The One In My Heart

“I’m sorry,” I said again, suddenly exhausted. “Thank you for showing me the garden. It was very kind of you.”


WHEN WE WALKED BACK INTO Mrs. Asquith’s drawing room, it was already time for Bennett and me to say our good-byes. Mrs. Asquith presented my fake boyfriend with an elaborately wrapped gift.

“Happy belated Christmas, my dear young hooligan.”

“Not again,” said Bennett, shaking his head even before he undid the wrapping paper to reveal a hardcover notebook.

Mrs. Asquith chortled. “You ingrate. Something from the best stationer in London isn’t good enough for you nowadays, is it?”

Bennett stuck the notebook into his messenger bag and hugged her. “You bought this on High Street for a quid fifty, you old liar.”

“What was that about?” I asked when we were in the car, being driven to the airport.

“Long-running gag. She gives me one every time she sees me, for me to record my sexual shenanigans—then submit for her perusal, of course. When I was younger I used to cut out passages from vintage porn, paste them in, and send the notebook to her.”

I smiled a little at Mrs. Asquith’s gleeful perversity. “Did you tell her about how scarce your sexual shenanigans have been lately?”

“No, I told her about our encounter with my parents.” He paused for a beat. “And I tried to persuade her to let me listen to her heart, but she wouldn’t have it. Said she didn’t trust a young man with a taste for old ladies.”

Had I been there, I’d probably have laughed out loud at Mrs. Asquith’s snark—it was still funny in the retelling. But a sober undercurrent to Bennett’s words caught my attention. “Why were you trying to examine her? Is she okay?”

“Not as robust as she’d like us to believe. And asking for spoilers to a TV show?” He frowned. “That’s not like her at all. She hates spoilers.”

He pulled the notebook out of his bag and flipped through the empty pages. The scent of crisp, new paper perfumed the warm interior of the car. He traced a finger along the edge of the notebook, then turned his face to the window, lost in thought.

The sedan cut smoothly, almost soundlessly across the countryside, the fields and riverbanks of which were still green after a long winter. In the silence my conversation with Larry began to replay in my head, my own voice echoing, every syllable harsh and unforgiving.

In Mrs. Asquith’s garden I’d felt as righteous as a mother lion protecting her cub. But now that moment of adrenaline had passed, I began to see that my instinctive growling and teeth-bearing had been but another manifestation of the fear in my heart, the one constant emotion that undergirded everything in my life.

Except this time the fear could no longer be shut in and locked away. This time the fear had been in control of me, throwing words like grenades toward Larry de Villiers.

Near the airport traffic turned knotty. We had to rush through the terminal to make our flight. It was only after we were airborne, with the fasten-your-seat-belt sign turned off, that Bennett asked me, “So, what do you think of Larry?”

I chose my words carefully. “He seems to care about Zelda still. And he seems to be a kind and considerate person.”

Bennett raised a brow. “So you told him to stay away from Zelda?”

Flaw 2: I’m afraid he sees through me.

I didn’t bother to issue a denial, but only shrugged.

“Ladies and gentlemen”—a flight attendant’s voice came over the PA system—”we have a passenger in need of medical attention. If you are a physician, please press the call button nearest your seat.”

Bennett pressed his call button. “On a plane this size, there’s probably more than one doctor.”

As if to contradict him, a flight attendant materialized almost immediately and asked him to come with her. I craned my neck to follow their progress, but she pulled the curtain behind her and blocked the view into coach class.

I fidgeted in my seat, half of my mind going around in circles with Larry and Zelda, the other half worrying about what was happening at the back of the plane.

After a very long twenty minutes, Bennett returned. “Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Uh-hmm. A little girl was traveling with a cast on her foot. The foot swelled from the low pressure in the cabin and cut off circulation to her toes. So we pried her cast open. I’ll check on her again, but for now she’s fine.”

I exhaled. “That’s good to know.”

He switched on his in-seat entertainment system and brought up the movie menu. “I’m curious. What did Larry say that set you against him?” he asked, still looking at the screen.

“I don’t know that he’d want me to repeat our conversation,” I said, as much out of a desire to not face probing questions as out of concern for Larry and Zelda’s privacy.