The Gown(51)

“Not today, thanks,” Mr. Kaczmarek answered, and she suspected, from the gleam in his eye, that he had read her mind.

“I must go,” Miriam said after stealing a glance at her wristwatch. “It is half-past one, and I promised Ann that I would not be late. I am making my grandmother’s Friday-night chicken for our supper tonight.”

“Even though it’s Saturday?”

“I did not have time to stop in Shoreditch yesterday. There is a French grocer there. He sells things I could not find in Barking.”

“Such as?”

“Olives. Prunes. Fennel seeds. And also some dried orange peel. I looked for fresh oranges but they are not in season.”

“No, they wouldn’t be. Even if they were, you wouldn’t be able to buy one. They’re reserved for children. For the vitamins, I suppose.”

The waiter returned with the bill, which Mr. Kaczmarek barely glanced at before handing the man several bank notes and shaking his hand. And then he was helping to pull back her chair, his hand grazing the small of her back for the briefest instant, and she couldn’t be sure if she welcomed or feared his touch.

It was warm outside, and far brighter than in the restaurant, and she had to shield her eyes in order to properly see his face. Noticing, he pivoted so the sun fell on his back.

“Which way are you going?” he asked.

“I need a District line train. To Barking.”

“Then it couldn’t be easier. The entrance to Mansion House station is just over there.”

“Thank you for lunch. I had a very good time.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, and he held out his hand so she might shake it in farewell. She did so, but then, her fingers still wrapped around his, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his right cheek, then his left.

“I beg your pardon,” she whispered, taken aback by her boldness. “I only—”

“Thought to give me a proper good-bye? I certainly don’t object. Do you have a telephone number where I might reach you?”

“Alas, no. We do not have a telephone at the house.”

“I understand, but I do want to see you again. Will you promise to ring me up before long?”

“I will.”

“I shall await your call, then. If only to hear how your grandmother’s Friday-night chicken turned out.”

“I have never cooked it before,” she confessed, “and I have no recipe. Only my memories. Let me first see what my friend thinks of it. If she survives, I will make it for you. Good-bye, Mr. Kaczmarek.”

“Kaz. I’m Kaz to all my friends.”

She wasn’t certain she wanted to call him by that name, for it didn’t suit him at all, this gentle and kind and ever so intelligent man. “May I instead call you Walter? Do you mind?”

Her question brought a shy smile to his face. “Not at all. In fact, I should like it very much.”

“Then au revoir, Walter. à la prochaine.”





Chapter Fifteen


Heather


August 29, 2016

Two and a half weeks later Heather was on her way to England. She hadn’t flown all that much, and she’d been worried she’d get antsy on the way over, but it was actually okay in the end. Only seven hours from start to finish, and by some miracle she ended up with a window seat near the front of the plane, and after a really horrible supper of some kind of ersatz stir-fry she even managed to fall asleep for a few hours.

Going through customs was easy, and with only a single carry-on suitcase she was able to head into London right away. Although it was almost a million stops from the airport into the city center, she took the Underground, since she didn’t like the idea of messing about with shuttles or buses or anything that meant she had to figure out connections. From Piccadilly Circus, assuming she’d calculated correctly, it was about a ten-minute walk to her hotel, and although she got turned around when she first made it up to street level, she soon found her bearings.

London was exactly as she’d imagined. Loud and busy and there really were big black cabs and red double-decker buses zooming along the streets, and although the shops all seemed to have modern fa?ades she only had to look up to see the older buildings hiding beneath.

After passing at least a half-dozen theaters, since her route along Shaftesbury Avenue seemed to be taking her through London’s equivalent of Broadway, she turned onto Frith Street and headed north. It was much narrower, with far fewer shops, and apart from one or two cafés, most of the restaurants and nightclubs that lined the street were still shuttered.

She almost missed the hotel, since the sign was just a small brass plate next to the door. She rang the bell and someone buzzed her in, and she knew right away that Tanya had sent her to the right place.

The man at the desk, who introduced himself as Dermot, could have fallen out of the pages of Great Expectations, what with his little round glasses, hair growing out of his ears, and purple silk waistcoat, although when he came around the desk to show Heather to her room the illusion was ruined by his ripped jeans and running shoes. He was very friendly, though, and promised to return with some tea and refreshments as soon as she’d settled in.

“It’s a service we offer for all our arriving guests. I’ll bring it by in ten minutes or so.”