Page 64 of The Last Night in London
“Don’t worry—we haven’t let the cows on this hill for a bit so the grass can grow.” Colin looked down at my Keds. “It’s a gentle hill, but it might be slippery. Are you all right in those?”
“Probably not,” I said, slipping them off, then rolling my socks inside them so that I was barefoot. In response to his blank expression, I explained, “Growing up, I only wore shoes to school, church, and birthday parties. It might be mostly a Southern thing, which means there’s a whole mess of people missing out. There’s just something magical about grass under your bare feet.” I looked pointedly at his loafers. “You should try it.”
He hesitated for only a moment before he took off his shoes and placed them neatly next to mine. “It is nice. A bit cool, though. Won’t my feet get cold?”
“Don’t worry—you’ll get used to it. Your toes will be too happy to complain.”
“Come on, then,” he said, indicating a path leading from the garden to a grass slope interspersed with trees. He whistled to the dogs, who immediately began trotting in our direction.
We walked in silence, the dogs panting as they raced past us and then circled back when they reached the cow gate ahead, prancing impatiently as they waited for Colin to open it. I kept replaying our conversation in the kitchen, hearing Colin’s words about the photo of the boy in the stroller on his desk who wasn’t him. I wanted to ask him who it was but couldn’t find the right words, words that would show an indifference I no longer felt.
“I’ve been making inquiries regarding Eva Harlow,” Colin said, breaking the silence.
“Oh. Great. Have you found out anything?”
He shook his head. “Not a thing. I did find her on the roster of models at House of Lushtak from nineteen thirty-nine through the end of March nineteen forty-one. Then she disappears. Absolutely nothing—from death notices to hospital and marriage records. It’s like she never existed.”
“But we know she lived with Precious—did you check the building’s history?”
“I tried to. There aren’t any tenant records for Precious, because my grandparents owned the flat.”
“And when she returned to London in the seventies, she moved back in. I wonder why she didn’t find a small flat, since it was just her. Maybe it was so Eva could find her after all those years away.”
“Curiouser and curiouser, I’d say,” Colin said, his thoughts matching mine. “I’ll see what I can find in the Devon records—Precious said Eva’s father was a doctor and that both her parents were killed in an automobile accident. Those details should help narrow it down. We have an intern at the office to make phone calls; she can see ifthere are any newspaper accounts of the accident, that sort of thing. It’s a long shot, but at least it’s a shot.”
The hill had become steeper, and I found myself breathing more heavily. Even the dogs had slowed their pace, although Colin continued with his long strides, slowing down only when he realized he was in front of me.
As we reached the crest of the hill, the light in the sky began to shift, and we stopped with the dogs to admire the view. On the south side of the slope, shadows were beginning to cover the bright green patchwork fields; on the north side, a dense forest claimed the landscape. And in the distance, beyond more rolling hills, the shapes of London’s skyline projected dark shadows into the horizon like greedy fingers claiming the sky.
Colin pointed toward the trees. “Some of the yews in the forest are over five hundred years old. When I was a boy, Nana would take me for walks and tell me what a particular tree had witnessed in history, depending on its girth.” He fell silent, pondering his next words. “Nana said she wished they were time capsules, that she could peel back the layers of bark to relive parts of her life. I never asked her which parts. Perhaps I should have.”
Our eyes met. “Perhaps. Although I think you’re running out of time. Arabella says her doctors feel as if she doesn’t have much longer, yet except for the pallor of her skin, she seems perfectly fit to me.”
He sucked in his breath, then let it out slowly. “That’s why it’s so hard to believe. She has congestive heart failure, and it’s getting worse. She doesn’t want to be resuscitated if anything happens, so yes, we’re running out of time to reunite her with Eva or at least let her know what happened to her friend. And regardless, my father would like to learn his uncle’s fate. But even he seems reluctant, as if the reason why Graham was never mentioned is because his parents were keeping something dark and sinister from him.” He paused, his eyes staring steadily into mine. “What is it about all of our pasts that we’re so unwilling to confront?”
I looked up into the purpling sky, like a bruise on the day to show it had been lived and survived. It might have been the fading light,or maybe the brandy made a confession seem less rash. “It’s odd, but when I think of my past, I see it as a younger version of myself. The me I can’t quite forgive for making so many mistakes.”
I felt him waiting and turned to meet his gaze. He said, “But, Madison, all of your mistakes have made you who you are. And from what I can see, you’re rather wonderful. Except for your inexplicable aversion to going home to a place you apparently love and a family who adores you.”
“You think I’m wonderful?” I hadn’t meant to say that, but his words had taken me by surprise.
“You have your moments.”
I looked away. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and confused by the rush of blood to my face, I breathed in deeply, the air redolent of spring and growing things and the soft fug of barnyard animals. “I do love the smell of a farm,” I said, eager to change the subject. “Pretty much in the same way I love the scent of the south Georgia swamps. I guess it’s like loving the sound of bagpipes—you’re either born with it or you’re not.”
“So you like the sound of bagpipes, do you?” Colin smiled reluctantly.
“I do. I can’t tell you where I’ve heard them, but I have often enough to know. There’s just something—I don’t know—majestic about them. Haunting, almost. And you?”
“I’ve lived in Great Britain my entire life, so I’ve heard my share of bagpipes. And yes, I do enjoy them. I don’t believe one is allowed to be British and not at least give a show of liking them.”
The distant sound of a cow lowing rolled over the hills, making me nostalgic for something I wasn’t aware I was missing. “How could you ever leave such a place?”
When he didn’t answer, I looked up to find him watching me closely. “Because I know it’s always here. It’s where my childhood memories live, good and bad all mixed together.” A shadow passed behind his eyes, the kind I saw behind my own. He looked away, as if aware he’d given away something he hadn’t been ready to share. Turning to me again, he added, “But that’s what makes it home.”
I stared at him in the gathering dusk, feeling the tiny night insects brush against my cheeks. “Home is a place that lives in one’s heart, waiting with open arms to be rediscovered.”
He tilted his head slightly. “What incredibly intelligent person said that?”
