“Made for Lilliputians. And this bloody thing is so underpowered I might as well have put wheels on one of the sewing machines from your work,” he grumbled. “I’ll apologize now for my bad language over the next hour. I loathe driving and I particularly loathe driving in London. Once we’re clear of the city I’ll be in a better mood.”
“Why do you have a car if you hate driving?”
“I don’t. This belongs to my neighbor.”
“Then why did we not take the train?”
“Ordinarily we’d have done just that. But there weren’t any running this morning that would get us there for midday.”
Not wishing to distract him, she turned her attention to the passing view. So much of London was ugly; there was no denying it. Even the most beautiful buildings were marked by neglect, their fa?ades stained with soot, their brasses pitted by tarnish, their paint worn ghostly thin. The strange and sad spaces between buildings, as random as fate, no longer puzzled her.
They crossed a bridge, very long and wide, the waters of the Thames roiling angrily beneath. When she leaned forward to look across him she glimpsed the clock face on the tower in Westminster, and just beyond it the ancient abbey where the princess was to have her wedding.
“There,” Walter said. “We’re across the river. Not long until we’re clear of the city.”
It wasn’t a sudden thing. There was no sign to say they had left London behind. The buildings thinned, a little, and after a while they became a patchy sort of frontier, with glimpses of something calmer and greener beyond. The road narrowed, the hedgerows grew taller and wilder, and then they were surrounded by gently rolling hills and golden fields set aglow by the late morning sun.
“Much better,” he said. “Sorry I was a bear at first.”
“It did not bother me.”
“Good. How are you? Busy, I expect.”
“Yes. It was a busy week. As you say.”
“I expect having the queen to visit didn’t help very much.”
“How did you know?” she asked, a ribbon of dread gathering close around her heart.
“I wouldn’t be much of a journalist if I didn’t. They were photographed leaving the premises.”
Now it would happen. Now he would begin to ask his questions.
“Miriam. Miriam. I am not about to break my promise. Do you hear me?”
She licked her lips and tried to swallow back the fear. “Yes,” she said. “I know you will not.”
“Good. I will say I’m worried about you and your friends. The interest in this gown alarms even me, and I’m usually unflappable. People are so avid for details, the Americans in particular, and I’ve got to wonder—”
“They offer us money. The men waiting outside the back door. When we leave work every day they are waiting. They shout their questions and they never move out of the way. Sometimes there are so many we have to push past them.”
“Good Lord.”
“All the windows have been whitewashed over. At first it was just curtains, but then the man who owns the building across the lane came to Monsieur Hartnell. He said an American newspaper had offered him a fortune if they might have his top floor until the wedding.”
“You read Picture Weekly. You know I would never stoop to that sort of thing.”
“I know you would not. I do know. But what if anyone should see us together? I worry about this, for I have only worked for Monsieur Hartnell since the spring. If I were to be seen with a famous journalist—”
“Ha,” he barked, but his laugh held no humor. “That is very kind of you, but I hardly qualify.”
“Very well. The editor of a famous magazine. If they were to find out, I would be finished. No one would employ me. You must know this.”
“I do, though it pains me to admit it. And if you don’t wish to see me again until after the dress is completed and gone, I understand. It won’t be so very long, at any rate,” he reasoned. Always so reasonable, this man.
He was right. It would be sensible, and safe, to do as he said, and it would only be for a month or so. Why, then, did she feel so unmoored at the thought of it?
She had only known him for two months. Added together, the hours she’d spent in his company scarcely amounted to an entire day. She couldn’t properly say that she knew him, or that he knew her, and if she were never to see him again she would survive. She would survive, but another piece of her would be forever lost.
“What if we are very careful?” he asked. “No more restaurants, no more walking about in public? At least until after the wedding.”