The Light Over London(23)

There it was, the particular brand of crushing guilt that Mrs. Moss specialized in. Louise had told Paul the truth when she’d said that she was no one’s girl, but that didn’t account for the expectations of the two women sitting in front of her.

Setting her teacup aside, Mrs. Moss rose to her feet. “I really must be heading home or Mr. Moss won’t have a thing to eat for supper tonight.”

Louise’s mother shot Louise a look that told her the conversation was far from over, but busied herself showing Mrs. Moss out.

When the front door shut, Louise sucked in a breath, waiting for the inevitable. It came as soon as Rose Keene walked back into the room.

“I cannot believe that a daughter of mine would do anything so disgraceful,” her mother hissed.

“There was nothing disgraceful. I explained—”

“You were seen, Louise. Mrs. Dorsey saw you kiss that man on the steps leading away from the beach.”

Louise’s gaze fell to her hands. She knew there was no way she would be able to keep up the charade that she and Paul were simply friends. Not that her mother had believed it for one moment.

“Now,” her mother said, arranging herself primly in her chair, “you can understand why I chose to withhold that particular revelation from Mrs. Moss. I should hate to think that a mistake like this would make her think you had been untrue to Gary.”

“Mum . . .”

“That boy intends to ask you to marry him, mark my words. I will admit, I’d once hoped my daughter would set her sights higher than a small village solicitor’s son. If only your father would’ve shown some ambition, he might’ve been the postmaster at Truro and you would’ve met an entirely different class of person, but that wasn’t to be.”

The thumbnail of Louise’s left hand bit hard into her palm. She’d heard this story so many times before, but over the years it had been edited down. Gone were the mentions of her mother’s less-than-modest upbringing as a fisherman’s daughter. Gone were the tales of having just two dresses and one pair of shoes a year. Her mother had recast her history to suit her purposes, and now she intended to mold Louise’s future to further her frustrated ambitions.

“It’s clear that I cannot hope to keep this from Mrs. Moss forever,” said her mother. “You know how life in a village is. You should prepare yourself for her disappointment and hope that she chooses not to write to Gary about it.”

“Gary and I are not engaged to be married. We saw a film or two and went to a dance. That was all,” she protested.

“He was courting you, and if it hadn’t been for the war, you would’ve been engaged by now,” said her mother firmly.

The surety of her mother’s words choked her. Louise didn’t want to become her mother, her domain a small house in a little village with four hundred people, all of whom she’d known from birth. She wanted more—California skies and thrilling dances and handsome men asking her to be theirs—and meeting Paul had made it all seem somehow more possible.

“I don’t even know if Gary likes me,” she said.

“Gary adores you. Not that you deserve it, carrying on with officers,” said her mother.

“And what of what I want?” Louise asked. “You and Mrs. Moss have just decided that we were going to marry. No one ever asked me.”

“Enough!” her mother shouted. Placing a hand to her throat as she composed herself, she continued in a quieter voice, “This is not a matter for discussion, Louise. Now, go peel the potatoes. I will not have your father’s supper late to the table due to your selfishness.”

Louise’s lips pursed as she fought to hold back all the words she wanted to say, all the years of things she wanted to shout at her mother. But she knew better than most that trying to drive through an immovable mountain was impossible. Instead, she would somehow find the path around it.





6


CARA


When Cara’s phone pierced the silence of her house with its ringing, she lunged for it with a gasp of relief. She’d been hunched over her laptop at her kitchen table reading up on French verdure tapestry because Jock had sent her a scathing look that said, Not only am I annoyed, I’m disappointed, after she’d drawn a complete blank identifying a large tapestry she’d discovered rolled up in one of the Old Vicarage’s hall cupboards. It had been the low point of her Friday, a sign that her progress in getting up to speed was beginning to plateau.

When she flipped her phone over, a photo of her best friend, Nicole, grinned back at her. Swiping to answer, she said, “Hello, stranger. Fancy you calling me.”

“Not a stranger,” said Nicole over what sounded like her car’s hands-free system. “International business traveler of mystery.”

Cara laughed. “How was Switzerland?”

“Breathtakingly expensive. You wouldn’t believe how much a bottle of wine costs.”

“Sounds like you need to bring your own if the agency decides to keep sending you,” Cara said.

“Don’t think I haven’t considered bringing another suitcase. If I did my job well and the bank chooses to pick up my ad campaign, I’ll be spending at least a few months on-site. Speaking of wine, have you looked around the new neighborhood? Any good drinking establishments where you could take your oldest friend?” Nicole asked.