But my heart belonged to the past.
Even the sound of Frank’s voice made me think of Edward and the chapter I’d left unfinished in London.
Suddenly, I was back at the Royal Automobile Club.
“American men, they all sound like—”
“Cowboys,” we said in unison, then laughed.
Frank turned to me, beaming. “Darling, are you feeling all right?”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I was just a little…air sick. I’m better now.”
He reached for his wallet, then handed me a few strange-looking bills. “Why don’t you grab yourself a snack while I get our bags?”
“Thanks,” I said, walking ahead. I found my way to a café inside, and ordered two black coffees—to go—lingering beside a magazine stand before I reunited with Frank outside, where he already had a cab waiting.
“Darling, you know I don’t drink coffee,” he said.
I glanced down at the two Styrofoam cups in my hands. “No, no—this one’s for the driver,” I said, reminding him of my quirky habit of buying an extra coffee for cabbies in London.
“Do you want to know what’s great about living on the west side of Los Angeles?” he asked, turning to me. It was obvious that he wanted my attention here and not back in London. “It’s really the perfect location. Of course, we have everything—the best restaurants, beaches. But you can’t beat the proximity to the airport. We’ll be home in a few minutes.”
Home. That word again. I gazed out the window at the city skyline. It looked nothing like home but rather a distant planet, populated by…who knew what.
“There are no true skyscrapers here,” Frank said. “Since 1926, the tallest building has been city hall, at four hundred and fifty-four feet. Leading architects planned it that way. Their vision was to keep the development spreading horizontally, to maximize the benefits of city living over the largest possible area.”
The buildings that whizzed past were commercial and low to the ground, and there were few pedestrians, nothing at all like the neighborhood feel of Whitechapel Road in the East End, teeming with people who worked and shopped and ate and drank right where they lived.
Twenty minutes later, the driver turned onto a palm-lined residential street. The car climbed a hill, and from its peak I could see the blue ocean. We passed dozens of white-stucco homes with roofs made of terra-cotta tile, or something like it. Everywhere were carefully tended lawns, fruit-bearing citrus trees, and clipped hedges with not a single leaf askew.
Frank pointed to a large, modern-looking home just ahead that seemed like it belonged in a design magazine. “There she is,” he said, smiling. “Welcome home, Mrs. Baker, or rather, soon-to-be Mrs. Baker.”
I gasped, genuinely astounded. “Really, Frank? It’s…beautiful.” And it was, shockingly so. Beyond the manicured lawn and garden with two tall palm trees framing the entryway, the two-story home sat perched on a large corner lot, with giant picture windows facing the ocean. It was the sort of house you’d imagine movie stars living in, not regular people like…me.
As the driver unloaded our bags, Frank took my hand and proudly led me through the front door.
A stocky woman in a black dress and white apron, with dark hair pinned back into a tight bun, smiled at me from the first step of the staircase. Her kindness warmed me, and I liked her instantly.
“Eloise,” she said with an accent I couldn’t place. “Welcome.”
“My dear,” Frank said to me, “this is Bonnie, our wonderful housekeeper.”
“Very nice to meet you,” I said, returning her smile.
“You must be tired,” she added, beginning to fuss over me. “May I take your purse? Can I get you any—”
Frank cleared his throat. “Bonnie, I take it you’ve made all the preparations I wrote you about?”
“Yes, Mr. Baker,” she said quickly, beaming with pride. “The house is ready for your bride, just as you asked.” I wondered what she must think of me, this stranger Frank had carted home from London…like a souvenir.
“Darling, let me show you around,” he said, taking my hand. He told me about the very important architect he’d hired to design the home and how he’d spared no expense in the construction process, attending to every detail. And, oh, the details. I’d never seen a refrigerator this big, or a sofa so plush, or a…I paused, looking out at the terrace equipped with a swimming pool…to think that I had a pool of my very own.
Upstairs, Frank pointed out the bedroom that would be converted into a nursery, and then two additional bedrooms. When we reached the master suite, he stood back and marveled, then looked at me. “Right after I met you, I had this room redone, hoping you’d share it with me. What do you think?”
The truth was plain and simple, a girl from the East End, like me, might spend her whole life trying to disguise her accent, like I had, but she’d never imagine sleeping in a bed this big, or in a room so grand—and larger than my entire London flat! Did I like the burnt-yellow coverlet and pillows? he asked. I didn’t dare tell him the truth, that I would have chosen blue, the color of the sea, or maybe pink—I’ve always loved pink. But none of it mattered. It should have been enough to drown out my heartache. If only it were enough.
Frank tucked his arm around my waist. “You love it, don’t you?”
“Yes, dear, I do,” I said quickly, running my hand along the duvet, my thoughts pulsing like an aberrant heartbeat. This is the bed where I will sleep with Frank. This is where Frank will undress and make love to me night after night. These are the pillows that will absorb my secret tears, for London, for Millie, and…the path not taken.
* * *
—
It all happened so fast. In the week after my arrival, we obtained our marriage license, booked the church, and by that Friday, we were man and wife.
Frank paid for Millie to fly in, and she was the only witness on my side, though Frank invited a handful of his colleagues and their wives, who looked at me curiously, like the new pet he’d carted home from a foreign land. I remember catching Millie’s eye as we recited our vows, and the look on her face startled me. It wasn’t worry or apprehension, nor was it pity. For the first time, she looked at me as if she didn’t know me. I’d become a stranger to her, and perhaps even to myself.