“Now it’s mostly filled with American expatriates and the stray Russian oligarch.” She began to back up into a parallel space against the curb, barely squeezing between two other cars. I sucked in my breath, as if that might help. “I sure hope it’s this one, because I’m not certain I can do this twice.” Satisfied with her parking job, she switched off the ignition and turned to give George a scratch behind the ears.
“Aunt Precious first lived in this flat in the late thirties, before the war—I’m sure she’ll tell you all about that. Marylebone wasn’t quite as fashionable then, but it’s always been a perfect location—close to shopping and restaurants. And Regent’s Park, of course.” Arabella unbuckled her seat belt.
“Precious?” I asked. “According to my sister’s ancestry chart, her name is Jeanne Dubose.”
“Oh, sorry—thought I mentioned that. Precious is Miss Dubose’s nickname. Her real name is Jeanne. The story goes that when she was born, the nurse took one look at her little face and said she was precious. From then on, that’s what everyone called her. I think it’s rather adorable.”
“For a baby, but I can’t imagine calling an old woman Precious.”
“Just don’t . . .”
“Call her old,” I finished. “I remember. It’s just going to be hard using her nickname. Although, come to think of it, I grew up with a Sweet Pea and a Stinky, so maybe it won’t be as challenging as I first thought.”
Arabella sent me a sidelong glance as I grabbed my suitcase from her trunk. I followed her and George toward the second block of flats and up a set of wide steps leading to two glossy and dark wooden French doors. They sat recessed behind a broad archway between two mottled marble Ionic columns. A tall man emerged from the outside set of doors as we approached.
George let out a loud yelp and leapt forward, pulling the leash from Arabella’s hand and nearly toppling the man over. His paws held on to the man’s shoulders, and the giant tongue bathed the man’s face.
Blinking, I recognized the sandy blond hair that threatened to erupt in waves if allowed to grow just a little longer. And the intense blue eyes that were scrutinizing me as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. A brief flash of surprise was quickly replaced by remembered wariness.
“Hello, Colin,” I said stiffly. “It’s been a while.”
When he didn’t respond right away, Arabella interjected, “You remember Maddie Warner, don’t you? From our Oxford days.”
The wariness remained as we continued to regard each other. His eyes seemed bluer against his vacation tan, and he still had a slim and muscled body. I recalled that he’d rowed during his years at Oxford; apparently, he still did. I remembered, too, how he loved dogs and Star Wars. And that he was a stickler for safety and always made sure everyone wore their seat belts when he was driving. Not that I’d ever let him know that I’d noticed any of it.
“Madison,” he said curtly. “I do remember you. Vaguely. You liked your beer ice-cold, and you had quite a portfolio of unusual phrases that no one ever understood. You’d drop them like little bombs into conversations. You enjoyed childish pranks like substituting salt in the sugar bowl. And apparently you are loath to say good-bye, so you don’t.” He bent to scratch George behind the ears, his gaze sliding to Arabella. “Am I to assume she’s the journalist writing the article about Nana?” His tone was between forced politeness and white-hot annoyance.
“Isn’t it lovely? A sort of mini school-chum reunion. I wanted to keep it a secret so you’d be surprised.”
He stood, taking George’s lead in his hand. “I’m surprised all right. Although I’m left to wonder why you didn’t have her come while I was on holiday. The flat will be rather crowded, don’t you think?”
“Don’t be silly, Colin. There’s plenty of room. And when I mentioned the journalist staying here, you didn’t have any objections.”
His eyes touched on me briefly. “Yes, well, that’s because I wasn’t fully informed. I’m glad I decided to work from home this morning, so I’m spared the shock of returning home in the evening after a long day and seeing Madison in my flat.” He held his hand out toward me as if he wanted me to shake it, then said, “May I?”
I looked at him with confusion until Arabella tugged my suitcase from my grasp and handed it to Colin. “He’d never hear the end of it if his mother or Aunt Precious ever heard that he allowed you to carry your own suitcase,” she said.
Before I could protest, Colin had opened one of the outer doors and was waiting for us to walk past him into the lobby.
Tall ceilings, a large brass chandelier, and a nonfunctioning dark wood-framed fireplace greeted us in the foyer. An old-fashioned elevator—or “lift,” I corrected myself; when in Rome and all that—faced us, a small rectangular window in the outer door showing the empty shaft behind.
Colin pressed the “call” button, and we waited for several minutes, listening to the moans and groans of the ancient equipment. When the lift finally arrived, he opened the door, then slid open a black metal accordion gate and motioned for Arabella and me to step inside the wood-paneled space. A leather bench was attached to the back wall. As the elevator shuddered to life, I hoped the bench wasn’t there for napping to pass the time while we were laboriously lifted to the higher floors. We were moving like snails slugging through molasses in winter.
“Why didn’t we take the steps?” I asked, recalling the carpeted stairs in the lobby, one flight on the left of the elevator heading up, the one on the right heading down.
Colin shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t think Americans liked to physically exert themselves, so I assumed you’d rather take the lift.”
“You know what happens when people assume, right?”
“Stop it, you two,” Arabella said, stepping between us. “I do not enjoy playing nanny, so I’d appreciate it if you would both behave like adults.”
The lift dinged, although we could see between the gate slats that we weren’t quite there. We were all silent as we listened to the ancient lift squeak and gasp like an old man. Somehow it managed to grind to a halt on the third floor.
“Lovely,” Arabella said, waiting as Colin opened the door into the middle of a short hallway with a black-and-white-checkered floor. Two massive dark wood doors with leaded glass transom windows dominated each end of the hallway, and Arabella proceeded left to the door with the number sixty-four marked in gold in the center. “Remember,” she said, turning to look at Colin and me. “Behave.” She pressed the buzzer. “To give them fair warning,” she said as she dropped her hand.
The sound of a dog barking from inside was quickly followed by footsteps approaching. Then the door was pulled open, and we were greeted by an attractive middle-aged brunette with tortoiseshell glasses and a bright white-toothed smile.