‘Please, Blake, just open it.’
The back of the envelope wasn’t sealed, and she took out the rectangular piece of card inside. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared down at it, immediately recognising what she was holding.
‘Abby, you didn’t…’ But as she turned the card over, she saw what it was.
A one-way trip to Paris, leaving in three weeks’ time.
‘I can’t accept this,’ she said, shaking her head as she dropped the ticket. ‘No, Abby, I can’t.’
Abby took hold of both her hands and locked eyes with her. ‘Yes, Blake. You can.’
‘I can’t, Abby, I’ve already told you, I?—’
‘Blake, it’s time you did something just for you,’ Abby whispered. ‘Go to Paris, stay for a week or a month or a year, but do it just for you. Do it because you can. And maybe your articles don’t have to stop yet, perhaps you still have more of the story to write? Maybe that’s why you’re finding this one so hard? But make ityourstory this time.’
‘Abby—’
‘And while I’m dishing out advice, don’t give up so easily on love, either.’
‘I don’t need romantic advice from my little sister.’
‘Well, you need it from someone, because your voice when you were with that guy in Paris? What was his name? Henri?’ she asked.
Blake nodded.
‘I’d never heard you like that before. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but what if he wasthe one?’ Abby asked. ‘And have you even looked through the comments section of your articles lately? I think every woman on earth wants to know what happened there. They don’t want to give up on the romance just yet, which made me wonder whyyouwere.’
‘Honestly? I don’t think he ever wants to see me again.’
‘But if he did?’ Abby pressed.
She didn’t answer. After the way he’d behaved, she shouldn’t want to see him at all, but her heart said something completely different. And Abby wasn’t wrong; Henri had made her feel things she’d never felt before—it was like she’d come to life when she’d been with him. Besides, he had apologised to her before she left, so it wasn’t as if he was a complete jerk. Part of her wished she hadn’t cut him off before he could finish his finalwords to her, because she’d wondered ever since just what he’d been about to say.
Blake took her hands from Abby’s and picked up the ticket again.
‘I know it’s a lot to think about, but you can always come back home. Tom and I will always be here, if you need us.’
A solitary tear slid down Blake’s cheek, both at Abby’s gesture and because she’d made her think about Henri, and she brushed it away with the back of her knuckle.
‘Thank you,’ she said at last, embracing her sister and fighting a fresh wave of tears.
Abby hugged her back, hard, her arms wrapped tight around her. ‘You’re very, very welcome.’
When she finally let her go, it was Abby who wiped the moisture from her cheeks.
‘I’m going back to Paris,’ she whispered.
‘You’re going back to Paris,’ Abby whispered back.
She could barely believe it, but as she stared down at the ticket in her lap, there was no way she was going to let her fears hold her back. Not this time.
And maybe, just maybe, she would be brave enough to read the comments section and see exactly what everyone was saying about her romance with Henri.
29
LONDON, 1947
Hope sat down with her morning cup of tea and opened the newspaper out on the table. It was her daily pleasure—half an hour to herself before the rest of the house woke, the silence of the kitchen an indulgence that she never took for granted. The only time she broke her routine was if one of her girls went into labour; otherwise, she fiercely guarded her little moment in time. In some ways she felt older than her years, with a routine not dissimilar to her own mother’s many years ago when Hope had lived at home, only she wasn’t looking after a brood of her own children.
