With Love from London(93)

“No! Really?” Evie exclaims. “So her death was a cover-up?”

“Perhaps,” he says with a sly smile. “But you’ll have to watch it yourself and see. I refuse to spoil the ending—even for family. Besides, I signed an NDA yesterday…with Netflix!”

“What?” I say, turning to Daniel. “That’s incredible!”

“My parents already know,” he continues. “But I wanted to tell you in person.”

I smile. “News worth celebrating, indeed,” I say, clinking my wineglass to his.

“It was a huge surprise to me and the crew. I mean, we knew they were considering it, but we had no idea it would get picked up this quickly, and with such enthusiasm.”

“I’m so proud of you, my Danny Boy,” his mother says, turning to me again. “What are we ever going to do without him when he moves to India?”

I turn to Daniel, my smile fading. “India?”

He looks at his mother and then back at me. “Mum…spoke too soon,” he says, faltering. “Listen, I haven’t had a chance to tell you. I promise, I was going to. Tonight.” He swallows hard.

“Dear Lord, Daniel,” Barbara cries. I can’t tell if she’s scolding him or, perhaps, about ready to burst into tears. “You didn’t tell her?”

He reaches for my hand. “Val, it’s only for a year, maybe less. It’s an incredible opportunity, a chance to work on the most important film of my career—maybe even my lifetime. Netflix is backing it in a huge way. I know we’re just…getting started, but…I hope you can understand that I…have to do this.”

I look away as he reaches for my hand again.

“You could…come with me?” he continues.

“Daniel,” I say, as I fumble to find the right words. “It’s okay. Really. I’m happy for you.”



* * *



—

“Well, they sure loved you,” Daniel says as we leave his parents’ house. The air is bitter cold outside, but so far, no snowflakes.

“They were lovely.”

We walk in silence for a few moments—aimlessly—until he finally speaks. “Listen, I want to apologize, for what my mum said. I was going to tell you…tonight.” He looks as handsome as ever in his dark jeans and overcoat, a shadow of facial hair dusting his chin. “I should have brought it up sooner. I…I guess I was scared.”

“Scared?”

“Look, I know it’s bad timing. Horrible timing. But I’ve loved every minute we’ve spent together, and I was afraid that if I told you about India, you’d…disappear.”

“With all due respect,” I say, “you should have told me.”

He sighs. “You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

I notice a cab approaching, and I begin walking ahead. “I should probably go.”

“Val, please,” Daniel says, gesturing to a bench in front of a closed café. “Can we talk for a little longer?”

I nod, sitting beside him on the bench. “What more is there to say? You’re moving to India.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I stop him.

“Daniel, you don’t even like snow!”

“That’s true,” he concedes.

“Exactly!” I say, the channels in my mind beginning to fire. “And I love snow!”

“Well, we both hate eggplant. We have that in common!”

I frown. “Apparently that’s the only thing we have in common—aside from the book we both love.” Our eyes meet for a moment, but he looks away quickly, pausing to rub the side of his neck, as if my comment has just elicited a sharp pain. “Val, listen,” he finally says. “Oh, bloody hell, I don’t know how to say this.”

My eyes widen. “You’re gay? Married? No—you’re impersonating a successful documentarian who is not, in fact, moving to India?”

He laughs. “None of the above. But honestly, all of those options would be…easier than what I need to tell you.”

“What?”

“Those notes in the pages of your book…they…weren’t mine.” He sighs, his eyes filled with regret.

“Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“I should have,” he replies. “But, look, when I met you, it was all so…surprising. Here was this gorgeous, interesting American woman who just appeared in my life out of nowhere. Yes, I should have set the record straight right away, but then what? Miss out on the opportunity to get to know you?”

He tries to catch my eye, but I look away.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That makes two apologies in one night. I’m on a roll.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I say, standing up when I see a cab approaching. “Listen, I loved meeting your amazing family and…you. But I have to go. Good luck in India. Good luck with everything.”

“But, wait,” he says, reaching his hand to me, but I don’t take it.

“Goodbye, Daniel.”





April 13, 1996



Millie walked through the door and set a bouquet of peonies in a vase on the counter.