bedroom to check on Daphne. She seemed a little more aware as I approached the bed.
“We need to get you in hospital, Daphne. Is there anyone I should call? Your mother?”
“No, please. She’s been in poor health the past two years. I don’t want to worry her.”
“Your agent or Gordon? Someone in the States needs to know.”
“Call Gordon. I don’t want Victor to make this into a publicity stunt.”
She gave me Gordon’s number just as the ambulance arrived. She reached her hand toward me as they wheeled her on the gurney.
“Please don’t leave me.”
“I’ll follow you with Doctor Grayson.” They pushed her into the back of the ambulance and shut the doors.
* * *
Bailey looked up from her reading. “That had to be scary watching the medics put Daphne into the ambulance.”
“Oh, I was indeed frightened. Not just of her state of health, but that I might lose her before we had a chance to start over.”
“So, even though you didn’t tell her that night, you thought you might get back together?” Chelsea asked.
“I put up a brave front when she arrived at my doorstep, but seeing her so ill made me realize again how much I still loved her.”
“Did you call Gordon?” Bailey asked.
“Yes. He thought it best that he stay in the States. Of course, he knew why Daphne had come to England. He confirmed that her mother wasn’t well. He said he’d let her know of Daphne’s illness and assure her she was getting proper medical treatment. As for Victor and the studio, Gordon told them Daphne would be out of the country for a while. If I had known when I talked to him just how much worse she’d be, I might have handled things differently.” She pointed at the diary. “Let’s see what happens in the next passage.”
Bailey picked up where she left off. “Friday, 25 May 1956. Doctor Grayson met with me today. His worried expression did nothing to quell my anxiety…”
* * *
“Eleanor,” Doctor Grayson said, “I don’t understand why she hasn’t responded to antibiotics as she should. It’s almost as though she’s given up.”
We stood in the hallway outside Daphne’s hospital room. She’d been in and out of a fevered state for almost a week. Through the doorway, I could see her in the hospital bed, and my heart went out to her.
“We’ll try a different round of antibiotics today. It’s all we can do.” He patted my shoulder and walked away.
I entered her room and pulled a chair beside her bed. I smoothed the wet tendrils of hair from her forehead and kissed the overly warm skin.
“Don’t you dare leave me, Daphne.”
Tuesday, 29 May 1956. Another four days passed. Another four days of worry. She’d been unresponsive since they’d brought her in. And here I sat in the same place as Friday night. I took her hand in mine.
“I don’t know where you are right now, but you listen to me. You have too much to live for. Do you hear me? You fight, damn it. You fight and…” I leaned over the bed as my shoulders shook with sobs. At first I didn’t notice the soft touch of her fingers in my hair. I raised my head. “Daphne?”
She smiled weakly. “Don’t cry, darling.”
“Still trying to tell me what to do, are you?” I answered her smile with one of my own.
She started coughing. I quickly got her water and held the straw while she drank. She collapsed back on the bed after she finished.
“I take it I’m still in the hospital.”
“And you’ll stay here if you don’t fight to get well.”
“Now who’s the bossy one?”
Hearing her tease me was a breath of fresh air.
Friday, 1 June 1956. Daphne showed enough improvement since Tuesday that Doctor Grayson released her from Horton General Hospital into my care today. Once I got her home, she called Gordon and her mother to let them know she was out of hospital and recuperating.
As she talked on the phone, I noted that colour had returned to her cheeks. She was to take it easy for the near future. This meant she’d be in Banbury a few more days. How much longer, I’m sure, depended on me.
Daphne hung up from her call and went into the living room. “Come. Let’s talk.”
I sat down on the sofa and faced her. “Daph, I know you want—”
“Wait. Let me say this before you say anything, please?” She waited until I nodded. “What I did to you two years ago was completely selfish. As you pointed out at the time, I was afraid of losing the adulation of the fans I’d grown to love over the years. I was afraid I’d lose my identity if that happened. But what I really found is none of it mattered without you. None of it.”
