“I need to meet him,” I say. “Can you help me?”
“I wish I could,” she says. “But I don’t know where he lives, or even his last name.”
“I’ll ask Millie.”
“You could,” Liza replies. “But if your mother didn’t want her to know about their final days together, then maybe that’s not the best idea. I mean, why would she keep something so monumental from her closest friend unless it was a pretty big deal?”
“Listen, I won’t tell Millie about their reunion, but I would like to see if she can help me find him. Surely she knows his last name.”
Liza shrugs. “Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. Millie is a—”
“Tough mountain to climb,” we both say in unison before laughing.
“I’m so glad you’re my friend-slash-tenant,” I tell her. “I couldn’t have hoped for a better one.”
She smiles. “So, tell me about this big night of yours.”
“I’m meeting Daniel at the Royal Automobile Club at seven. Another couple is joining us—an old friend of his and his girlfriend.”
“Ooh la la,” Liza says. “A double date! You should definitely wear your best dress tonight—and one of your mum’s necklaces.”
“What shoes?” I say.
“Take my black Louboutins.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Stilettos give me anxiety.”
“Trust the personal assistant,” she assures me. “The Royal Automobile Club is a stiletto sort of place—you’ll see.”
* * *
—
The cab driver points out 10 Downing Street before dropping me at the regal-looking entrance to the Royal Automobile Club, where Daniel is waiting.
“I knew you’d be five minutes early,” he says, greeting me with a quick kiss, which, surprisingly, already feels natural. “You look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
If I look ravishing, he looks dashing in his tailored blue suit and patterned tie. His belt perfectly complements the color of his loafers, and I can’t help but wonder about the woman who taught him how to dress this sharply.
He takes my hand, leading me inside to a grand foyer with an enormous crystal chandelier overhead. Liza was right. The women here are impeccably dressed; the stilettos were a good call—even if they’re pinching my feet in all the wrong places.
The club is both foreign and familiar—like I’d seen it once in a dream or maybe in one of my mother’s bedtime stories.
We check our coats, then proceed up a flight of stairs to the dining room, where the host informs us that our guests have arrived and are waiting at the table. He selects two menus and leads us across the room. All around, chic-looking couples are engaged in important-sounding conversation and eating dinner in the dignified and particular British manner, which consists of precisely held cutlery, dainty bites, and an exorbitant amount of chewing.
As we make our way across the vast dining room, Daniel releases his hand from mine and waves at a couple sitting at a table in the distance. Teetering a bit in borrowed footwear, I suddenly lose my balance when one of my heels catches on the carpet, throwing my equilibrium into a state of chaos.
Frantically, I reach for Daniel’s arm, but he’s out of my grasp, which is when I begin to topple over. My arms flail to break the inevitable fall, and in the process, I graze the edge of a nearby table, knocking over a domed platter of food and, just my luck, also a freshly uncorked bottle of red wine.
A scream sounds as I land on the carpeted floor, which is now splattered with wine and bits of food. A stray potato rolls under a table where it stops beside someone’s foot. When I look up, the room is excruciatingly quiet. Every eye, it seems, is on me.
“Val, are you all right?” Daniel asks, kneeling beside me. He helps me to my feet, and I sway a bit, finding my balance again.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, brushing a splatter of unknown sauce from my dress, grateful that it’s black.
The whispering begins, followed by pockets of laughter. I apologize to the table whose dinner I have just annihilated, along with the waitstaff deployed to clean up the mess.
“Well,” Daniel says, taking my hand, “you certainly know how to make an entrance.”
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I’m completely mortified.”
“Don’t be,” he replies. “They’ll forget all of this, just as soon as they move on to their next unwitting victim.” He gestures to a woman who’s just walked into the dining room wearing a very loud, and unfortunate, fluorescent yellow dress. Legions of necks strain to watch the poor soul walk across the room, tongues wagging as she passes.
“See,” Daniel whispers with a knowing smile. “They’ve forgotten about you already.”
When we reach our table, I’m astonished when I recognize Daniel’s friends, in fact, I know them already. “Eric!”
“Val?” Eric turns to Daniel. “I guess I didn’t get the memo that your Valentina was this Valentina.”
Daniel is equally surprised. “I take it you two know each other, then?”
“We do, though I prefer to refer to myself as the Valentina,” I say, playing along.
“Indeed, yes, I—I mean, we know the One and Only Valentina,” Eric explains. “From the bookstore.”
“Eric was just at our fundraiser the other night,” I say, smiling at the memory.
“I wish I could have been there,” Daniel adds. “I was—”
“By the way, Eric,” I add, “I’ve been meaning to thank you for your generosity, and how you left me those books. I can’t tell you how much it meant to me.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Eric says. “It was a wonderful night, wasn’t it?”
“It really was.”
Daniel and Fiona exchange glances, and I get the feeling we ought to steer the conversation to more communal grounds. But before I can speak, Fiona does.
“I do hope you aren’t hurt,” she says. “That was quite a nasty fall.”
“Nasty and embarrassing,” I say, owning my moment of shame. “But really, I’m fine.”
Eric smiles as a wayward lock of his wavy hair falls over his left eye. “I’d like to congratulate you,” he says, brushing it away, “for staging one of the most epic entrances of all time.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it epic,” I say, grinning.
“I mean, do you think we can get that inducted into the Guinness World Records book?” He glances around the room teasingly. “Tell me someone got it on video.”
I laugh, while simultaneously wincing. “Please, God, no.”
He pours Daniel and me a glass of wine. “In all seriousness,” he says with a smile, turning to Daniel. “You know what’s so great about the One and Only Valentina?”
“Besides the fact that she’s smart and gorgeous and an independent business owner, you mean?”
“Stop, I’m already blushing,” I say. “You’re making it worse.”
“It’s that she can laugh at herself,” Eric continues. “So many people can’t.”