Page 65 of The Last Night in London
I smiled. “My aunt Cassie. She’s right about most things.”
“She’s certainly right about that.”
I thought about what he’d just said, about home being a mixture of good and bad, and remembered the photograph of the boy who wasn’t Colin. “The photograph on your desk—the one of your parents with a little boy who looks like you. But it’s not you.” I let the unasked question float in the night air, unseen, its weight heavy between us.
Colin regarded me in silence for a long moment before turning away. Looking up, he pointed to the first stars appearing in the ceiling of sky above us. “In the winter, Gemini and Orion are visible. I’ve spent many a frigid evening with my telescope on this very spot.”
I followed his gaze to the pinpricks of light above us, the brandy and the wide-open sky making me dizzy. “When I was little, I was afraid of the dark, so my mama told me that the stars were little cracks in God’s curtains he’d use to keep an eye on us at night. After that, I wasn’t afraid anymore.”
“She sounds like a very smart woman, too.”
“I come from a long line of intelligent women. If I didn’t look exactly like my aunt Cassie, I would think I was adopted.”
“You’re right, you know.”
I looked at him in surprise. “About what—being adopted?”
He smiled, his teeth bright in the gathering darkness. “About going barefoot. I rather like it.”
I gazed out over the fields. The vanishing sun had begun to tuck the hills into shadow blankets for the night, the light loosening its hold on the day and shifting from gold to purple. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence.
“It’s not the first sunset we’ve watched together,” Colin said close to my ear, and I realized he’d moved to stand next to me.
“It’s not?” I turned my face, his own near enough to touch.
“At university. Arabella arranged for a group of us to view the sunset from Headington Hill Hall, and you and I were the only two who showed up.”
“I’m not sure I remember,” I said, although that wasn’t completely true. I didn’t remember the scenery, but I did remember him standing next to me, carrying my camera bag.
“You tried to kiss me,” he said.
I looked at him, recalling it clearly now. “No.Youwere the one who tried to kissme.”
And before I could register that he was smiling, Colin leaned toward me and pressed his lips against mine. I was too startled to pull back right away, too aware of how nice it felt, appreciating the warmth of his mouth on mine, his hands gently resting on my waist, the dusky air that settled on our shoulders and seemed to push us together. The kiss deepened, and I found myself responding to him, to his touch, to the perfect melding of two bodies embracing. I was about to stretch my arms around his neck and pull him closer when I realized what I was doing and stopped, stepping back so quickly that I nearly lost my footing.
“I’m sorry. This... No. I can’t....” I couldn’t formulate the rest of my words, no longer even sure why I was telling him no.
“Is it because of me? Or because you believe yourself to be living with a death sentence?” He didn’t look away, holding my gaze and forcing an answer.
The intimacy of the falling dusk and the taste of his lips on mine made me brave. “It’s not you.”
He sucked in a breath. “Good.” He paused a moment, considering his words. “I’m not trying to make light of what you’re dealing with, but I’ve done a little reading to understand all of this a bit better. Surely you know that having the gene doesn’t mean your life is guaranteed to be shortened or left unlived.”
I watched his face in the gathering gloom, doing my best to ignore the warmth in my chest his words had created.I’ve done a little reading to understand all of this a bit better.As if he truly cared. It waspossible that he did, but only because he didn’t know the full story. I shook my head as if to erase his words. “But itmightbe. And then I’d be putting the ones I love through the same trauma we went through when my mother died. I can’t do that to them. Iwon’tdo it.” I stepped back, needing to create space between us. “You couldn’t understand.”
His arms fell to his sides, his blue eyes reflecting the last light of day. He didn’t speak right away, and when he did, it wasn’t what I was expecting him to say.
“The little boy was named Jeremy. He was my twin brother, and he died of leukemia when we were nine years old.” He picked up my flashlight, which I’d dropped on the ground, and whistled for the dogs. “Come on. Best use your torch. If you twist an ankle, I doubt I could carry you all the way back, and I’d hate to have to leave you out here all night.”
With that, he flicked on his own flashlight and led the way, the dogs loping alongside. I trudged along behind them, the darkness nipping at my heels and chasing me down the hill.
CHAPTER 20
LONDON
JULY 1939
The perfect weather for Sophia and David’s weekend wedding in Surrey appeared to have been ordered along with the crisp linen invitations and champagne. Sophia had left for the country the week before, and Graham was in France until late Friday; he would barely make it in time for supper. Even Precious had been delayed in London by a late showing and wouldn’t be arriving until the following morning, leaving Eva to take the train to Surrey alone. Thankfully, a car was waiting for her to take her to Hovenden Hall when she arrived.
