She could see he was tempted. Something changed in his face. But then he shook his head, gave her an affectionate look. “No, save your money. I have my art books, and I’ll keep practicing, don’t worry. You’ll be a hospital matron before long and I’ll have my pictures hanging in every fine house in North America. Just wait.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Laura. “Well, if not an education, let me at least buy you an ice cream.”
“Lead the way,” said Freddie. “Can you afford chocolate sauce?”
They left the park together, laughing. Eventually, Laura was sure, their parents would see that there was nothing to fear. “Did you hear?” said Freddie. “A poor archduke was shot last week in Sarajevo. His wife too.”
“How dreadful,” Laura answered. “Vanilla?”
· · ·
Pim answered Laura’s knock, a shawl flung over her shoulders, face colorless as the Della Robbia angels that Freddie sketched from art books. Her astonishing hair was plaited. “Mrs. Shaw—” Laura began, standing on the stoop. “Pim. Forgive the late hour—”
“Oh, it’s quite all right,” said Pim, smiling, poised, as though bedraggled acquaintances came to her door all the time. “Come in, come in, of course.” Her eyes were red-rimmed.
“God bless you,” said Laura, and meant it.
“Come into the kitchen,” said Pim. “Have you had supper? I suppose it’s something particular you came about? Are you all right, my dear? At least have some tea.”
“I came to see Mary,” said Laura. “It’s important.”
Was it her imagination, or did Pim’s face fall? “Oh, of course you did. You have so much in common, it’s only natural. I’ll take you up straightaway, as soon as you’ve finished your tea. I even remember how you take it. And the milk just came.”
· · ·
Mary was in a sitting room, her back to the door, answering correspondence. “Mary,” Pim said from the doorway. “Miss Iven’s here to see you.”
“A moment, if you please, Iven,” Mary said without turning. Her pen raced over the paper.
“I’ll just leave you alone for a bit,” said Pim. The door shut behind her.
Laura was just sinking into one of the chairs by the fire when the echoing slam of another door made her lurch for the cover of the wall, narrowly missing the fireplace. Mary whipped around, in the same startled reaction.
Laura arranged her skirt, collected her dignity. “Pardon me.”
Mary said, “If a car backfires in London, half the men on the street hurl themselves into the nearest doorway and crouch there quivering. Sit down, for heaven’s sake, Iven. What did you come to see me about?”
Laura had debated ways to approach Mary all through her walk. Now she settled on the simplest. “You asked me if I meant to go back.”
Mary stiffened. “I did.”
Laura said, “What if I wanted to?”
She could see the thoughts running fast behind Mary’s dark eyes. “Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“You were discharged.”
“I recovered quicker and better than expected.”
Mary’s eye lingered on Laura’s skirt-covered shins. “When did it happen?”
“November.”
Mary’s lips tightened; she was probably remembering November. “A bad time.”
“Yes.”
