The Light Over London(43)

“It’s going to be worse than any of us expected. We’ll need to be ready,” he said with a shake of his head.

They were going to be stationed in an area of London that had seen some of the worst bombing. Even though the newspapers never showed bodies and the message from the government was one of pulling together and soldiering on, it was impossible to avoid the murmurs. East London had been devastated, and although the bombing wasn’t as fearsome now that the Blitz was over, the Luftwaffe still flew, trying to hit strategic locations throughout the city. Like the Woolwich Depot they would be defending, with its rota of trains coming in to pick up carriage loads of munitions.

“Well then,” she said, pulling her shoulders back, “we will.”

He grunted, touched the brim of his cap, and crossed his arms to try to sleep just a little more before they made it to the depot.





11


CARA


It had been three weeks since the trip to dispose of Lenora Robinson’s estate, and Cara had been run off her feet sorting, listing, and shipping the contents of the house. And it looked as though it was only going to become busier.

Just that day, the phone on Jock’s massive mahogany desk had trilled, and after a few minutes he’d walked out of his office and said, “I hope you enjoy the Cotswolds, Miss Hargraves. We’ve an appointment at Summerson House in Fairford next Monday morning.”

“Another estate?”

His eyes twinkled. “That of a Mr. Nigel Egerton. His father, Bernard Egerton, was a popular Edwardian landscape painter, but his work fell out of fashion in the thirties. Mr. Nigel Egerton’s son tells me that his father left him the bulk of the contents of his grandfather’s studio. Sharpen your skills, Ms. Hargraves, and remember: F-S-P.”

Then Jock had marched out, announcing that he was going out for a celebratory pastry and cappuccino. When he’d returned, he’d placed a steaming cup of Earl Grey on her desk.

It had been a good day.

At five, she slung her purse over her shoulder and called out, “I’m visiting my gran today, so I’m off.”

“Give Mrs. Warren my regards,” said Jock.

On the street, Cara checked her phone. She had more email notifications than she wanted to think about, as well as a handful of texts from Nicole, her old colleague Monica from the events and marketing firm, and a couple of London friends. She was just about to answer Nicole when a notification flashed up. It was from Liam. She’d given him her number after they’d run into each other at the pub just in case he needed to reschedule their diary investigation dinner. That he’d actually used it warmed her.

Making progress on our mystery. Think I can connect some dots for you.

Her pulse kicked up as she fired back a quick response:

What did you find?

Almost immediately he started typing:

Best to tell you in person. Fancy stopping by my office?

She stared at the phone. Going to his office felt intimate, like crossing a barrier she’d spent so much time erecting. It had been necessary after Simon. She’d pulled in on herself, walling herself off from any more hurt as she processed what he’d done and accepted the fact that—even without his betrayal—she’d fallen out of love with him long ago.

She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. Liam wasn’t her ex-husband. He was just her neighbor, offering to help her with a project because he was kind and as curious as she was. That she liked him . . . Well, she didn’t really know what to think about that. Their dinner together could’ve been an unmitigated disaster, awkward and stilted, because she’d felt awkward and uncertain. Instead, he’d made her laugh and she’d relaxed—even enjoyed their dinner-but-not-a-date.

Taking a deep breath, she messaged back:

Tell me where to go.



Cara climbed the creaking, carpeted stairs to the second floor of Salisbury House, where Liam had his office on campus. The receptionist downstairs, a young woman with spiky pink hair and doe eyes, had told her that he might still be with a student. Sure enough, when Cara approached the office with a brass doorplate that read “L. McGown,” she could see a young woman scribbling furiously in a notebook as she sat across from Liam.

“It’s an issue of trying to do too much with such a limited amount of space,” he said. “What you have is a topic for a graduate thesis. What you need is a focused topic for a research paper.”

“There’s so much to be written about the role of women in the church during this time,” said the girl, pushing up her cat-eye glasses.

Cara heard Liam’s chair creak, and although she couldn’t see him, it was easy to imagine him leaning back, hands laced behind his head as he eyed this ambitious student.

“Then, Miss Okafor, I think you’ve hit on something. Refine your ideas a bit further and hone your argument, and you’ve got a head start on a chapter for your final thesis. Not bad for your first week back at Barlow.”

The student began gathering up her things, so Cara rapped on the door frame. Liam looked up, a smile spreading over his lips when he spotted her.

“You’re here already,” he said.

“The shop is just in the center of town. Is now a good time?” She glanced from him to Miss Okafor.

“Yes, yes. Let me know if you have any further questions,” he said to his student.