I thought I’d get some satisfaction out of hearing those words, but “I told you so” was such a hollow sentiment.
“I have no right to be here begging for your forgiveness, Ellie, but that’s precisely why I came. If you need more time, I understand. But I’ll wait the rest of my life if I have to.”
I took a moment before replying. “You did hurt me, Daphne, deeper than if you’d bedded another woman. Your actions told me our relationship meant nothing to you.” She started to speak, but I held up my hand to stop her. “I still have strong feelings for you. But give me the time you’ve promised. Stay with me while you recuperate, and we’ll see where we stand.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Thank you.”
Saturday, 16 June 1956. For two weeks, Daphne stayed at my home while I went to work. I had the inn deliver her luggage here while she was in hospital, so she had plenty of clothes. She insisted on keeping the place tidy, telling me it was the least she could do. She made several calls to the States. I overheard a heated conversation between her and Victor about her decision to stay in England for the near future. I asked her about it and told her I didn’t want to cause any friction, but she told me not to worry.
Tonight, after an evening of reading, Daphne rose and said she was going to bed. After much argument, I had insisted she take the bedroom and I had stayed on the sofa. We’d maintained this sleeping arrangement in the weeks she’d been there. I think every night, she hoped I’d join her because, just like tonight, she paused at the entrance to the hallway before going to the bedroom. She didn’t know how many nights I came close to getting into bed with her.
I’d dozed off with my book still on my lap, but a noise awakened me. Daphne was crying out in her sleep. I hurried to the bedroom. Without thinking, I crawled into the bed behind her and pulled her close.
“I’m here,” I whispered into her hair.
“Do you still love me?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Shh. You need to sleep and get your rest.”
“But…”
“Try to sleep, Daph.”
She eventually eased into a restful slumber. A short time later, I joined her.
A soft breath puffed against my face and awakened me. I suddenly remembered what had happened and who lay beside me. Daphne still slept, but she faced me now. I brushed back a lock of hair, and my fingers caressed her cheek, still just as soft.
Her eyes fluttered opened, and I thought back to how her lips felt against mine. She lay still, as though sensing how tenuous this night could be.
I gave her one last look before I touched my lips to hers. We were cautious, like teenagers experiencing our first kiss together. Entwining my fingers into the back of her hair, I ran my tongue along her lips and pressed into her mouth. Her tongue met mine. I wasn’t sure who moaned, whether it was she or I. Or both of us. The kiss grew in intensity.
With no thought as to what I was doing, I began unbuttoning her pyjama top. I slipped my hand inside and cupped her breast. Her fingers fumbled with my top, but I pushed them aside, rose to my knees and peeled the top off, never losing eye contact with her. I yanked off her pyjama bottoms, did the same with mine, and lay on top of her.
I took her nipple in my mouth, and this time, the moaning was mine. She squirmed under me and tried to touch me, but I put her hands above her head and held her wrists with a tight grip.
I didn’t speak as I dropped my other hand lower and dipped into her wetness. I’d never been the aggressor in our relationship, had never made the first move. But tonight was different. Tonight I was reclaiming what was mine.
“Inside,” she gasped. “I need you, Ellie.”
I pushed my fingers into her and moved my body up so I could use my thigh to press even harder with each thrust. I stroked her clitoris with my thumb, remembering how she responded to the touch.
“You say you need me, Daphne?”
“Yes!”
“Open your eyes and look at me, love.” I was close to orgasm, and she must have sensed it.
“Let me touch you,” she whispered.
I released her wrists and shifted so her fingers could slide into me, knowing right where to go. Knowing how much pressure to give.
“Tell me you love me, Ellie. Please.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” I started sliding over the edge. She was close, and I thrust into her until she tightened and spasmed around my fingers. “I never stopped loving you.”
She plunged her fingers into me, bringing me to a crashing climax.
