With Love from London(89)

“How are you feeling?” Millie asked me over dinner at her flat. Our second week of business had been a success, and we were celebrating with a nice bottle of burgundy and a roast chicken that she’d just pulled out of the oven.

“Happy and sad,” I said.

She nodded in understanding. “Sappy, then.”

I laughed. “Yes.”

“Mill,” I said after a long silence, “you may not remember—it was so long ago—but before Frank, there was someone else. His name was…Edward.”

“I remember,” she said, avoiding eye contact.

“I’ve been thinking,” I continued. “Now that the divorce is final, do you think I should…look him up? Or is that…ridiculous?”

She rubbed her forehead. “El, it’s just that…so much time has passed. People change, and…I’d hate to see you get hurt. You’ve already been through so much.”

“That’s no answer, Millie. There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

When her eyes finally met mine, I waited patiently, but her words surprised me. “I don’t know how to say this, but it must be said.” She sat down at the table, folding her hands. “After you left London, I ran into Edward one day in Mayfair.” She paused. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I looked him up.”

“What do you mean?”

“El, I knew nothing of this man, only his name, the jacket in the closet—and the look in your eyes. I had to find him. I just had to. And when I did, well, I understood. I understood everything. We had lunch that day, and we met again a week later. Eventually, we became good friends, and I…got to know him very well.”

I shook my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I should have, but…” Her voice trailed off. “Listen, I knew that you cared for Edward very much, and I didn’t think it would help your situation in California to ramble on about him in my letters. We became dear friends, bound by our unique bond: you. We both missed you so very much.”

I smiled, listening in rapt attention.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Millie continued, clearing her throat, her expression suddenly pained. “In time, I began to…feel more for Edward.”

I looked away, my heart filled with pangs of emotion—jealousy, hurt, surprise. This was the last thing I’d ever imagined my best friend telling me, and yet, I knew I had no right to feel betrayed. After all, I married someone else and moved halfway around the world.

“He didn’t feel the same way,” she finally said. “His heart was inextricably yours.”

I didn’t know what to say or do, and so we just sat there for a long moment in silence until I finally found my voice.

“Where is he now? Do you know?”

She nodded. “He moved to the countryside…with his wife and child.”

The revelation hurt as much as it warmed my heart. “Good,” I said. “He’s tending his tomatoes.”

Millie shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “He’s happy. That’s all I needed to know.”

Millie walked to her bedroom, returning with a man’s evening jacket on its hanger, which she handed to me. I knew it in an instant, of course, and the memories of the night we met came rushing back.

“You kept it, all these years?” I asked, astonished.

“Well, I made a promise, didn’t I?”

I smiled.

“El, will you forgive me? I never meant to—”

“I’ve already forgiven you,” I said, nodding. I was just as eager to put the subject back on the shelf as she was. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“I just want you to know that there was only one woman Edward could ever love. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t anyone else. Eloise, it was always you.”

I pressed my nose to the jacket’s collar and breathed in a mix of mothballs, Millie’s favorite candles, and…memories.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”





The Next Day



“Morning,” Liza says, bursting through the door with an armful of pastel pink flowers—I spy roses and peonies—which she places in a bucket of water beside the windows. “Did you have fun at Sexy Fish?”

Millie looks up from the desk, confused. “Sexy who?” She shakes her head. “Whatever are you girls talking about?”

“It’s a restaurant in Mayfair, and also a club, well, sort of.” I smile at Liza, then turn back to Millie, who is staring at the computer screen, fretting. I know she’s stressed. I am, too; I’ve been constantly refreshing the GoFundMe page on my phone. Eric’s newspaper column had been a boost, but, sadly, it appears we’re still net short.

“What did you end up doing last night?” Liza asks, ignoring Millie’s mood. “Did you head home right away?”

“I just wandered over to Berkeley Square,” I tell her, “where I ran into Eric, actually.” I feel Millie’s eyes on me. “We talked for a little while. He broke up with Fiona.”

“Good riddance,” Millie says.

“Hold on, Shakespeare is single?”