“Hear…her out. Merryn. Don’t…be mad. Not right away. She…loved you.”
He squeezes his hat in his hands.
“One…more thing.” A pause. “Tell Florence…she can come.”
Merryn’s house is on the seashore. It’s a rose-covered Tudor-style in Fawley, a two-hour train ride away, overlooking the rocky Peel Cove. Somehow it looks like her—quiet and regal with feminine charm and rosy color. Warm and inviting. Simple…yet complex beneath the surface.She…loved you.Those words have repeated through his mind since he heard them.
Adjusting the wrapped painting under his arm, William pushes through a waist-high gate that leans inward, blowingwith the wind. A black sheep butts against his hip. He pauses to pet the creature but jerks upright when tiny pins sink into the back of his neck.
Persephone.
He tucks the kitten in his cloak so she won’t see the other animals, and knocks on the door.
A man answers, ducking in the arched doorway with a frown. “Help you?”
“Yes. I-I-I’m looking f-f-f…ahem.” A pause. He tries again. “Merryn Dunn. I’m looking for Merryn Dunn, please.”
A quick nod and a warm smile. “I’m her husband.” His voice is resonant and intentional. He isn’t hurried. “Won’t you come in? I’ll see if she’s ’round back.”
He vanishes deep into the shadowed house before William can ask the man’s name.Is it Rupert…or Ansel?Soon, a door closes somewhere, and footsteps sound on flagstone. She approaches with a slow, measured tread, nothing in this life inducing her to hurry anymore. He squints into the dim house and sees a slender woman, the crisscrossed window lattices casting a shadow that conceals her face for a moment. Then she steps into the sunlight and her hair is threaded with silver, her face radiant.
It’sher.
She looks exactly the same, except for one thing—whatever happened to her after she’d stopped writing in the notebook, whatever choice she made back then, she’s just as lovely, but she isn’t lost anymore.
“Oh my heavens, how can it be? Will, you’re alive!” She clasps her hands as if to restrain herself from embracing him. After she collects herself, she guides him through the house where paintings line the narrow hallway that is open to the sea breeze. “I’ve just made some tea. Please, join me.”
With a nod, he takes one long, deep breath as they step out into a rambling rose garden. Helen would love it here.
They sit on two stone benches and he leans the painting against his bench, uncertain how to bring it up, what to ask.
She fidgets with the teapot before glancing up at him. “I checked the papers every day while you were fighting. I looked for your name…and it was there eventually.”
He presses his lips together.
“Missing in action, presumed dead. I hardly dared to hope.” She blinks back tears, pressing her laced fingers against her mouth.
She pours tea for both of them. “I’ve thought about you so often. It’s like a dream, seeing you here. There are so many things I wish to say to you.” She cradles her teacup. “Mostly…that I’m deeply, deeply sorry.”
William leans back and waves off the odd apology, and a squeak reminds him to move gently. He scoops the kitten out of his leather satchel and, on impulse, holds it out to the woman beside him. “Would you like to hold her?”
She sets her tea down and immediately draws the tiny kitten close, rubbing the top of Persephone’s head with her cheek. “Mm, she’s darling. Has she a name?”
“Princess Persephone.” For once, he doesn’t feel foolish giving the whole name. “Rescued from a build site.”
“Are you, indeed?” The woman glows, her lovely porcelain features contrasting with the raven-and-silver plait hanging down her back. Then she looks up at him again, her eyes dewy. “It seems you’ve grown up nicely, young Will.”
“Was I…was I called Cecil once?”
She blinks. “How do you know that name?”
“Your notebook.” Heat pools in his chest as he realizes how invasive that must seem. “I found it. In the wall. With…a painting.” But why didn’t he recognize the stories of Cecil?Why didn’t he remember Cheltenham Prep, Lady St. Laurent, Sabine? The only ring of familiarity had come from gazing upon Merryn Dunn’s face.
“The cottage.” She brightens. “You’ve cleaned up Dunn Cottage.”
Another flush of heat. “Not so much cleaned up as…well, inhabited.”
“And have you found it to be an adequate sanctuary?”
