Two turquoise-and-gold teapots steamed with the fragrances of lavender and bergamot. A four-tiered stand held cucumber sandwiches, salmon bruschetta, miniature chocolate tarts, pumpkin cheesecakes, cinnamon scones, and more.
Lauren’s mother would have loved to experience this. Then again, she would also love that Lauren and Lawrence were here now, together.“Redeem this.”Those parting words resounded in Lauren’s spirit, reminding her what Mother’s priority had been.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Smiling, Lawrence picked up a teapot with trembling hands. The bandages were gone, but faint marks remained to remind her how close she’d come to losing him.
She half rose, and her strand of pearls swayed as she took the small pot from him and poured the tea herself. “This feels indulgent.”
He laughed. “Good. You deserve a little indulgence, especially onyour birthday. You’re only thirty-three once, after all.” He sobered, then added, “My heavens, but you look like your mother.”
Lauren settled on the plum-colored velvet cushion and lifted a cheesecake from the tray. When her mother was thirty-three, she was married and had a six-year-old daughter. When her mother was thirty-three, she was already sick with a terminal illness that would take her life nine years later.
Closing her eyes, Lauren tried desperately to shove that aside, to focus instead on the present. This one bite of cake. This one sip of tea. The fact that after years of feeling like an orphan, her father had come back to her. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes again.
There on the table were two shabti figures. A man and a young woman. Unlike the wooden set she’d found at the Napoleon House, these were made of faience, that gorgeous luminous blue substance the Egyptians loved to use.
“Your gift,” Lawrence said. “That is, I thought we could try this again.”
He must know that to her they would look like a father and daughter.
She picked up each one, marveling at the handiwork that created them and at the distance of time and space they’d traveled to reach her. Her father told her the story of their discovery in his typical dramatic fashion, but for once she didn’t care so much about where they’d come from.
She cared that he remembered her. She cared that he was trying.
“You aren’t going to give that one back to me now, are you?” He pointed to the male figure.
“No,” Lauren determined. Her throat grew tight. “These two will stay together.” After standing them up on the white tablecloth as silent sentinels, she reached into her satchel and pulled out three typewritten pages. “And this is for you.”
He accepted it. “What’s this? DoIget a gift onyourbirthday?”
“It’s as good a day as any,” she said. “This is my first article for your newsletter.” She knew it may not guarantee her a spot on theexpedition team. But the reply she’d received in the post from Dr. Breasted yesterday had encouraged her to try.The golden age of Egyptian exploration is fast coming to a close, he’d written. She longed to go while she still could. But even if things didn’t work out that way, the simple notion of helping her father and helping others avoid fraud had blossomed into a worthwhile goal of its own.
“You may have to mention the fire on the property, but that won’t be the only news you share,” she went on. “Hopefully this article will be of so much value to your subscribers they’ll forget all about that.”
She watched him scan the lines she’d typed as soon as she’d gotten home from the trip to Boston and Newport. It was an article based on what she’d found at Newell St. John’s. No names had been used, of course.
“This is wonderful,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Oh, Lauren, you’ve made an old man very happy. I have no doubt that the board and our subscribers will be even more impressed.”
“I’ve got at least three more articles I can easily write, based on my notes from the consultations I’ve been doing for the police.”
“Anything I don’t know about yet? Please say you won’t make me wait for the articles to find out.” His eyes glinted with something she dared to hope was approval.
Lauren hoped that Mother would be pleased, too.
“Aunt Beryl!” Returning from The Plaza, Lauren closed the apartment door behind her and stepped into her aunt’s delicate embrace to receive a kiss that never touched her skin. She was fifty-two years old now, her upswept blond hair just beginning to fade. Her spine remained finishing-school straight. Aunt Beryl’s smile, too, was perfect, but Lauren could never tell if it was genuine or forged for appearance alone.
Lauren hoped her own smile was warmer. “This is a surprise,” she said.
“You have no idea.” Elsa beckoned from the sofa, where she saton the front half of the cushion, her back flawlessly straight, hands folded in her lap. One ankle crossed over the other. Even if Lauren hadn’t seen Aunt Beryl yet, she’d have detected her exacting presence by her daughter’s rigid posture.
Ivy sat beside Elsa. “Maybe I should leave you three alone for this.”
“Oh, applesauce,” Elsa replied. “Stay right here.”
Lauren lowered herself into an armchair, and Aunt Beryl did the same. The fire crackled behind the grate, toasting the room and releasing the spicy scent from evergreen branches on the mantel.
“I understand you and Elsa searched my house for a box of letters on the word of that nursemaid Nancy Foster. I’ve kept it in a wall safe in my bedroom, in case you ever asked for it.” Rising, Aunt Beryl took a box from where it had been hidden beneath a crocheted blanket and passed it to Lauren. “I think Goldie would want you to have this at last.”
Lauren grasped the corners of the box, the sharp edges digging into her palms. “You’ve had it all this time? Why didn’t you say anything?”
