Page 75 of The Last Night in London
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine anything more difficult than losing a child.”
Her clear blue gaze settled on me. “I imagine it would be a lot like losing one’s mother when one is still a child.” She smiled sympathetically. “Colin told me. I hope you don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s all right. I just never liked telling classmates. I didn’t want to be known as the girl whose mother died.”
Penelope sat back in her chair, her hands wrapped around her mug. “Colin was the same way.” She took a deep breath. “I wish I’d handled it differently. For Colin, I mean. We were older parents, and I knew we wouldn’t have any more children, so I became a bit overprotective. I believe that’s why he’s so cautious now. It’s not that he’s afraid of getting hurt himself. He worries about us if something happens to him.” She looked down into her mug. “I think that’s why he admires you so much, Maddie. The way you don’t hold back. How you aren’t afraid of how other people might perceive you. Even your silly pranks. They always made him laugh—especially the time you put a Teletubbies theme on his laptop before a PowerPoint presentation. He thought that quite brilliant, although he pretended otherwise.”
“I can’t take credit for my sense of humor—blame my aunt Cassie. My whole family, really—I’ll let you listen to my ringtones sometime. But Colin’s worry over what might happen if he should be hurt is just...” I started to say “ridiculous” but stopped. “I wondered why he was always so cautious. It’s not like his chances of survival can change just by worrying about them. My aunt Cassie says that worrying is a lot like sitting in a rocking chair. It keeps you busy, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.”
“Brilliant observation.”
The voice came from the doorway, and we both turned to see Colin, who looked annoyed. I wasn’t sure how much he’d heard, but I assumed it had been most of it. He filled a kettle, then put it on the AGA, his movements jerky.
“It is, rather,” Penelope said, turning back to the table. “It’s something we should all adhere to, I think. Worrying about things that may or may not happen reminds me of riding a horse with the reinsalways pulled in tight. A person might admire the scenery along the way, but they won’t experience the joy of a full gallop.”
She was looking at me as she said this, her eyes kind, but her expression that of a person trying to explain something complicated to someone who speaks a different language. Colin waited for the kettle to boil, then sat down at the table across from me with his cup of tea, his eyes meeting mine as he took a sip.
I couldn’t help but remember our kiss, and the way I’d pushed him away, and how all night long I’d wished I hadn’t. Flustered, I studied the items on the table. “What are these?”
“Arabella brought these in here last night. The clippings and photos from the hatbox you’ve already seen, I believe. The album and box came from the attic—I missed them in the last go-round when I was collecting things for you and Arabella to go through. It’s Sophia’s scrapbook from her debutante season in nineteen thirty-nine and other related materials in the box. I discovered a leather valise up there, too. It’s too bulky for me to bring down, but I believe it belonged to Sophia. It must have been put there prior to her death—I don’t remember seeing it in her rooms when we redecorated afterward. You’re welcome to bring it down if you think it might be helpful.”
I nodded absently, studying the photographs from the hatbox, their carefully cut edges, once again wondering why. “Any guess as to why these have all been cut?”
Penelope shook her head. “I was hoping you’d have some theories about that.”
“Sadly, no. Have you by any chance found the missing halves? Those might give us a better idea of why they were cut.”
“No, I haven’t,” Penelope said. “And I have no theories as to why Sophia would save these. We’ve already got so many photographs of Precious. Have you asked Precious? She might know something.”
“Not yet—I will. You said you found Sophia and David’s wedding album. Can I see that before I get into these?”
“Of course. It’s in the library—on the window seat. Colin—would you take Maddie? I don’t think she’s had enough coffee yet tofind it herself.” She smiled, the glint in her eyes reminding me of Colin.
Colin stood. “If only to protect these walls from being knocked down by Maddie taking wrong turns and bumping into them. The house will thank me.”
“Very funny,” I said as I stood to follow him.
No fire burned in the grate, and despite the warmth of the day outside, a distinctive chill hovered about the room. I took a moment to admire the tall bookcases and the highly polished paneling in the prisms of light streaming from the multipaned window.
Colin sat down on the window seat and opened the album on his lap, leaving me no choice but to sit beside him. He opened it to the first photograph, the one I’d already seen of Sophia and David with the full wedding party. Except this one showed Precious staring into the camera instead of looking away, a bright smile on her face. I leaned closer.
“I know this is an old photo, but look at her smile. The way her eyes match the joy in the rest of her face. She looks... different.” I had struggled to find another word before settling on that one.
Colin leaned forward, too, his thigh pressing into mine. I told myself that the flash of heat that shot up my leg was simply gratitude to him for sharing his body warmth in the chilly room. “I see what you mean. In all the years I’ve known Nana, I’ve never seen her smile that way with her whole face.” He squinted, leaning even closer. “Of course, she’s lived through a war since then, which could account for it.”
“Very true.” I pointed at the even edge, which neatly sliced the woman standing next to Precious in half. A woman with blond hair the same brightness as Precious’s was partially visible, their shoulders at an even height, showing that they were of the same statuesque build, both slightly taller than the groom in their high heels.
I tapped Precious’s face, wondering what it was besides the smile that was bothering me.
“What is it?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure. It’ll come to me—usually it doeswhen I’m not thinking about it. But there’s something about the jaw....” I stopped, turned the page. “Don’t worry—I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
We looked at the next page, a photo of the bride and groom with two older couples, most likely the parents. One of the men leaned heavily on a cane, his face pained as if it had taken all of his energy to get out of bed.
Colin pointed to his face. “That is my great-grandfather. He was very ill and died within a year of the wedding, according to Sophia. She showed this album to me when I was a little boy—not that I really paid attention at the time. There are a few more formally posed photographs of the happy couple and family groups at the church, but the rest are unposed shots from the reception at the house. Looks like most of the photos in Grandmother’s debutante scrapbook, I think. Formally dressed people having a good time. Hard to believe they were on the brink of war.”
He turned the pages slowly. He was right—the smiling, beautiful people in the pictures looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world. As if Poland wasn’t on the verge of being invaded, and Hitler hadn’t already set his sights on Great Britain.
