With Love from London(78)

“Eric was just at our fundraiser the other night,” I say, smiling at the memory.

“I wish I could have been there,” Daniel adds. “I was—”

“By the way, Eric,” I add, “I’ve been meaning to thank you for your generosity, and how you left me those books. I can’t tell you how much it meant to me.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Eric says. “It was a wonderful night, wasn’t it?”

“It really was.”

Daniel and Fiona exchange glances, and I get the feeling we ought to steer the conversation to more communal grounds. But before I can speak, Fiona does.

“I do hope you aren’t hurt,” she says. “That was quite a nasty fall.”

“Nasty and embarrassing,” I say, owning my moment of shame. “But really, I’m fine.”

Eric smiles as a wayward lock of his wavy hair falls over his left eye. “I’d like to congratulate you,” he says, brushing it away, “for staging one of the most epic entrances of all time.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it epic,” I say, grinning.

“I mean, do you think we can get that inducted into the Guinness World Records book?” He glances around the room teasingly. “Tell me someone got it on video.”

I laugh, while simultaneously wincing. “Please, God, no.”

He pours Daniel and me a glass of wine. “In all seriousness,” he says with a smile, turning to Daniel. “You know what’s so great about the One and Only Valentina?”

“Besides the fact that she’s smart and gorgeous and an independent business owner, you mean?”

“Stop, I’m already blushing,” I say. “You’re making it worse.”

“It’s that she can laugh at herself,” Eric continues. “So many people can’t.”

Fiona, who looks more beautiful than ever in her full-length black gown, appears disinterested in our banter as she adjusts the black-rimmed glasses on her nose to study the menu. Seconds later, she sets it down with a sigh, as if nothing pleases her.

“Darling,” she says, turning to Eric. “Can you be a dove and go find our waiter? I need to see if they have any gluten-free options.” She makes a pouty face. “I’m afraid there’s nothing on this menu I can eat.”

He nods dutifully, setting his napkin on the chair before zigzagging through the dining room.

Daniel turns to Fiona. “It’s really good to see you two. It’s been far too long.”

“It has been too long!” she exclaims, squeezing his arm. “And now you have this lovely creature in your life.”

“It really is a wonderful coincidence,” he says.

“How wonderful that we can go on double dates again!”

I’m immediately curious about the most recent woman who’d been on Daniel’s arm, though, of course, I don’t ask. Instead, I listen as Fiona tells us, in great detail, about her plans to remodel Eric’s flat, which she intends to move in to once it’s…up to her “standards.” “Men haven’t any idea about the importance of quality bathroom lighting,” she says, smiling at Eric as he slides back into his chair. “Valentina, of course, you get that.”

I nod in agreement, even though I have no idea what she’s talking about. Isn’t a light a light?

“Eric has these dreadful fixtures with the most unflattering lightbulbs,” she says. “Anyway, they just won’t do. I’m changing everything.”

“That’s great,” Daniel says. I can’t tell if he’s entirely oblivious, or if finds her as dreadful as I do, but I hope for the latter. “I’m sure his place can use a woman’s touch.”

Eric hands a new menu to Fiona—presumably a special one. “Thank you, my love,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“So,” Daniel continues. “How exactly do you know Val, again?”

“Well, the Book Garden is my favorite bookstore, of course.”

Fiona gives Daniel a knowing look. “You know Eric and his bookstores.”

He smiles. “My mum brought me to the store as a kid, and Eloise, Valentina’s late mother, led the most magical read-alouds.” He pauses, looking at me. “I presume you call it ‘story time’ in the States?”

“Correct,” I say with a nod.

“I loved it, of course,” Eric continues. “But I think my mum’s prime objective was an hour to herself.”

I laugh. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s every mother’s dream, isn’t it?” I catch Daniel’s eye, and he smiles back at me.

“Indeed,” Eric says.

My mind is caught in a time warp—hyper-focused on a part of my mother’s life I wasn’t privy to but Eric was. What was it like to be a child in her bookstore? What was it like to sit on the carpet and listen to her read? I imagine Eric as a boy, and my mother standing at the store’s counter, the way Millie does now.

“Well,” he adds, “your mum was a larger-than-life fixture in my formative years. She could—”

“Do the voices,” we both say in unison.

I smile. “There was no one who could read a story like she did.”