Duncan sat up, took off his readers, and raised one of his eyebrows. “Headed to a certain English village?”
“I’ve been trying to reach Edie, and I’m not getting through. I can’t imagine what she must be thinking. I left her with almost no explanation. She hasn’t heard from me, despite my multiple tantrums to our friends in law enforcement these last two weeks, who are less receptive to their part in a sapphic love story than you might imagine. If I get there and I’ve lost this beautiful Midwestern girl, I am going to personallyMacbethReggie.”
Duncan laughed, then cleared his throat. “You’re in love.”
“I’m in love, Duncan! And I know I may be needed here more than I want to be, at least for the next couple of years, but every single other minute, if everything isn’t royally fucked, I’ll be at Gregory Place.”
He smiled. “I didn’t hesitate when I met your mother. I knew from the moment I talked to her on the beach. And I know I surprised her. She thought she couldn’t love anyone again the way she’d loved your father, but I don’t think she understood that she wouldn’t have to love me like your father. She only had to love me. Wouldn’t trade a minute.” He looked at his watch. “Get the hell out of here.”
Shocked into laughter, Cosima stood up, and the hug she and Duncan shared reminded her of hugs he’d given her when she was a kid. Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m going to have to insist you come down and see me once you’ve trundled over your estate in the countryside. And, fair warning, I’m also going to have to insist you find a place in the village so you cancome for long visits, often. There’s a good church, a lovely pub, the most outrageous manor to tour, and I have a lot of people I want you to meet. Especially Edie.”
“I’ll look forward to that. As a Scot, I’ve always wanted to lay claim to a bit of English property.”
“Soon, then.” She squeezed his elbows. “Keep me posted.”
“If you do the same.”
“I will.”
Then Cosima ran.
This time, she wasn’t running away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Where is it?” Edie looked down the tracks at Grantham station, bouncing on her toes, enraged.
“It’ll come,” Killian said. “You’ve got some padding in the itinerary, so you’ll make the plane.”
“I’m a bit worried about that, to be honest.” Tam looked at his phone. “We’re cutting it close.”
“We should’ve dashed for the earlier train.” Morag was craning her head to look down the tracks, too. “Avoided this drama.” Agatha picked up and patted her hand.
“Well, friends, I just got word.” Bert held up her phone as she walked up to the group from her position at the other end of the platform, which she’d claimed had superior cell service. “It’ll be twenty-five minutes still.”
Everyone groaned. Edie bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t scream. She pulled out her own phone. Twenty-five minutes was impossible. What had she beendoingfor the last two weeks? She read the last text Cosima had sent her for theone hundred thousandth time, making herself take in the gravity of what was happening to Cosima’s whole life. There was no question that Edie should’ve followed her the moment she left. She should have gone with herwhenshe left. Instead of understanding what Cosima was trying to tell her by showing her the inn’s garden, she’d decided to dive headfirst into what she was determined to ensure was the last great wallow of her life.
She was glad she’d called her mom.
“Maybe someone should drive me to Heathrow.”
“Oh, you’d never make it,” Bert said cheerfully. “The traffic.”
Edie bit the inside of her cheek again, and then she heard a train.Thank god.
Morag shook her head. Agatha adjusted her cap. “That’s the one up from London. On the other side of the tracks.”
The group watched the train slow to a stop opposite them, its engines hissing. Edie got out her phone and texted Cosima again. The bubble settled on “delivered.” She thought about the last two hours of activity that Morag had mobilized. The driver Agatha had arranged for her at LAX, and the Hollywood friend Tam had called, an actor who’d taught workshops at the community theater years ago, who had agreed to escort Edie to the Castle—or to wherever Cosima was.
Killian had driven her here. Bert had pulled some kind of strings with the stationmaster to get an express ticket to London when the train was already oversold. Morag had purchased Edie’s plane tickets.
“This flight isn’t the end-all,” Morag said. “She’ll still be there tomorrow.”
Edie shook her head. “If you had known you could have what you have now if you’d only gone to Wales at any time in the last fifty years?”
Morag looked at Agatha. “I would have climbed into the luggage compartment of the next train out.”
The London-to-Grantham train started to pull away, belching diesel exhaust over the tracks, and Edie watched it pick up speed with the pressure of what felt like years of impatience pushing against every bone of her body.
