The Light Over London(46)

“What excellent taste in neighbors you have, Cara,” said Gran, and Cara knew that as soon as she was home she could expect a call demanding to know more about the admittedly handsome man.

“You’re rather turned out for a random Wednesday evening,” she said.

“Do you like my outfit?” Gran asked, modeling her wide-legged ivory trousers. They were the same color as the silk flower tucked behind her ear, and she had paired them with a muted gold ruffled blouse and slim, pointed-toe flats, topped off by a stack of gold bangles on her slim arm. Gran looked ready to sip Negronis on a sun-drenched balcony in the French Riviera. “I have a date with Peter from flat twelve at seven. He’s seventy-seven and a widower.”

“You’re robbing the cradle,” said Cara, pretending to be scandalized as she handed over the box of tea cakes.

“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?” Gran’s eyes flicked over to Liam. “You know, this one is better looking than Simon.”

Cara choked a horrified laugh but Liam dipped his head in a game little bow. “I’m glad I meet with your approval.”

“It would be difficult for you to do worse than that lout. Do you drink?” Gran asked as she glided into the flat’s generous sitting room, depositing the confections on a cherry sideboard as she went.

“I do,” said Liam.

Gran turned, her hand poised over a glass-and-metal cocktail shaker. “Spirits?”

“I’m an academic. I’ll drink almost anything you put in front of me,” he said.

“Better and better,” said Gran.

Liam wandered over to the photo-covered sideboard while Cara sank down onto the sofa that faced the wide bay windows and Gran made the drinks.

“You were stunning,” Liam said, picking up the photo of Gran and her fellow ATS girls.

“I am stunning.” Gran tossed the correction over her shoulder.

“Who are the others in the photo with you?” he asked.

“Melanie Lovell and Janet Whittacre. They were stationed with me.”

“Where was that?” Liam asked.

Gran raised a snow-white brow at Cara as she passed around drinks. “As I told my granddaughter before, it hardly bears mentioning.”

“Gran,” said Cara, “you know I found a diary.”

“Of another ATS girl, yes.”

“I told you I want to figure out who its owner was. Do you know why?” she asked.

Gran took a long sip of her drink but said nothing.

“It’s because somewhere there’s a woman like you who has been separated from this diary for years,” Cara continued.

“Maybe that’s how she wants it,” said Gran.

“But what if it isn’t?”

Gran’s lips thinned. “She’s most likely dead. Even if she was lucky enough to make it out of the war, there aren’t many people who live to be my age.”

“What about her family?” Cara asked. “Don’t you think they deserve to have this? It’s a part of their history. I’d want to know. I—” She cleared her throat. “I do want to know.”

Gran’s expression softened a touch, but she still stood with her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

Not knowing when she would build up the courage again to ask, Cara forced out the uncomfortable words. “I want to know why you won’t talk about the war . . . and I want to know why you argued with Mum about it just before she died.”

All of the blood drained out of Gran’s face, and for a moment Cara thought she might faint. Liam must’ve as well, because he put his glass down and took a step forward, but Gran put her hand up. “I’m fine.”

“I overheard Mum on the phone,” she pushed, despite Gran’s discomfort. “She said that you’d kept something from her. Something that was her right to know. And she mentioned the war. Why?”

“We all did things we aren’t proud of,” said Gran, her voice almost a whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“I made a choice,” said Gran.

Cara couldn’t explain why, but unease pricked along the back of her neck. “What kind of choice?”

Gran shook her head, almost as though she was coming out of a fog. “Do you know, I think I made that sidecar a little too strong. I’m suddenly feeling rather light-headed.”

“Gran . . .”

Gran tried to put on her best innocent look, but Cara didn’t believe it for a moment. They’d come this far. She wasn’t going away without at least something.

“Tell me what happened,” she said. “I hate that there’s a secret lying between the two of us.” I feel like you’re hiding something from me, just like he hid things from me.

Gran threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous. Your mother and I argued—mothers and daughters do sometimes. She found some photographs when we were sorting through the things in my house before my move, and she wanted to know more about the war. I wouldn’t tell her, and she spun the whole thing into some dastardly secret, when all I want is to not have to think about some very painful experiences I went through more than seventy years ago. Is that so difficult to understand?”

Yes, because none of this explained why Mum had said it was her right to know.