Tabitha’s eyebrows rose. ‘I’m wishing you’d told me this when I was calling every photographer in the city last week,looking to fill a last-minute assignment,’ she said, drily. ‘But again, I do understand the need for a fresh start.’
‘The truth is, I haven’t touched my camera in five years, or even looked at the last set of proofs I took,’ Mia said. ‘Ethan passed when we were on assignment together in Canada, and until very recently, I didn’t think I’d ever want to pick up my camera again. Hence my decision to keep it a secret.’
Tabitha looked intrigued, and she refolded her arms, her eyes fixed firmly on Mia’s. ‘And now?’
Mia closed her eyes for a brief second before answering. ‘Now I want to find my way back to what I love,’ she said, swallowing a growing lump in her throat. ‘And I’m hoping you’ll allow me an extended period of leave to do that.’ She didn’t want to leave her job entirely, and she found herself holding her breath, hoping her boss was as understanding as she thought she was.
Tabitha took off her glasses and sat back in her chair, her expression hard to read. ‘How about we get a coffee downstairs and we can discuss this further? Because I’m in desperate need of caffeine, and I have a feeling we can find a way for you to stay with us when you return. As a photographer.’
‘Thank you, I’d like that.’
Maybe it was time not to find the Mia she’d left behind, but to discover a new version of herself who was ready to see the world again.
At the very least, she was ready to try.
Because as soon as her meeting with Tabitha was over, she was buying her Eurostar ticket before she changed her mind.
Paris, here I come.
7
FRANCE, 1936
Hope smiled to herself as she looked at the painting she’d just finished. She had her bedroom windows thrown wide open, and the light flooding her room put an immediate smile on her face as she stood in front of her easel. Every morning for the past few months, once she’d done her chores and seen her father and brothers off for the day, she’d managed to find an hour or two to hide away in her room and paint. No matter how tedious the rest of the day, so long as she’d had her time alone in her attic room, she was content. She might not be allowed to dream of an education anymore, but no one could take her art away from her.
‘Hope? Where are you?’ her mother called up the stairs.
She turned, wondering what could be so urgent. Her baby sister, Claudette, was having a nap—she’d kept her door open in case she woke—and she couldn’t imagine what else her mother would need her for.
‘Hope!’ her mother cried as she walked into her room. ‘You’re a mess.’
She glanced down at her paint-splattered hands and apron. ‘I’ve been painting, I’m hardly a mess.’
‘You need to clean yourself up as quickly as possible and come downstairs. Your father is home and there’s a young man here.’
Now it was Hope frowning. ‘Must I come down?’
‘Just do as you’re asked for once! I’ll find you a dress while you scrub your hands. And take off that filthy apron!’
Hope sighed and did as she was told, returning to her room only once her skin was pink from being cleaned so vigorously, letting her mother fuss over her hair once she’d dressed.
‘Come down now, we don’t want to keep them waiting.’
She still didn’t know what all the fuss was about, but Hope let herself be pulled along the landing and down the stairs.
‘Maman—’ she began.
‘Hope, listen to me,’ her mother said, still clutching her hand. ‘We don’t always get the life we want, but he’s a nice man. You could be happy together.’
Hope’s breath caught in her chest, and her heart began to pound as she realised what was happening. ‘No, Maman, please. Don’t let this be what I think it is.’
Her mother just clutched her hand even tighter and dragged her into the sitting room, where a young man sat, his fingers worrying the tie at his neck, and his eyes slowly lifting to meet hers.
‘Hope, I’d like you to meet Laurent,’ her father said.
‘Hello, Hope,’ he said, rising and looking nervous as he wiped his hands on his trouser legs. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’
She recognised him from a dance earlier in the year, and even though she was sure he was perfectly pleasant, she knew what was coming and her stomach twisted in anguish. Her father had orchestrated this without even talking to her first.
