Page 76 of The Last Night in London
“But isn’t that the British way? To ignore the obvious so as not to appear rude?” I said, reaching over to turn a page.
“I wouldn’t say it’s solely a British trait,” he said very close to my ear, so close that I fought hard not to turn my head.
“Where are the missing photos, do you think?” I asked, noting the blank spots between photos, as if several had been randomly removed.
“I just assumed that’s how the album was created.” Colin lifted the book and shook it. “Nothing.”
I nodded slowly, then leaned forward, studying the faces. “I’d hoped to find more photos of Eva, but there aren’t any. I wonder why.”
My phone beeped on the ledge behind us, making us both turn.
I read the screen.His name is Colin, right?It was Aunt Cassie again. I reached for my phone, but Colin was quicker.
“How should I reply?” he asked.
“Don’t reply at all. That’s the only way to get her to stop.”
Turning his back to me, he began to text, avoiding my reaching hands. I heard the swish sound of a text being sent and then he handed the phone back to me, a satisfied grin on his face.
I looked down at my screen with one eye closed.Yes. He tried to kiss me last night. I wanted him to, but I pushed him away because I enjoy being impossible to understand.
My phone immediately began to ring, and I sent a quick text back.Call you later.Looking up at Colin, I said, “She’ll never believe I wrote that.”
He crossed his arms. “Really? Who else texts in full sentences?”
I wanted to ask him how he knew that I did but didn’t bother. I stood and began walking toward the door.
“Aren’t you going to argue with me?” he asked, following close behind.
“No.” I headed down what seemed to be a familiar hallway.
“Because you know I’m right.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I’d reached a door that I thought should take me back to the kitchen.
“Madison, stop.”
I tugged on the doorknob. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine. But that’s a coat closet. The kitchen is two doors to your right.”
I dropped my hand and walked toward the kitchen with as much dignity as I could muster.
—
Arabella had joined her aunt at the table and was going through the black box. “Good morning,” I said, as I slid into the seat next to her. “Anything interesting?”
“Just odds and ends, really. Train tickets, invitations—that sort of thing. Leftovers that didn’t fit in Sophia’s scrapbook, I think. Nothing from Eva showing a return address.”
“What about Graham?” Colin asked. “Surely he would have written to his sister.”
Arabella shook her head. “Nothing so far. That doesn’t mean he didn’t write, though. If it was during the war, the letters he sent might have been so heavily censored that Sophia didn’t deem them worthy of keeping. There are a few from William before he was killed. Nothing very informative, sadly. Just a lot about nearly getting frostbite when flying at higher altitudes.”
I turned to the cut photographs again and tapped my fingers on one showing Precious with Sophia wearing pretty spring hats and linking arms in front of the glass house at Kew Gardens.
“Did you by any chance grab the folder of photographs I printed at Colin’s?” I asked Arabella. “I need to look at them again.”
Arabella chewed on her bottom lip. “I think so. Might be in one of the totes I brought in. Let me go look.”