I lay beside her, and her body shook as she sobbed. I opened my arms. “Come here.”
Daphne pressed her face into my shoulder. “Don’t ever leave me again,” she whimpered. “Please. I couldn’t survive if you did.”
“Never, my love.” I rocked her in my arms as I kissed her hair and stroked her back. “Never again.”
In the quiet darkness of my room, holding my only true love in my arms, I lived in that moment—that precise moment when I knew with absolute certainty that we would be together until our dying days.
* * *
Chelsea choked up as she listened to Eleanor’s words. She wanted this. With all of her heart, she wanted the same love Eleanor and Daphne shared. They’d overcome difficulties, and she was sure there would be more in the pages to follow. But they had gotten back together and stayed that way. Their love gave her hope.
“Hey, are you all right?” Bailey rubbed her shoulder.
Chelsea didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.
“It all ends well, Doctor Parker.” Eleanor’s voice was gentle and reassuring. “We’ll stop for the day.”
Chelsea tried to hide her disappointment but must not have pulled it off.
“Don’t worry,” Eleanor said. “This is where I trust you with my treasures.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll be right back.”
“Do you think she’s about to allow us to take the other diaries to read?” Bailey asked.
Chelsea was still lost in the last reading.
“Chels? The diaries?”
“I don’t know. She mentioned letting us take them when we first started.”
Eleanor returned carrying a stack of books. “These lead up to the last book which we’ll read together. You may take these with you and go through the years. Read what you think is relevant. When you’re finished, give me a call, and I’ll be ready.”
Bailey took the books from her. “You’re sure, Eleanor?”
Eleanor cupped Bailey’s cheek. “I trust you both. See what you can learn from our lives.” She turned to Chelsea. “And what you can learn about your own.”
Eleanor walked back into the home. Her shoulders were a little more stooped, her gait a little slower than at other times.
“What has listening to certain snippets of her life cost her?” Chelsea murmured aloud.
Bailey moved to her side. “I was wondering the same thing.”
“Have we pushed too hard?”
“Maybe,” Bailey said as they walked back to the Jeep. “But remember, it was her arrangement. There was a reason she did it this way.”
On the drive home, Chelsea thought about Bailey’s words. Bailey parked in front of the house.
“Why don’t we take a walk before going inside?” Chelsea asked as they strolled down the tree-lined avenue. “You realize why Eleanor made this arrangement, don’t you? Especially after hearing about Daphne putting her career first.”
“I do believe Ms. Burnett has been playing matchmaker. I mean, I think we pissed her off with our reason for separating, especially with all she and Daphne went through. But I also like to think she saw something between us that shouldn’t die.” Bailey stopped beside a bench and pulled Chelsea down beside her. “And I don’t want it to die. I did a poor job of communicating last night, but I promise I’ll work harder to tell you how I feel.”
Chelsea shifted closer, and Bailey put her arm around her shoulders. “I saw you shut down,” Chelsea said, “and I went into my shell and did the same. But that has to stop if we want this to work. Eleanor is giving us a gift, a blueprint for making a relationship last.”
“That’s a good way to look at it. Thank God for her meddling ways.”
At length, Bailey asked, “I wonder what else she has in store for us?”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is this makes a heck of a story, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t wait to call Joanne, but…”
“What, sweetheart?”
Bailey’s face softened. “God, I missed hearing you call me that.” She kissed Chelsea lightly on the lips. “I wonder about us telling their story. It’s like we’re invading their privacy or intruding on a fairytale.”
“I’ve wondered the same thing. Eleanor’s entrusted us with this huge opportunity to delve into the private life of Daphne DeMonet, but at what price?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you think we shouldn’t report it? Or maybe not all of it?”
“Tell you what. Why don’t we make a pact? We’ll go on, read these diaries, and see what else happens. When we’re done, we’ll call Eleanor like she requested. Then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good.”