“Is that all right? Honestly? Because . . .”
Miriam suddenly realized that Ann appeared nervous. Hesitant, somehow, as if she were struggling to find the right words. Of course. There was a catch. It was, as she had suspected, too good to be true.
“What is wrong?” she asked, her heart sinking.
“I, well . . . I need to be honest with you. This is a council house.”
“I am not sure I understand.”
“The town owns the house and I rent it from them. Or rather, my brother did. He and Milly were the original tenants. I moved in after he died, otherwise Milly wouldn’t have been able to manage on her own. We’ve kept our heads down since then, done well not to attract anyone’s attention. But if the council were to take notice, if they realized that two women are living here instead of a family, they might decide to, ah . . .”
Miriam’s palms went clammy, and a swell of panic stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t safe here. It wasn’t—
“They might ask me to give notice. I do feel I must tell you. I will say that I don’t think it’s likely. The rent collector is friendly enough, and he’s used to me handing over the rent each week. As long as we keep the place neat as a pin and pay him like clockwork we’ll be fine.”
“When you say ‘give notice,’ what does that mean?” she asked. “Would we be in trouble with the police?”
“Heavens, no. No, it’s not the sort of thing you can get in trouble for. And I only mention it because there’s a chance of having to move if someone at the council ever got wind of Milly going to Canada. I mean, we kept it as quiet as we could. But you know how people talk.”
Miriam did know.
She would go to her grave without knowing the name of her betrayer. Had it been one of the other women in her lodgings? Someone at her work? Had Marie-Laure or Robert been tortured into giving them her name? She would never know for certain, never be able to look her enemy in the eye and force them to acknowledge what they had done. There would never be a trial to hold them accountable.
Ann was waiting for her to answer. “Yes,” Miriam said. “People do talk,” and she smiled as if she were thinking of a harmless neighborhood gossip.
“When would you like to move in? Milly’s room only needs a good dusting. And of course I’ll make up the bed with fresh sheets.”
“I have already paid until the end of the week, and I do not think the concierge will give me back the money. So perhaps on Saturday I can bring my things?”
“That sounds perfect. I can meet you at the station if you like.”
“I do not have many things. You do not need to trouble yourself.”
“Well, then. I guess that’s settled. Oh—I should have asked before. Would you like to stay on for supper? I haven’t much in the larder but I should be able to scrape together something edible.”
“That is very kind, but I ought to return to my pension. There is a curfew and the concierge is diligent in enforcing it. But I will see you at work in the morning?”
“Yes, of course. Do you know your way back to the station?”
“I remember.”
Miriam stood, ready to move to the front door, but Ann held out a staying hand. “Do you mind waiting for a moment? I forgot something outside. I won’t be long.”
Outside? Ann had only been in the garden for a minute or two, and she hadn’t brought anything with—
“Here you go,” Ann said. She held three of the peonies. “I’ll just pop them in a tin for you, with an inch or two of water to stop them from drying out. Don’t forget to top them up when you get home.”
It was too much. “But those were the last of your peonies,” Miriam protested as Ann arranged the flowers in their homely container.
“They’re calling for rain tomorrow—they’ll be flattened otherwise. And I’m glad for you to have them.”
“They are beautiful,” Miriam said, her throat still tight with emotion. “I thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Until tomorrow?”
“Yes. Until then. Bonsoir.”
She stepped out the door, through the little gate, and began to walk down the street. She held the tin of peonies close to her chest and let the scent of them fill her nose. She walked through the gathering dusk, breathing in their magical scent, and with every step her heart grew lighter, gladder, more hopeful. She had made a new friend. She had found a new home.
And tomorrow would be better than today.