Page 45 of The London Girls
His study door shut with a bang and she was left standing in the hallway with her mother, speechless, and there was a pain in her chest she’d never experienced before.
‘Please,’ she said, holding out her hands as she walked towards her mother. ‘You can’t let him do this to me. Mother, you can’t kick me out, this is my home!’
‘Ava, I’m sorry, but I told you I couldn’t protect you from him if he found out.’
Ava stared at her for a long moment, waiting for her to change her mind, but all her mother did was glance at the bag and suitcase she’d packed – items Ava hadn’t noticed sitting in the hall when she’d arrived.
‘Mother?’
Her mother just looked at her feet, and as much as Ava wanted to hate her, she still stepped forward and opened her arms, giving her a quick hug. She was surprised to feel her mother return it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered into Ava’s ear.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ Ava whispered back. ‘That you chose to marry such a monster.’
She gathered her things, grimacing when her shoulder screamed in pain at the weight of her bag, but she intended on walking out with her pride intact, and that meant ensuring her father could see her walking with squared shoulders when he looked out of thewindow of his study. She certainly wasn’t going to let him know she was injured, either, and with her coat covering her shoulder – and thankfully long enough to hide her torn trousers – he wouldn’t even know she’d been hurt.
‘Where will you go?’ her mother called out.
‘I have somewhere, don’t you worry,’ she replied, as she thought about the general and the look on his face when she arrived at his door. At least he’d be happy to see her; she only wished she’d had time to arrange it so she could have had his car collect her.
It had taken Ava the better part of an hour to make her way to the general’s townhouse. It involved a walk so long she’d been on the verge of collapse, but she’d managed to get a taxi the rest of the way. They were far and few between in London now, with all the young drivers sent off to war, but she was grateful for the old, grey-haired driver who’d stopped for her.
In the taxi she’d managed to fix her hair and found her make-up in the smaller of the two bags her mother had packed for her, so she’d applied some lipstick and powdered her face, but there was little she could do about the uniform she was wearing.
Ava stood outside for a long moment before deciding to stride up to the door and knock. Chances are he’d still be at work and she’d have to wait – with the hours he worked she certainly doubted he’d be there – but she didn’t mind resting against his door. Although, if his housekeeper was there, perhaps she’d be kind enough to let her in?
She raised her hand and knocked three times, standing back and wondering if she should unbutton her shirt a little, but the door swung open just as she was lifting her fingers to do it.
‘Can I help you?’
A beautiful blonde woman stood on the other side, perhaps in her forties, with a pearl necklace resting over what appeared to be a cream cashmere jumper, her hair elegantly swept up off her face. This was most definitelynotthe housekeeper.
‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked again.
‘I’m, ah, well, I’m looking for the general.’ Did she have the wrong house?
The woman’s eyes seemed to dance over Ava’s luggage and then traced the length of her body as Ava stepped back to check the number on the door.
‘He’s not here,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but how do you know my husband, and what exactly are you doing here?’
Ava swallowed. It wasn’t like her to cry so easily, but after the day she’d had, tears suddenly burned her eyes. ‘You’re his wife?’ she croaked.
‘I’m the general’s wife, yes,’ she said, folding her arms and looking impatient.
‘I thought you were in the country. I thought ...’
‘I’ve recently returned from visiting my mother. I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’
Ava wished the ground would open up and swallow her. What was his wife doing back in London?
‘Wren Williamson?’ the deep, booming voice of the general made her jump. She spun around, her heart singing as she saw him stepping from his black shiny car and walking towards her. He was here now; he’d be able to clear up whatever was going on. His wife must have returned unexpectedly; perhaps he’d asked her to come to London to discuss divorce? Or maybe he didn’t even know she was back, and it would be as big a surprise to him as it had been to her!
But as she smiled and held out her hand to him, he walked purposely around her and greeted his wife with a kiss, his armslipping around her waist, the picture of a perfect couple as they stood together, watching her from just inside the house.
‘What in God’s name are you doing at my home, Wren Williamson?’ he asked, his eyes darkening as he stared at her, angry just like her father had been. ‘And why do you have bags with you?’
His stare was almost a challenge, and as much as she wanted to blurt out exactly why she was there, she lifted her chin and forced a smile. ‘I was only wanting to ensure you’d received a message,’ she lied, her voice quavering. ‘I couldn’t find you before I left work, to tell you that the Chief of Staff’s meeting time had been changed for tomorrow.’
