The Last Night in London by Karen White (reading list .TXT) 📕

to answer it, a little skip to my walk. It was Saturday, and Colin had mentioned the night before that he usually went into the office for at least part of the day. I was expecting Arabella, who’d also had to go into the office but was planning to deliver the Sainsbury’s bags, which we’d forgotten in the boot of her car after visiting Penelope.

As I opened the door, I heard a familiar growling coming from the kitchen. I turned to see Oscar pulling on a red plaid leash and Laura on the other end of it. Arabella closed the door, then bent down to scratch him behind the ears, the little dog keeping a watchful eye on me.

“I am sorry,” Laura said, shortening the leash so she could walk around us. “He loves Colin and therefore loves Arabella—he must be able to smell that they’re related or something. Maybe he’s jealous of you and the attention Colin is redirecting.”

“Oh, no.” I shook my head fervently. “There’s no attention there, trust me. Oscar can clear his mind of that idea. Maybe he just needs time to adjust.”

Oscar was now sitting quietly at Arabella’s feet, looking up at me with a sweet expression. “Oh, so we’re going to be friends now?” I bent down to let him sniff my hand, and he growled in the back of his throat. I immediately jerked back.

“We’ll keep trying,” Laura said. “We’re off for walkies now. George is with Colin, and Miss Dubose has already had her breakfast and is resting. I’ll see you later.”

We said our good-byes; then Arabella turned to me with a grin. “At least George likes you. Of course, he likes everyone, but it’s a start, isn’t it?”

Before I could think of a response, a door at the rear of the flat opened, and George bounded down the long hallway and greeted me with paws on my shoulders and long tongue laps on my face. Colin approached from behind him, wearing what could be described only as a hostile expression, and pulled the dog gently back by his collar.

“That’s enough, George.” With a far less friendly tone, he said, “How was your visit to Surrey, ladies?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

Arabella brushed away a blond curl that had slipped in front of her eyes. “It was lovely. Thanks. Aunt Penelope was charming as always and made us a delicious quiche.” She handed him one of the Sainsbury’s bags and indicated the second, which she’d placed by the door. “Be a dear and bring these into the dining room. If you’ve got a few minutes, you can help us sort.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Arabella,” I said. “It’s what I’m here for, remember?”

For a moment it appeared as if Colin wanted to say something. Then he reached over and picked up the bags before following Arabella into the dining room. I hadn’t spent much time in this room yet. The highly polished mahogany table could easily have sat twelve people in comfort.

“Now, this is a table,” I said. “It would have been perfect for my five siblings and me—that’s for sure. Easier to clean up, anyway. All of the thrown food would have missed its target, except anything thrown by Joey—he’s a baseball player.”

Almost against its will, Colin’s mouth twitched. “Five siblings sounds like a lot of commotion.”

“Imagine sharing one bathroom with five people and fighting to ride in the front seat of the minivan. Made me wish I was an only child many times.”

“Your poor mother. She must be a saint.”

I felt Arabella’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look at her. The familiar bruise ached, unused to being touched. I was usually more prepared for unexpected blows. “Yes. She is indeed a saint.” I bent over one of the bags and pulled out what appeared to be a stationery box wrapped in a ribbon that might have once been bright red. Keeping my eyes down, I said, “She died when I was fourteen.”

The room was silent except for the soft padding of George’s paws as he walked into the room and lay down at my feet.

“I’m sorry,” Colin said. He didn’t say any more, as if he knew that no further words would excuse, explain, or diminish the loss of my mother. And I was left wondering what had happened in his own life to make him understand that.

“Thank you.” Eager to talk about anything else, I pulled out a stack of photographs from the bag and placed them on the table next to the stationery box.

Colin cleared his throat, then moved closer to get a better look. “I’m assuming Mother gave you all this?”

Arabella pulled at the faded ribbon encircling the stationery box, removing her hand as the knot disintegrated and the remains of the fabric scattered like dust. “Yes. It all belonged to your grandmother. Your mother suggested that since Sophia knew Precious during the war, she probably knew Eva as well. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a go at her letters and photos. Aunt Penelope mentioned on the phone that she’d already gone through everything after your grandmother died, and there’s nothing scandalous whatsoever, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Hardly. I’m just curious as to why I wasn’t invited.”

Arabella briefly met my gaze. “I had a small window of time away from the office and decided to use it wisely. No ulterior motive, I assure you.”

Colin looked at me as if expecting me to say something, but I was distracted by my phone vibrating. I didn’t bother looking at it. I knew who it was. The night before, I’d texted Knoxie and Aunt Cassie that I needed more time. But apparently unless my answer was yes, they’d keep on trying.

Colin reached inside the second bag and pulled out a small hatbox, the strap holding the lid frayed and broken. “Before we start digging, I’d like to suggest organizing everything by type. Once we’ve done that, we can sort through