I ignored her question, and instead propped open my bedroom window, breathing in the fresh spring air. It was the middle of April, cherry blossoms burst from the mews and twine-wrapped bunches of peonies the size of dinner plates enticed shoppers at the market. Yet this particular spring felt…different, down to the lilt of the birds chirping in the tree just outside. Even they knew.
“What’s wrong, El?” Millie asked, trying to catch my eye, but the ring of the telephone gave me the excuse I needed to change the subject. It was probably Frank, and it was. It always was.
“Hello, darling,” he said. Frank had spring fever, too. His voice conveyed an urgent longing. “Would you like to go to Rhett’s Supper Club tonight?”
“Really?” I said, cheering at the thought of dining at such a swanky establishment. I’d just recently seen a tabloid photograph of Elizabeth Taylor there. “Wait, how in the world did you get a table? I heard that it’s booked out for months!”
“I pulled some strings,” he said nonchalantly. “Only the best for my girl. Pick you up at seven?”
I paused for a beat, heart racing. In time, soon perhaps, Frank will want more of me. And then what?
“Eloise? We might have a bad connection. Can you be ready by seven?”
“Yes,” I replied in haste.
* * *
—
Rhett’s Supper Club was just as glamorous as I’d imagined, and I was glad I chose my black dress and remembered to clean my gloves (a gift from Frank). My shoes might not have been Chanel, but the leather handbag I’d purchased at a steep discount at Harrods was fine enough to pass in the dim light. Besides, Frank seemed to care little of such details.
“Good evening,” the host said to us. We checked our coats and were ushered by flashlight to a booth along the side wall. I spotted a man walking by who looked a little like Richard Chamberlain, and he very well might have been. After all, this was the place to see and be seen.
“What do you think?” Frank asked, reaching for my hand under the table, his fingers gently grazing my thigh.
I smiled nervously. “I…I…think it’s, well, marvelous!”
He selected a bottle from the wine list, and I couldn’t help but notice the price—almost a half-month’s rent. When the sommelier filled our glasses, I felt guilty about leaving Millie to spend another Friday night alone. Guilty for…
“I propose a toast,” Frank said, raising his glass, “to London and to my beautiful Eloise. May we celebrate like this often and…forever.”
Forever. Did he say forever? I held the glass before me, my arm frozen.
“Darling,” Frank said, urging me to drink. “It’s bad luck if you don’t take a sip.”
I nodded, dutifully bringing the glass to my lips, while spilling a drop of red on the pristine white tablecloth.
“What’s troubling you, dear?” he asked, leaning in closer. “Are you worried about me leaving next month? You are, aren’t you?”
My eyes burned, but I wasn’t sure if it was his cologne or the salty burst of imminent tears.
“Yes,” I stammered. “That, of course, and…I’m…worried about Millie. Now that she’s in law school, we’re having trouble making rent. And…well, I guess I just feel guilty that I’m here…with you…drinking this fabulous, but expensive, wine. I’m sorry. I know I’m probably not making much sense right now.”
His face twisted into a smile and then he laughed. “Is that all?”
Is that all? No, it wasn’t all. It was merely the tip of the iceberg, but I couldn’t tell him that.
“Darling, how much money do you need?”
I could hardly believe my ears. Frank was generous, but this was beyond. “I couldn’t possibly…” I said. “I’m sure we can figure things out. And, Frank, I wasn’t asking for money when I said what I said. I was only—”
“Nonsense,” he said, pulling out his checkbook. “Will a thousand pounds get you through for a bit?”
“Frank, I—I don’t know what to say….”
“Don’t say anything,” he said, “just let me take care of you. It’s what I want.” He smiled, and I tried hard to return the warmth he shared. “Just promise me that you’ll think about us, and when we might make things more…permanent.”
I swallowed hard.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he continued, placing his hand on my thigh again. “But, darling, you know my business in London will be ending soon.” He cleared his throat and narrowed his gaze the way I imagine he did when analyzing the columns of numbers in an actuarial table. “Eloise, it’s no secret that I’m in love with you,” he continued. “I’m only asking you to consider what the future might look like. Our future.” He cleared his throat. “I’m hoping that you’ll come to California with me—as my…wife.”
My mouth fell open. I heard his words, and yet, I didn’t. They swirled in the air above the table like fragments of a strange dream. Wife. California. Permanent.
“Say, did you read in the newspaper about the London Bridge?” His cadence sounded easy and breezy, as if he’d forgotten the gravity of what he’d just said.
“No,” I muttered.
“An American businessman just bought the old thing and plans to move it to the States, maybe even to California.” He smiled. “You know, honey, it does seem like a sign, doesn’t it?”
His eyes searched mine, but I didn’t dare return his gaze, knowing my uncertainty would instantly betray me—and him.
Frank kept talking. “Just think, if the London Bridge can move to America, so can you, right? I know you hate the winter. There’s plenty of sunshine in California. And flowers bloom all year round.”
I never told him I hate the winter. Why would he say I hate the winter?
As he continued to talk, my eyes wandered the room. I noticed a neon sign hanging over the bar. MARTINIS was missing the letter n so it now read MARTI IS. If Millie were here, we’d have a proper laugh about this. She’d talk about all the places “Marti” might be. “Marti is sleeping. Marti is dancing. Marti is…not moving to America.”
“What are you thinking about?” Frank said, attempting to lure my attention back to him.
I pointed to the sign above the bar and explained my humorous take, but Frank only stared back at me blankly, changing the subject a few moments later. He obviously didn’t find it funny.
The waiter appeared and Frank began asking him questions about the menu when I noticed a glamorous couple in evening wear being seated at a nearby table. The woman, beautiful with her platinum-blond hair done up in a smart chignon, was carrying a chic and, if I knew anything from working at Harrods, rare Bonnie Cashin for Coach handbag. The man was…
My God. Edward.
Our eyes met, only for a moment, but a force surged through me, like lightning. Even in the dim light, I could tell that he felt something, too.
Has he thought of me these past months? Why didn’t he come to Jack’s? Why didn’t he call?
My heart raced as I released his gaze, but the pull to look again was magnetic, and I watched as Edward bantered with his dinner date. When she threw her head back and laughed, then reached her hand out, touching his arm, it actually hurt. Has he shown her his violin tattoo? I wondered. Does she know that he always wishes for music in his ear?
I felt Frank’s hand on the small of my back and I turned to face him.