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THE SECOND EMPLOYMENT agency was unfortunately no more helpful than the first one, and the third one managed to surpass both employment agencies in general horribleness.
She sighed.
Everyone had always extolled her when she was a child star, but for all her experience of working, she wasn’t qualified to do anything.
She would be more qualified if she’d just finished high school properly and taken a shorthand class.
She trudged back to the building.
Raindrops fell as Cora made her way back.
The poor weather shouldn’t have surprised her. Everyone had been remarking how pleasant the weather had been in London, and yet, somehow she’d managed to take the sunshine and clear skies for granted.
They were gone now.
The skies turned a gray more commonly found in weapons, then everything turned wet and cold and ghastly.
Cora hurried through the streets, happy Archibald was safe and warm in her flat.
The double-decker buses remained a vibrant red, though rather than conjuring cheerfulness, they seemed intent on competing with one another to see which of them might splash puddles at pedestrians with the greatest force.
The Londoners seemed unperturbed by the rain, opening umbrellas and removing glossy raincoats from bags. Cora wished she’d brought an umbrella, though the umbrellas did not seem overly useful as the rain increased in intensity and blew the rain under their rims. The pitter-patter of raindrops changed to a waterfallesque sound, as if they were touring Niagara Falls or one of the more grandiose waterfalls in the Amazon.
She hastened her speed, weaving through the crowded streets. Finally, she arrived at her building and proceeded toward the steps.
“Cora!”
Her name was only whispered.
She shouldn’t have been able to know who it was.
But the faint Scottish lilt was unmistakable.
Her heart thumped.
Randolph.
She swung around quickly.
He’s here.
Randolph was approaching her. He carried a bouquet in his hand, and her heart soared.
“You’re here,” she said dumbly.
“So are you.” His baritone voice sounded warm, like the stronger drinks served after dinner at some elaborate dinner parties, and her heart thrummed pleasantly.
Randolph was the sort of man women were warned against. He was handsome and accomplished, traits that were good in theory, though which might leave a lingering sense he might easily flit away.
It didn’t help that Randolph’s job truly did take him everywhere.
Cora had first met him in Bel Air, then in Yorkshire and Sussex.
But now he was standing outside her home with flowers.
“For you, sweetheart.” Randolph handed her the bouquet. The rain decided to cease, and the wet petals sparkled under the sunbeams.
She inhaled the floral scent. “Thank you.”
“I only wish I’d brought you an umbrella.” Mirth filled his voice, and his eyes gleamed.
She laughed. “I prefer this.”
Randolph.
He was here.
In London. Outside her apartment building.
And they were talking as if no time had passed at all.
“How did you know I was here?” Cora asked.
“I have my ways,” Randolph said casually.
Perhaps the phrase might make her worry if another person said it, but instead she smiled. Randolph’s job was top secret, but he worked closely with the British government and its intelligence circles.
“How is Eastbourne?” she asked.
“Eastbourne is fine,” Randolph said. “The channel still glistens, lambs still frolic on the Downs, and your Aunt Maggie really is a great cook.”
“You’ve seen her?” Cora widened her eyes, suddenly missing her great aunt.
“I have,” Randolph said. “I went to say goodbye to her.”
“Goodbye?” Cora’s voice sounded higher. This was when he told her he was off to Latin America or Indochina or wherever the British government needed people like him. This is when he told her he’d never see her again. She forced herself to smile.
He echoed her smile.
Well. He didn’t need to put on a brave face.
He was the person who was leaving!
“Are you going to say goodbye to me now?” she asked, despising that her voice seemed to have decided to stay firmly in a higher octave.
His eyebrows sailed upward. But then he took her hands in his.
As far as gestures went, it was of the more innocent sort. How many times had she shaken hands with people each day in Hollywood? And yet, his skin set hers aflame, even though her hands were encased in gloves, and even though she was sufficiently cold from the recent showers for it to seem impossible that anything as meager as a touch could warm her.
“I’d rather hoped the opposite,” he said.
She must have blinked, for this time he smiled.
“No goodbyes.”
She was silent, hoping she was about to hear something good, but not quite believing it.
Butterflies had invaded her the first time she’d met him. They’d fluttered through her in Bel Air, and they’d continued to flutter in Yorkshire and then Sussex.
They’d kissed, and the world had been wonderful, but she’d always known their time together was limited.
