Genuine Fraud(24)

They pulled apart and walked in silence for a minute. A crowd of four drunk young women headed toward them, crossing the bridge precariously on high heels. “I can’t believe they made us leave,” one of them complained, slurring her words.

“They should want our business, those buggers,” said another. Their accents were Yorkshire.

“Ooh, he’s cute.” The first one looked at Paolo from ten feet away.

“You think he wants to go get a drink?”

“Ha! Cheeky.”

“I dunno. Ask him.”

One woman called out, “If you want a night out, good sir, you can come along with us.”

Paolo blushed. “What?”

“Are you coming?” she asked. “Just you.”

Paolo shook his head. The women walked away, giggling, and he watched them until they were off the bridge. Then he took Jule’s hand again.

The mood was different, though. They no longer knew what to say to each other.

Finally, Paolo said: “Did you know Brooke Lannon?”

What?

Imogen’s friend Brooke. What did Paolo have to do with Brooke?

Jule made her voice light. “Yeah, from Vassar. How come?”

“Brooke—she passed away about a week ago.” Paolo looked at the ground.

“What? Oh no.”

“I didn’t mean to be the one to tell you. I didn’t put it together that you’d know her till now,” said Paolo. “And then it popped out.”

“How do you know Brooke?”

“I don’t, really. She was friends with my sister from summer camp.”

“What happened?” Jule wanted to hear his answer, desperately, but she calmed her voice.

“It was an accident. She was up in a park north of San Francisco. She was there visiting some friends who went to college in the city, but they were busy or something, and Brooke went hiking. It was a day hike, but late, when it was getting dark. She was on a nature preserve by herself. And she just—she fell off this walkway. A walkway over a ravine.”

“She fell?”

“They think she’d been drinking. She hit her head and nobody found her till this morning. Except some animals. The body was pretty messed up.”

Jule shivered. She thought of Brooke Lannon, with her loud, show-off laugh. Brooke, who drank too much. Brooke, with that perverse streak of humor, the sleek yellow hair and seal-like body. The entitled set of her jaw. Silly, petty, harsh Brooke. “How do they know what happened?”

“She tipped herself over the railing. Maybe climbing up to see something. They found her car in the lot with an empty vodka bottle in it.”

“Was it suicide?”

“No, no. Just an accident. It was in the news today, like a cautionary tale. You know, always take a buddy when you go out in nature. Don’t drink vodka and then hike across a ravine. Her family got worried when she didn’t come home for Christmas Eve, but the police assumed she’d just gone deliberately missing.”

Jule felt cold and strange. She hadn’t thought of Brooke since she’d gotten to London. She could have looked her up online, but she hadn’t. She had cut Brooke out completely. “You’re sure it was an accident?”

“A terrible accident,” said Paolo. “I’m so sorry.”

They walked for a ways in awkward silence.

Paolo pulled his hat down over his ears.

After a minute, Jule reached over and took his hand again. She wanted to touch him. Admitting that and doing it felt more like an act of bravery than any fight she had ever been in. “Let’s not think about it,” she said. “Let’s be on the other side of the ocean and feel lucky.”

She let him walk her home, and he kissed her again in front of her building. They huddled together on the steps to keep warm as merry snowflakes drifted through the air.





Early the next day, Paolo showed up at the flat carrying a tote bag. Jule was wearing pajama pants and a camisole when he rang the buzzer. She made him wait in the hall until she put clothes on.

“I’m borrowing my friend’s house in Dorset,” he said, following her to the kitchen. “And I rented a car. Everything else anyone could possibly need for a weekend away is in this bag.”

Jule peered into the sack he held out: four Crunchie bars, Hula Hoops, Swedish Fish, two bottles of seltzer, and a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. “You don’t have any clothes in there. Or even a toothbrush.”

“Those are for amateurs.”

She laughed. “Ew.”

“Okay, fine, I have my backpack in the car. But these are the important items,” Paolo said. “We can see Stonehenge on the way. Have you seen it?”

“No.” Jule was indeed particularly curious to see Stonehenge, which she’d read about in a Thomas Hardy novel she’d bought in a San Francisco bookshop, but she wanted to see all the things—that was how she felt. All of London she hadn’t yet seen, all of England, all of the great wide world—and to feel free, powerful, and yes, entitled, to witness and understand what was out there.

“It’ll have ancient mystery, so that’ll be good,” said Paolo. “Then when we get to the house, we can hike around and look at sheep in meadows. Or take pictures of sheep. Maybe pat them. Whatever people do in the countryside.”