“Let’s talk about it later. Please?” She gestured to Bobby, still hiccuping tears. “Why don’t you show us around and maybe we can find something for the boys to do while you and I talk.”
“The grand tour will take all of two minutes,” Eve said, her impatience obvious as she stalked from the kitchen. “The dining room is here . . . the living room there . . .” They were one L-shaped room, with a picture window facing the front garden and comfortable sofas and chairs arranged around a coffee table. A small, round table with four maple chairs nestled in the dining alcove. Rainbow-hued dishes filled the matching hutch. “This hall goes to the two bedrooms,” Eve continued, leading the way. “Mine and Robbie’s.” Eve’s bedroom was pleasant, if small. It had a double bed with matching spread and curtains, a dressing table with a mirror—all pretty and feminine but crowded into a tiny space. “Bathroom’s in the hallway . . .” Audrey had never seen pink tile and fixtures before—tub, sink, and toilet, all pink. The black-and-white tile on the floor resembled a tiny chessboard. “Robbie’s room is here.” It had wooden bunk beds with a matching dresser and a bookshelf cluttered with cars and toys. More toys littered the floor.
“Wanna play with my cars?” Eve’s son asked. He spoke the easy, sloppy American way, rather than with crisp British diction, reminding Audrey of Robert.
“Yes, darling, why don’t you play with him?” Audrey nudged Bobby forward, but he shook his head, unwilling to release his hold. He’d always been a shy, timid boy, content to play quietly by himself. But the long trip from Wellingford Hall—the only home he’d ever known—had transformed him into a clinging, weeping child who sometimes cried out in his sleep and wet the bed at night. She must get him settled into their new life as quickly as possible.
Eve ended the tour back in the tiny kitchen with its white metal cupboards, electric stove, and round-top refrigerator. “That’s all there is to see except the cellar and the back garden.” Eve gestured out the window at a grassy, fenced-in space with a single sapling in the middle. The neighborhood was so new that trees hadn’t had time to grow, and houses crowded in on all sides as if sharing secrets. For the space of a heartbeat, Audrey pictured Wellingford’s beautiful formal garden, the way it was before the war with boxwood hedges, colorful flowers, and gravel walkways. She blinked and the vision vanished.
“I couldn’t picture this house when Robert sent me the floor plans and brochures,” she said.
Eve gave a mirthless laugh. “This entire house could fit inside Wellingford’s drawing room. And how many bedrooms does Wellingford have?”
“A lot.” Audrey looked away, not certain she knew. She couldn’t bear to think about Wellingford. “When will Mrs. Barrett return home?” she asked. “I’m eager to meet her.”
“I’m not taking you back to the Barretts’ house, Audrey. We’ll have to sort this out between the two of us, right here and now.”
Audrey sank down on a metal kitchen chair again, her skirt sliding on the red vinyl seat. She pulled Bobby onto her lap and he sagged against her, thumb in his mouth. “We have no place to go, Eve. We’ve traveled a long way and we’re both very tired, and . . . and we have no other place to go.”
Eve released a huge sigh before opening her freezer again and grabbing one of the Popsicles. She peeled off the paper and gave it to her son. “Eat it out in the garden, please,” she told him, opening the screen door. He skipped outside, letting the door close behind him with a slap. Eve sighed again and sank down at the table across from Audrey. “You and your son can sleep in my bedroom tonight. I’ll share with Robbie—unless you’d rather go to a hotel.”
“Here will be fine. Thank you.” This was her house, after all. Eve was the intruder.
Eve gestured to her car outside in the carport, loaded with Audrey’s suitcases. “Did you bring everything you own?”
“I’ve made arrangements for the rest to be shipped once we’re settled here.”
“Settled here?” Eve shook her head. “You can’t stay, Audrey. There isn’t room for both of us.”
Audrey didn’t reply, struggling not to cry again, unwilling to upset Bobby any more than he already was. “Will you make us a pot of tea? I would love a cup.”
Eve rose and bustled around the kitchen, pulling cups and saucers from the cupboards, warming the teapot, boiling the water. “Don’t expect it to have much flavor,” she said. “It’s impossible to find decent tea over here. Everyone drinks coffee.”
“At least you can get tea. We still have shortages back home, even though the war ended five years ago.”
By the time Eve arranged everything on the table with the tea brewing in a pot, Bobby was asleep in Audrey’s arms. Eve sat down across from them. “Now explain what you said, Audrey. What do you mean, you’re not your father’s daughter? Did he disown you for marrying a Yank?”
Audrey stared at the tabletop, regretting that she’d blurted the truth. She took a moment to reply, swallowing her sorrow. “No, he didn’t care that I’d married Robert. I think he rather hoped I would move far away to America.” She met Eve’s gaze. She had nothing left to lose by telling the truth—nothing at all, including her pride, which had withered away long ago. “Father called me into his study—what was left of his study—and told me to pack my things. He was selling Wellingford Hall and moving back to the north country where he came from. I could tell he’d been drinking, even more than usual, so I said, ‘You don’t really mean that.’ But he cut me off with a shout. ‘It’s done!’ he said. He had already spoken to an estate agent. Wellingford was cursed and he never wanted to see it again.” She swallowed, then drew a shaky breath to continue.
“Father had been depressed for months. He’d never recovered from the war, and he’d lost all interest in life. I’d been waiting for him to decide to live again, but he holed up in his study, day after day, year after year, until it became a hoarder’s lair, with—” She halted, unwilling to disgrace him further by describing the piles of newspapers, discarded clothing, and filth-encrusted dishes. The mounds of dust and garbage that accumulated when he refused to leave the room, refused to allow the maids inside. “Father rarely left his study, taking his meals there, even sleeping there. When I tried to talk to him, he acted as if I were invisible. He became a recluse, Eve. But I never imagined he would sell Wellingford. When he told me that he was, I said, ‘What about your grandson? Wellingford Hall is his inheritance. You can’t sell his family home.’ He said, ‘I don’t have a grandson.’” Audrey paused, barely clinging to her composure as she remembered.
“I wondered if he’d become senile, so I reminded him that I had a son, Bobby. He said, ‘I know who you mean, Audrey. I haven’t lost my mind. But that boy is not my heir.’ I was certain that he was merely confused, so I said, ‘I’m your daughter—’ But he shouted, ‘No, you’re not! You’re not my daughter!’”
Audrey would never forget that terrible moment. She felt as if he had slammed her against a wall—like the aftershock when a bomb explodes. Father had worn a sick smile on his face as he’d stared at her.