Page 103 of The Last Night in London

Colin’s father stood and began pacing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. I remembered from school that Colin had done the same thing when we’d been studying together, saying it helped him think.

“What was the name again? The name Precious said,” James asked. “Was it Alec?”

“Alex. I think she was referring to Alexander Grof. I saw his name in some of the captions of pictures fromTheTatler. He was photographed several times with Precious at several social functions. He was at Sophia’s wedding, too.”

James nodded slowly, silently contemplating. I studied him, wondering again what it was that was so familiar to me about him. “Any idea who he was?”

I shook my head. “She had quite a large social circle, so someone from her ‘set,’ as they used to call it.”

Penelope looked up from a magazine she’d been flipping through. “I don’t remember Sophia ever mentioning him, so he might have been just a hanger-on. The gossip pages aren’t always the best source for determining who’s actually a friend.”

“True,” I said. “Although if he wasn’t important, why was he Precious’s last conscious thought before she collapsed?”

“That’s a very good question,” Penelope agreed. “And one that we can all contemplate tomorrow after we’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

“I think you’re right. I’m so bleary headed, I feel like a bagel in a bucket of grits.” I stood, vaguely aware of Colin suppressing a laugh as his parents stared at me. “Just promise you’ll call.”

Penelope stood, too, and kissed me on the cheek. Then she faced her son. “Colin, please, make sure Maddie gets home safely?”

“I’m fine, really,” I said. “If you want to go out with friends or whatever, I can find my way back on my own.” I’d avoided meeting Colin’s eyes the whole night, replaying over and over in my head the events of the previous evening. I had almost called Aunt Cassie for her advice, had reached for my phone multiple times before I talked myself out of it. Because she would only tell me what I already knew—that I was confused and unsure, not willing to let go of a lifetime’s worth of self-denial and a strongly held belief that my life had a known outcome and a specified number of years assigned to it. She would have couched it in different terms, though. She would have just called me an idiot.

Colin was already moving toward the exit. Not wanting to argue in front of Penelope and James, I said my good-byes and followed him out into the cool spring evening.

“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” he said, already looking for a taxi, striding ahead with his hands shoved into his pockets.

I rubbed my hands on my bare arms. It had been warmer in theafternoon when we’d rushed Precious to the hospital, and I was wearing a sleeveless blouse.

“Here,” Colin said, slipping his sweater over his head and handing it to me. “I remember you always being cold and never having the proper clothing. It must be an American thing.”

He wore a long-sleeved shirt underneath, so I didn’t feel guilty accepting the sweater. “Probably more of a Southern thing,” I corrected. I pulled the sweater over my head, feeling his body heat against my bare skin, smelling the clean, soapy scent of him that clung to the fibers. I resisted the impulse to bury my nose in the knit and breathe deeply. The sleeves were way too long, and I let them dangle.

“Can we walk back?” I asked. “I’m exhausted, but it’s not that far. I need to clear my head.”

“Yes, that bagel in a bowl of grits must be difficult to overcome.”

I gave him a playful elbow in the ribs, and he groaned with exaggerated pain.

“Sure,” he said, falling into step beside me as we made our way to Marylebone Road.

We walked in silence as I breathed in a lungful of air, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I loved London’s deep purple sky on clear nights, the city’s glow creating a bruised halo on the horizon. But over Regent’s Park, where there was no competition from artificial lights, I could see the stars.

“Do you think she’ll be all right?” I asked, finally voicing the thought that had been pecking at my head since we’d rushed Precious to the hospital.

“She’s almost one hundred, Madison. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that it’s simply her time. And believe me, I hate saying that as much as you probably hate hearing it.”

I swallowed, nodded. “She told me she went to France to escape her ghosts. And that living this long has been her punishment. I’m not sure what to make of that.”

I felt him looking at me, but I didn’t turn my head. “Neither am I. I’ve never heard her say that.”

“I’m wondering if bringing up all these old memories hasn’t been good for her health.”

“Arabella said the same thing.” A car passed by, the sound of an orchestra pealing out from an open rear window, then fading as the car sped away.

“Do you agree?” I asked.

“No. I actually think Nana’s relieved. It’s cathartic. You seem to have given her a new purpose, something to achieve before she dies.”

Now I did look at him. “How haveIbecome something for her to achieve?”