He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then when Laura picked up his drink and drained it, he spoke again, telling her that there was no need for her to be jealous. ‘She meant a lot to me at one time. I suppose, like Florence for you. All the questions I had, she seemed to have the answers. I think I relied on her. When she was photographing …’
Laura’s fingers slipped on the glass. So Ada had been the one who had photographed his papers before Laura showed up, and then Ada had been moved on – or maybe she had asked to be moved – and Stefan had had to find some other solution. There were so many questions Laura wanted to ask – about how long they had been together, and why on earth the slip was here when she knew that it would threaten all the protocols of his secret world for Edward to have brought Ada to his own flat.
But as knowledge flashed through her, she saw how Edward was looking out over her shoulder towards a past she could not share. A rift had opened between them. It was a rift that she wanted to close, and it seemed that Edward felt the same. They reached for one another gently at first, and then as the passion took over they made love with a curious, almost angry abandon, Laura’s nails scoring down his back as he pushed inside her.
Maybe Laura’s uncertainty would have stayed with her, but later that evening when they were lying naked in bed, Edward said something she did not expect. He was smoking, the window was open, and the noises of London were magnified to Laura in the aftermath of love-making; she could hear the rush of buses down Gower Street, a swing band on the radio from a room below, a rattling clang as someone pulled down the shutter on a shop. They should get married, Edward said. He thought they should get married soon. If he wanted to bring her back into the present, she was ready to be there with him. She luxuriated in the moment. Above the sounds of the streets she could hear the soft screaming of the swifts as they chased each other in the still-peaceful London skies. She ran a finger down the line of Edward’s throat, where the sandpapery shaved neck gave way to the silk of his collarbone. Yes, she said, breathing in the scent of his skin and relishing the fact that doubt had disappeared.
15
Laura stood on the steps of the registry office, her husband beside her.
‘Stop!’ Winifred said. They stopped and Laura smiled into the sun. Across the road a woman pushing a pram looked at her with a weary face. A few scraps of confetti were thrown.
Laura had lent Winifred the Leica to take a photograph for Mother, but she had had to talk her through how to use it, and in the end none of the pictures came out well. All in all, it was lucky for Laura that a wedding day had never been at the centre of her dreams. Because if it had, the rushed ceremony, the paucity of guests and the rigid demeanour of Edward’s mother, who even refused a glass of champagne at the dull lunch in the Savoy, would have disappointed her. There was Alistair, of course, and Toby and Sybil, but Nick had gone to Washington and neither Giles nor Quentin had been able to get leave. Winifred had organised the day, and had tried her best to give it a festive air, but Laura could not help picking up the low mood of the others.
Laura had thought Aunt Dee would have been most pleased of anyone. Everything about Edward – his family, his position, his Englishness – should have delighted her. But strangely, when Laura went over to tell her, the week after Edward had proposed, Dee seemed puzzled and anxious. She kept saying that she wished Polly were here to meet Edward, and that maybe they had better wait. It was Winifred, who had gone with her, who told her how happy Laura was and how delighted Polly would be. Laura was grateful to Winifred for stepping in, even if she knew that her cousin was not entirely convinced herself. And it was Winifred who persuaded everyone that as it was wartime, a small wedding at a registry office in London, followed by lunch at the Savoy, would be the right thing rather than carting everyone off to a church in Highgate or, worse, Sutton.