With Love from London(92)

“I’m sorry that you’re hearing all of this from me and not your mum.” He glances down at the paper bag on the chair beside him. “But I have something for you—from her.”

My eyes widen as he lifts the bag into his lap.

“She asked me to find you and give you this. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long.” I watch as he pulls out a small wooden box. On the lid are the unmistakable words “Cicero’s Sentiments.” He places it in my hands, and I lift its lid, retrieving the sealed envelope inside: the clue I’d been looking for.


My dearest Val,

You’ve now met Edward, and I hope the two of you have gotten acquainted. Just like you, I loved him in my mortal days, and I will also love him in eternity. While my life didn’t go exactly to plan, I had what many people don’t—true love—even if it came with its own heartache. But nothing makes me happier than knowing that you two are together, perhaps even right now. I dreamed of this moment a thousand times. I only wish I could be there with you both. Val, I wish so many things….

Now this brings you to your final clue: Percy will show you the way, and when he does, Millie holds the key.

I’ll be waiting.

Love,

Mummy





Edward doesn’t ask what my mother wrote to me, and I don’t tell him. We sit together quietly for a while, staring at the little vase of daffodils on the table.



* * *



—

As I step out of my taxi, I double-check the address Daniel texted earlier, taking a deep breath as I climb the front steps of the townhouse where he grew up. It’s a charming home in the loveliest part of Notting Hill. A wreath made of bay leaves hangs on the door and I lean in to inhale the scent, which reminds me of California.

Before I even lift my hand to knock, the door swings open and a pretty, well-dressed woman in her sixties appears with outstretched arms.

“There you are!” she says, her brown hair in loose curls around her face. “We’ve been so excited to meet you, Valentina! Please come in! I’m Daniel’s mother, Barbara.” She’s the spitting image of Daniel; they have the same eyes. “Ah, you’re as lovely as he said you’d be. Now, let’s get you inside. They say it might snow tonight!”

“Hi, babe,” Daniel says, greeting me with a quick kiss before leaning in and whispering, “My mum loves you already.”

I smile as he takes my hand and leads me into the living room.

“Did you just say something about snow in the forecast?” he asks as Barbara pours us each a glass of wine. “Mum has this uncanny ability to know every detail about the weather.”

She nods. “I just heard it on the news. They say a front’s moving in, might even be a blizzard.”

Daniel frowns. “Seriously? Bloody snow. I hate the stuff.”

I turn to him. “Really? You hate snow?”

“I do,” he says, shaking his head. “Messes everything up. Two years ago, one of my projects came to a dead halt because of a few flurries.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Barbara continues. “Even as a little boy, he had no interest in it.” She shrugs. “Daniel always knew what he liked and what he didn’t.”

“Well,” I say, “I, for one, think snow is…pretty magical.”

“Says she who grew up in sunny California,” he spars back.

I hold firm. “Says anyone! Besides, I spent the latter half of my childhood in Seattle, remember?”

He nods, but my argument holds little weight—he’s anti-snow. “Dad,” he says as I gaze out the window, eager to spot the first snowflake. “Join our debate over here. Are you on Team Snow or not?”

His father, a rather handsome silver-haired man, leaps to his feet and ignores my outstretched hand. Like his wife, he opts to embrace me instead. “Son, I’m on whichever team this charming young lady is on.”

“One more for Team Snow,” I say as Daniel shakes his head.

I meet Daniel’s sister, Evelyn (Evie), who I’m told is six months pregnant with a baby girl. Her husband, Mark, smiles quietly by her side. They both seem great. In fact, they’re all great. Every one of them.

Daniel squeezes my leg under the table as his sister and mother bring out the dinner, plate by plate—chicken curry, rice pilaf, salad, and a platter of lightly steamed vegetables.

“Tell us about Scotland, dear,” Barbara says, passing the rice to Daniel and beaming with pride.

“It was cold,” he says. “Very cold. But we managed to get the shots we needed before the cameras turned into ice cubes.”

Evie leans in, dishing the chicken curry onto Mark’s plate and then her own. “Daniel, remind me what this one’s about.”

“A shipwreck,” he says, “that dates back to 1908, the cause of which has never been proven.”

“Fascinating,” his mother says, turning to me. “Daniel always picks the most interesting topics.”

I smile.

“Indeed,” he continues. “But what makes the story even more interesting is a lesser known detail: A certain British countess with ties to the throne happened to be on board—never to be seen again. Historical accounts have always pegged her death to a horseback riding accident, but my production crew found her name on the ship’s manifest.”