“The inn?” Gus said, panic flashing all over his face. “She’s at the Banbury Inn? God bless it. I … I have to go.”
He quickly gathered his things then bolted from the pub, leaving Annie to pay the tab. Gus always footed the bill. Always. But he was dumbed by the news. Thirty years later, the bookish girl was back in town.
Bookish. It didn’t sound like Laurel at all, other than the old biography she’d stashed in her office for so many years. Annie never saw her read it and in general, always had the feeling that Laurel thought reading for pleasure was a monumental waste of time. Why dabble in the make-believe when you could run a law firm or teach sick kids to ride a horse?
At least Annie now understood Laurel’s tight, fake-smile humoring of Eric. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, or thought Annie was too young. Laurel was worried that Eric might die, just as her fiancé had.
“Pru Valentine,” Annie said out loud for at least the twelfth time. “I’ll be damned.”
As she curved around the bend, Annie saw her mom step out of the rental car. She watched as Laurel locked the door, and then adjusted her tweed blazer and the hem of her brown wool skirt.
“Well, well, well,” Annie said as she pedaled up. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Laurel stepped back, startled. She had not seen her coming. Especially not on a bike.
“Annie!” she said, her voice a mile higher than it had ever been before. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see the Grange,” she said. “And it’s bizarre because I could’ve sworn someone told me it was gone.”
“God, I hate myself for that.” Laurel sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, as if in pain. “I lied to you and it’s been gnawing at me ever since.”
Laurel opened her eyes again. Her gaze seemed a thousand miles away.
“Why did you lie, Mom? I don’t get it. Developers? They ‘razed’ the property?”
“Developers will knock it down. Sooner rather than later.”
“Nice try,” Annie grumbled.
“Honestly, the place is loaded with so many damned memories, it’s easier to believe that it’s already gone.”
“So this is the family property? You own the Grange?”
“Part of it,” Laurel said with a nod. “It’s held in a syndicate, hence the problems trying to sell my share. On top of that, someone was trying to have it declared a historical site.”
“Did you live here, Mom?”
Laurel paused, her breath held behind her chest. Annie could nearly see her deciding whether to lie again. But she wouldn’t. Laurel had told the one, which was one lie too many.
“Yes,” Laurel finally said. “I lived here. A long time ago and not for very long. But I did live at the Grange.”
“The man who wrote the book. The Missing Duchess. He was with you.”
Laurel nodded, her eyes glistening.
Annie tried to see her as Win had back then: young, scared, wide-eyed, and ethereal. There was a glimpse of Pru in there among all that drive and capability, but only a glimpse, and only in shadow. Gus had mentioned Pru’s quiet strength and that was all Annie saw right then.
“How did you find out?” Laurel asked.
“Well, the book for one.”
“I’m not in the book.”
“I know, but it’s how you reacted to it,” Annie said. “I put two and two together.”
“Two and two? With only the one book?”
“I fished around town,” she said. “Talked to a few longtime residents. Some of them remembered you.”
“They did?” Laurel’s face jumped. “Who? I didn’t get out much.”
“You had to go to the store sometimes, didn’t you? The occasional stop in a pub?”
“Annie, who did you talk to?”
“Various people. Someone named Gus?”
Laurel stared vacantly.
“I don’t recall anyone named Gus,” she said.
“Mom, where did you go to college? I could’ve sworn you went to Wellesley but now I think you might’ve started somewhere else.”
Laurel sighed again, turned around, and took a seat on a nearby rock. She braced herself against her knees with both hands.
“I went to Berkeley,” she said. “For a year. A long, long, long time ago. I barely remember it, having ended up at Wellesley, which was the exact opposite in terms of … everything.”
“After Berkeley you came here. To get over a fiancé.”
“That’s the short version, yes,” Laurel said. “Those years. They were so difficult. At the time I doubted I could even survive them. And now it all seems like a story. A novel read decades ago.”
“So the pain goes away,” Annie said. “Eventually.”
“Or else it just gets covered up by some new kind of injury.”
Suddenly a car pulled up. A man stepped out, a thick folder lodged beneath his arm. Laurel stood and brushed off her skirt.
“Ms. Haley?” he said and extended a hand. “The name’s Richard Moskin. I’m the inspector.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Laurel said. “I’m finishing up out here. Feel free to help yourself onto the property. I haven’t been inside but it’s unlocked, I think. I’ll join you in a minute.”