“I’m moving to London,” he continued.
“Oh?” Her heartbeat quickened, and she waited for him to continue.
He was going to be here.
“So I expect, my dear, to see much more of you.”
“Oh.” This time the word didn’t come out as a question. This time it came out curiously like a moan, and Randolph clasped her to him, even though they were outside, and anyone on the square might see them.
“Well, well.” Lionel’s voice interrupted them, and Randolph pulled away.
“Smooching on the front stairs,” Lionel continued with bemusement.
“I’m sorry.” Cora stepped away. Her heart still beat quickly, and she smoothed her dress, as if desiring to do something with the extra energy that swirled inside her.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Randolph said sternly.
“Mother wouldn’t approve,” Lionel said, raising his chin. “She’s the landlady. Luckily, you just saw me.”
Cora didn’t feel particularly lucky. She felt embarrassed. She’d been so happy, and now she was being chided like some schoolgirl, though unlike a teacher or principal, Lionel didn’t have the most meager qualifications over her.
Lionel hardly emanated respectability. His tousled hair signified a lax attitude to seeing barbers regularly. When she’d met him, he’d been obviously hungover and clutching a bottle of scotch, as if under the optimistic belief the strong liquid might make him forget his hangover.
“Let’s take a walk,” Randolph said, and she nodded, eager to leave Lionel and his sudden avocation of propriety.
“I’ll get Archibald,” she said.
He grinned. “It will be nice to see him again.”
“He’ll be happy to see you.”
Randolph went to follow her inside, but Lionel cleared his throat noisily. “I believe Miss Clarke is unmarried.”
“It won’t take long.” Cora felt her skin redden. She’d forgotten how conservative Britain was. This wouldn’t have been an issue in Hollywood.
“Let’s not take chances. Besides...” He pursed his lips, “we all know you are in possession of a particularly strong imagination.”
“You make that sound like an insult,” Randolph said indignantly.
“Indeed?” Lionel retained an innocent tone at odds with his general demeanor. “I meant it to sound like the truth. Or have you not heard about the dead body she claimed she saw?”
Randolph widened his eyes.
Oh, no.
Cora wanted to sink into the ground.
What must Randolph be thinking?
“What dead body?” Randolph asked, and his nostrils flared.
“An imaginary one,” Lionel said.
“Is that so?” Randolph asked.
“I’ll get Archibald,” Cora said quickly. “I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”
“Mm...hmm...” Randolph’s eyes remained focused on Lionel, and even Cora shivered at their intensity.
She dashed up the stairs, conscious of murmured voices below.
Why were they still speaking? They shouldn’t be speaking. They hadn’t seemed to like each other. They might both be British, but even Cora doubted Lionel and Randolph had changed the conversation to the oddities, or lack of oddities, about the weather.
No.
If they were talking, they were talking about her.
Cora slammed her key into the lock and turned on the light, forgetting to feel any fear. The flat was soon swathed in light, and Archibald pitter-pattered toward her, wagging his tail.
Good.
At least he seemed to be behaving normally. Her stomach tightened at the thought of Randolph and Lionel continuing their conversation. Randolph didn’t need to worry about her safety.
She grabbed Archibald’s lead. “Would you like to go on a walk?”
Archibald gave a predictable joyful sounding bark, and she hooked his lead onto his collar. Soon, they were striding down the steps.
Finally, they reached Randolph and Lionel.
Archibald wagged his tail with greater intensity when he saw Randolph, and Randolph crouched down to pet him, while giving him several compliments. It was easy to give Archibald compliments, but Cora’s heart still warmed.
Randolph cleared his throat, even though he’d given no signs of suffering from a cold earlier. Lionel’s face whitened, visible even in the dim light of the landing. Are those beads of sweat on his brow?
“I should say,” Lionel said haltingly, “that I rather do apologize for my words earlier. They were unnecessarily aggressive.” He looked at Randolph, who nodded. “That’s not the kind of place this is, and I want you to feel comfortable here.”
Randolph nodded, and Lionel’s shoulders seemed to lower a fraction.
“I should go now,” Lionel said abruptly. “Have an—er—good evening.”
In the next moment, Lionel had turned and was scurrying up the stairs.
Randolph smiled and offered Cora his arm. “Let’s go on a walk.”
Archibald rushed toward the door, his tail wagging fiercely, and in the next moment they were striding into the cool, London night.