‘Champagne?’ he asked.
She took his hand and followed him through the living area and into the kitchen, where he went to the fridge and took out a bottle of Mumm. He wasted no time popping the cork and taking down two glasses, filling them and moving back around to her.
‘Why do I get the feeling you had all this planned?’ she asked, as he gently clinked his glass to hers. ‘Or do you always have champagne chilling, just in case?’
‘I’m not going to lie,’ he said. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you back here since our very first day together.’
‘You have?’
‘I have. Only I didn’t want to come across as too forward, which is why it’s taken so many days.’
Georgia stayed silent. If she were braver, she would have told him that she’d wanted that, too. And now here they were with only one night left. One final evening to be with Luca before she left and never saw him again.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ he asked, placing his hand on her hip.
She took a sip. ‘Of course. Anything.’
‘Would you stay another few days, if I asked you to?’
‘Here?’ she asked, glancing around. ‘With you?’
Luca nodded, and as he did, she reached up to touch his face, her fingers grazing his stubble.
‘I think I can manage an extra couple of days,’ she replied, as his lips met hers.What harm would it be to extend her stay?‘But only until the end of the week.’ So much for just having onenight with him and then leaving. But after a few days, she’dhaveto return to London, to her real life. There was only so long she could justify playing make-believe.
Or perhaps she was scared of how hard it would be to leave Luca behind if she spent any more time with him.
Somehow their glasses ended up on the table as Luca’s arms went around her, his mouth hungry against hers, kissing her as if he’d been waiting a lifetime to claim her. Georgia ran her hands across his shoulders, down his back, pulling away, and looking up into his eyes.
She’d never imagined falling fast and hard for a man, but it seemed that this time, she’d fallen head over heels just when she was least expecting it.
25
LONDON, 1952
Delphine stared at the perfect little wooden box Hope had placed on the table in front of her. Her hands were trembling as she picked it up and studied it, listening to what Hope was telling her.
‘Many of the young women who come through my door never want to speak of or think about what happened here ever again, but there are some, like you, who feel differently. Who will never, ever stop thinking about the child they were forced to part with.’
Delphine put the box down. ‘You want me to think of something to leave for her, in this little box?’
Hope smiled. ‘From experience, I believe that the moment you set eyes on that box, you thought of something to put inside it. Perhaps even more than one something.’
She was right. Delphine had thought of something, knew exactly what she’d leave in there for her daughter. In the beginning, she wasn’t sure whether she’d keep it for herself or tuck it into her daughter’s blanket, but now that Hope had given her the box, she knew what she needed to do.
‘I’m going to leave you for a while, let you think about it, and when you’re ready you can simply tie the string around it and I’ll store it for when she’s older.’
Delphine reached for the box again, but this time she looked up at Hope. ‘You’ll make sure she gets this? That it won’t sit forever collecting dust, never to be discovered?’
Hope nodded. ‘I promise. My intention is to have the boxes delivered to the children when they’re adults, or, of course, if they ever come to me looking for adoption records or answers.’
Delphine thanked her, waiting until she was alone to open the box. It was only small, but she knew that she could fit in what she wanted. First, she took the pink sapphire from the inside pocket of her jacket, placing it into the box and staring down at it. The light caught the reflection and shone back up at her, catching her eyes in a prism of colour, and she knew without a doubt that it was the right thing to leave. And then she stood and went to her bag, taking out her copy ofNeue Zürcher Zeitungthat she’d brought with her. She cut out the newspaper article announcing Florian’s death, and she decided to part with it, so that her daughter could read about the man who was her father.
She wanted to write a letter, to tell her how she felt about leaving, about how loved she was, but she couldn’t. She’d told her a thousand times now how much she adored her, told her how life could have turned out if things were different, and she simply couldn’t bring herself to write those words on a page.
The sapphire will give her financial independence if she needs it, and the article will tell her who her father was. That’s all she needs to know.
One day, she would see her again; she could feel it in her heart. And that’s when she would explain to her why.
