MONDAY, 21 OCTOBER 1924, LONDON
The Flying Scotsman let off a welcoming hoot of steam as it chugged into King’s Cross Station, greeted by bundled-up passengers waiting for its return journey north. Golly, thought Poppy, it’s good to be home. She was surprised to find herself thinking that. Since when had she started calling this city home?
She smiled as she thought of her friends and family that she’d just left behind in Newcastle and Morpeth, glad that she could visit them whenever she wanted. But if she were honest, she was relieved that she had a life of her own here in London.
It had been an exciting – although tragic – few weeks up north. She – as well as the Rolandson family who had travelled with her back down to London – would need to go up again in the spring when Dante and Maddie Sherman’s trials were scheduled, but for now they were free to go. Aunt Dot, Grace, and Delilah would be spending a couple more weeks there. Dot and Grace had the finishing touches to put on the town house before they could turn it over to the housekeeper they had hired to supervise the property when the new lady tenants moved in. Delilah, whose run at the Theatre Royal had finished, had decided to spend a few weeks seeing the sights of Northumberland – and perhaps popping up to Edinburgh – with her latest beau, Peter MacMahon. Whether anything would come of the fledgling romance, Poppy was not quite sure.
As far as her own fledgling romance went, Sandy had seen her off at Central Station. He said he would most definitely be staying in touch – personally and professionally – and looked forward to seeing her again. She had not tried to dissuade him, and was pleasantly surprised to hear him say that he was considering asking for a transfer down to London. His work on the Agnes Robson case had drawn the attention of the powers that be at Scotland Yard, and a promotion to the capital was being touted.
“What do you say about that, Poppy?” he had asked.
“I say let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.” Then she had kissed him on the cheek.
On the journey down, when the Rolandson twins finally fell asleep, she allowed her thoughts to drift to the possibility of furthering her romance with DI Sandy Hawkes. Oh, he was most definitely attractive, and it was clear that there was a mutual admiration between them, but there was just something, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, that gave her pause for thought. She still wasn’t really sure she could trust him, and she didn’t know why. Perhaps, though, in time, her concerns would be allayed. They had hardly had much time to spend alone together, without the professional complications of a murder investigation between them. So yes, she would welcome him visiting if he came down to London. And she would see him – and everyone else – again at the trial.
Fortunately, Gus North would only be at the trial as a witness. Yasmin had managed to get Sandy – and the Newcastle Director of Public Prosecutions – to not lay any formal charges against him regarding the fraud, as long as he and Gerald returned the money they’d received for the paintings and gave the collectors real Agnes Robsons in exchange, a deal the collectors were not likely to argue with, as the originals would be worth a lot more now that the famous artist was dead. In fact, her estate would now be worth a fortune. Agnes’ solicitor had revealed that she had filed a new will with him the morning before she died – having it signed and witnessed at an office in Newcastle. The will had been read after Agnes’ funeral. She was buried in Ashington, next to her father.
She had named Gus North – formally known as Augustus Northanger – as her majority heir. But she had also left money to her mother and brother Jeremy. Jeremy, it was decided, would also not face legal consequences for the death of Michael Brownley. It was too long ago, he had only been eleven years old, and all the witnesses were dead. On top of that, there were questions about the culpability of the mine owners for not having a secure gate over the lift shaft. Agnes had also left a sum of money to St Hilda’s so their roof could be fixed. And then, finally, she had been true to her word and had set aside some money for a bursary fund for gifted young female artists. She had named Dot Denby, Grace Wilson, and Alice Denby to be co-trustees. Poppy chuckled to herself. Oh, that was going to be a challenging relationship. However, all three women agreed that they would work together.
Poppy smiled as she thought of her mother. Yes, it had been a distressing few weeks for everyone. But one of the good things that had come out of it was that she and her mother had developed a new respect for one another. Alice had told her she was proud of her and finally, after all these years, given her her blessing to go back to London and work on the newspaper. Perhaps that’s why Poppy finally felt free to call London home.
The train had now stopped and Rollo, Yasmin, and the nanny were gathering the children and luggage. Little Cleo was niggling. Poppy had discovered she had a knack of soothing the child, although it didn’t seem to work quite so well with the other twin.
“Here, give her to me,” said Poppy, and she took the child from Yasmin.
Poppy and the family stepped out of the carriage while Rollo called a porter to help them with the luggage.
As he did, a tall man in his early thirties walked towards them, grinning.
“Well, I’ll be darned, if it ain’t Danny Boy Rokeby!” Rollo strode towards his old photographer and pumped his hand up and down. “What are you doing here, old sport? I thought you were still down in Africa.”
Daniel smiled down at his former editor. “Well, I’m back. And I was wondering if you might have a job for me?”
“For the best darned press photographer in London? You bet I do! When do you want to start?”
“Well that depends…”
“On what?”
“On whether the best reporter in London wants to have me here.”
Rollo, suddenly serious, looked back at Poppy and his family. He cocked his head. “I think you two had better have a conversation. Let me know what happens.”
Then he took his daughter from Poppy and ushered his family away.
“Good luck,” whispered Yasmin as she left.
Poppy was struggling to hold back her tears. She couldn’t believe it. Here, on the platform of King’s Cross Station, almost in the very spot they had first met, was the love of her life. All thoughts of Sandy fell away.
Daniel stepped towards her and stopped. She stepped towards him, then stopped too. Between them were four and a half years of love and longing.
“You’re back,” she whispered.
“I’m back.”
“But the children? Your sister?”
“Maggie’s had a baby.”
“I heard.”
“Her own baby. She – well – she doesn’t have as much time for Amy and Arthur any more. And Arthur never really settled down there. He missed his London school friends. He’s eleven now. He should be going to grammar school. And Amy’s eight. She wants to see her grandparents. They were never that happy we left either.”
“And you, Daniel, what do you want?”
Daniel pushed his hat away from his forehead so Poppy could see his beautiful warm grey eyes. His skin was tanned – it suited him – although there were a few more wrinkles around his eyes than she’d remembered.
“I want you, Poppy. I always have. I wanted you to come with me to South Africa, but I loved you enough not to make you. I knew you’d never be happy there.”
Poppy caught a sob before it escaped her lips. “I would have been happy with you. I know I would have. But you’re right; I would have found it hard to leave my life here. My family. My friends. My job. But don’t think I didn’t lie awake at night, praying and begging God to bring you back to me. Or dreaming of what might happen if I decided to follow you there. I was thinking of doing that. I really was. But then you stopped writing. I haven’t heard from you since Easter…”
“But I wrote! I did! Something must have happened to the letters. I swear to you, Poppy: I wrote to tell you I was thinking of coming back. That I could no longer live without you. But then you didn’t reply and I thought –”
It was Daniel’s turn to catch a sob in his throat. Poppy closed the space between them and reached up her hand to touch his cheek. He covered her hand with his own then pulled her towards him. And then, despite the stares and sniggers of passengers on the platform, he kissed her. And she kissed him back.
Yes, thought Poppy, as she softened her lips against his. This is a man I can trust.