And he nods, his dark eyes shining into mine.
For a moment, we’re silent again.
Then, ‘You’ve still got questions, I think,’ he says.
‘A couple,’ I agree.
‘Then, please, ask them.’
‘You’re sure?’ He looks so tired.
‘I’m sure. Ask.’
So, I do.
‘You told me last time we spoke about a woman who showed you up to the attic,’ I say. ‘Was it Iris?’
‘No. It was Ellie. I lost touch with her after Clara went, but when I retired, I moved back here, and we became friends again.’ Briefly, he smiles, and the warmth of it fills the room, lifting the sadness that’s been weighting the air, just a fraction. ‘She’s been a very … loyal … friend.’ His chest whistles. ‘I couldn’t tell Imogen about her. She didn’t want to end up in her book.’
‘Was it her who warned you I’d pay you a visit?’
‘No,’ he says, and it doesn’t escape me that he knows immediately what I’m talking about.
She said you’d come, he told me, before I left the other week.
I assumed at the time that he meant Imogen.
Until Imogen told me she’d never said any such thing to him.
‘Who was it?’ I ask him.
He doesn’t immediately respond.
He closes his eyes, for so long that I fear he might be falling asleep.
‘Tim?’ I whisper.
‘It’s all right,’ he says, sluggishly, ‘I’m still here. And yes, that was Iris.’ His lips move in another smile. ‘Your great-grandmother.’
He falls silent again: remembering, I can tell.
And, in the space of a slow blink, so do I.
A walk down Doverley’s driveway.
The scent of autumn: dying leaves, smoke, and damp.
My arm, looped with Tim’s.
My eyes fixed on the profile of his young, troubled face.
‘How do you know?’ I hear him say, back then.
‘It was during the war,’ he tells me now. ‘A couple of days before our last flight. She was trying to persuade me into trusting I’d survive it all. She told me that I had to.’
‘You can tell our story.’Iris’s voice fills my ears, and just as last night, I can’t be sure whether I’m recalling, or being. I no longer care. ‘Maybe they’ll make a picture of us all.’
‘She loved the pictures.’ Tim smiles. ‘She had all sorts of ideas about who could play us. She liked the idea of Rita Hayworth for Clare. I said she should consider Ingrid Bergman for herself.’ His eyes glimmer. ‘You must have been told how much you resemble her.’
