Mama sighed. “I suppose since Ivy will be leaving soon for her appointment, I shouldn’t bemoan the interruption to your time together. So long as you’re home at a reasonable hour, of course. Don’t forget we have guests tonight.”
As they did at least twice a week. Lily darted a glance at her little sister and found Ivy grinning at the magazine she held. “I won’t forget.”
“And invite Miss Denler and her fiancé to dine with us soon. The week after next, perhaps?”
“I will.” When she actually saw Ara. Though there was, she supposed, the possibility that she’d run into said fiancé today. She edged backward a step. “Well, I don’t want to distract you, Mama. I know you’re hoping to finish the central figure today while the light’s right. You’d better make the most of it before Ivy needs to keep her appointment.”
The mere mention of the painting underway urged her mother’s gaze back to the canvas, as it usually did. “Mm.”
Ivy’s eyes went wide at whatever she’d just seen in her magazine, and she flipped the page a bit too quickly. Quickly enough that it garnered their mother’s attention and made the lazy pug sleeping in the sunshine open one eyelid.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” Poor, sweet Ivy. A flush stole into her cheeks, giving her away. Lily might be the one who inherited Euphemia Blackwell’s strawberry-blond hair, but Ivy, despite sharing their father’s brown locks, had a redhead’s propensity to blush.
Mama lifted one red-gold brow and held out her hand.
With a gusty sigh, Ivy flipped the page back to the one she’d clearly wanted to avoid talking about and held it up rather than relinquishing it to their mother’s paint-stained fingertips.
Lily didn’t need to look to know what it would be. Not given that particular frown on Mama’s face. “More propaganda.” She said it as though it were a curse word—odd, since Daddy could say the same word with fondness. Lily edged back another step.
Ivy put the magazine down. “I think it’s rather brave of those artists to go to the front and try to find something beautiful in a war so utterly wretched.”
“No, Ivy.” Mama turned back to her canvas, leaning close to paint a highlight onto the beautiful young woman she was bringing to life with her paints—the one fashioned to look like the beautiful young woman sitting on the couch for her now, decked out in Grecian robes that would have been comical in any other house. “What it is, is dishonest. And disgraceful. The Crown has made a mockery of both the war effort and art by asking artists to produce work like that.”
Lily clenched her teeth and pivoted on her heel before the all-too-familiar argument could really unwind. It was one of her mother’s favorite topics these days, and the threads of her arguments never ceased to tangle Lily up.
“Lilian.”
Double blast. There was never any escape from these snarls. She paused, hand over her pocket, but didn’t fully turn again. “Yes, Mama?”
“I see you have your camera with you. Enjoy the day, of course, but do keep an eye on the time, my love. I mean it.”
Ivy chuckled and leaned back on the chaise as her painted counterpart was doing. “Now, Mama. She’s only been late for dinner two of the last six times we had guests.”
Lily stuck out her tongue at her sister, earning a fuller laugh, and then rushed away with a final farewell before her mother could come up with anything else to detain her. It wasn’t as though she was habitually late in general. But it was difficult to motivate herself to get home in time for yet another tiresome dinner party populated by the most boring young men left in London.
She let herself out the door and hurried down the front steps, aiming her feet south toward St. James’ Park, through which she would walk to get to Whitehall. First, though, she paused to pull off the kerchief and stuff it into her handbag. That thing was the worst part about being in the Voluntary Aid Detachment and serving at the hospital.
A motorcar puttered somewhere behind her. A few well-dressed women in an open carriage clopped toward her. Lily drew a long breath of spring air into her lungs and slid her eyes closed for a second. Two. Just enough to push it all down yet again. To call up the reasons she did what she did.
Brakes squealed, pulling her eyes open in time to see the door of the automobile push out, revealing a uniform in naval blue behind the steering wheel. “Get in. And hurry up, will you? I’ve been driving in circles for ten minutes already, and the admiral needs his car this morning.”
Grinning, Lily hopped in and closed the door behind her, leaning over to press a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Sorry. Mama saw me on my way out.”
Daddy’s smile was fleeting. “I didn’t think she would give you any trouble if she thought you were going to the hospital.”
“Not trouble—just the usual warnings to be home on time.” She wasn’t even going to mention the propaganda, as she had no desire to bring it up. “Is there an assignment waiting already, or will Admiral Hall want to speak with me?”
“I believe he left you written instructions, including the time by which he needs the results. We’ll be cutting it close for him to get to an appointment on time.”
She didn’t have to ask why her father hadn’t left the admiral his car and fetched her in his own. It wouldn’t do to risk Mama glancing out the window and spotting him picking Lily up. Usually it was easy to make excuses for riding together, but not on a day when Daddy had already been at the office for hours before he summoned her. Though he could have just let her make the twenty-minute trip on foot or the tube.
“Well.” She shot him a smile. “As long as I can get it finished before the dinner party this evening. Mama was rather insistent that I not be late again.”
Her father chuckled and turned at the corner. “I’m certain you’ll find our guests riveting tonight, Lily White. Who knows but that one of them will sweep you off your feet and steal you away from us.”
He always said that. Twice a week. Each and every time they entertained more of the young men he brought home. Most of them were navy men, of course, because what captain didn’t want his daughter to marry a fine, upstanding officer? But occasionally he invited veterans from the army, home to recuperate from trench fever, or an academic who’d been refused service for one reason or another, poor chap.
She had no desire to ask who it would be tonight. If she showed the slightest curiosity, he would spend the entire drive listing the virtues of Lieutenant This and Professor That. And while she knew her friends considered her lucky to have a parade of young men around in these days when so few were in London, she just wanted to get through the war. Be done with the secrets.
The two parts of her life came to mind. Charing Cross Hospital on Agar Street, where she went in the mornings. Where she did the volunteer work of which her mother approved. And along Whitehall Street, the Old Admiralty Building. Where she brought very different skills to the aid of the navy. Where she did the work of which her father approved.
Her parents disagreed about so little. How had she managed to get caught in the middle of one of their few arguments?
A minute later, the parade grounds were before them, and then Daddy was navigating around the building, to the rear entrance she always used. Out of sight of anyone who might recognize her. He pulled the car up to the curb, where Admiral Hall himself opened her door for her. No doubt because he needed her and Daddy out so he and his driver could get in.