Rory sipped her coffee, wondering about the kinds of things Soline had reached for and why they hadn’t been meant for her.
“You have other questions,” Soline said brusquely. “Go on, then, ask them. I owe you that, I suppose.”
Rory found her bluntness both unsettling and refreshing, a welcome change after so many careful conversations with her mother. “The shaving kit. It’s connected to the dress, isn’t it? It belonged to the groom?”
“An ambulance driver who was killed in the war.”
“And the dress is yours.”
Tears suddenly pooled in Soline’s eyes. “It was meant to be, yes.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you.”
Soline gave her head a little shake, as if annoyed with herself. “I’m sorry to get soppy. It’s just . . . after the fire . . . They said everything was lost. I never expected to see it again.”
“Please don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry for pressing you. Please forgive me.”
“C’est oublié,” she murmured, reaching for a napkin and carefully blotting her eyes. “It’s forgotten.”
Rory tried not to stare. Until that moment, Soline’s hands had been in her lap, but now she saw the gloves: black kid, with tiny jet buttons at each wrist, and glaringly out of place in the middle of June.
Scars. Not her face. On her hands.
She averted her eyes, pretending not to notice. “Before I forget, I want to thank you for letting me lease the row house. I had actually given up the idea of opening the gallery. And then one day I was crossing the street and there it was. I was crushed when Daniel said it wasn’t available. I’m so glad you changed your mind.”
Soline rolled her eyes. “Mr. Ballantine knows how to get around me. He told me about your gallery for new artists. He knew it would soften the ground. When will you open?”
Rory found herself breathing a sigh of relief as the conversation shifted to safer territory. “October, if all goes well. I’d love for you to see it when it’s finished. Maybe you could come to the opening. I’d be honored to have you there.”
Soline’s shoulders stiffened. “Thank you, no. I don’t go out much these days, and I haven’t been back to the shop since the night of the fire.”
“Not once in four years?”
Soline shrugged. “Memories, you know. It’s . . . hard.”
“I’m so sorry. About . . . everything.”
“Never mind all that. Pity is my poison.” She pushed to her feet then, surprisingly petite despite her sleek black heels. “Thank you again, Aurore. It was kind of you to go to the trouble. I wish you bonne chance with your gallery.”
She picked up her handbag. Rory watched as she fumbled with the strap, her gloved fingers stiff and clumsy. After several attempts, she managed to get the strap up onto her shoulder, but the dress box was nearly as big as she was. She’d be lucky to make it out of the café, let alone navigate the crowded sidewalk.
“If you’d like, I can walk you to your car.”
“Thank you. That won’t be necessary. I don’t drive anymore. But my town house is close.”
“Then let me give you a lift. The box—”
“I’ve already been enough trouble, and I’m quite capable of walking.”
Rory eyed Soline’s shoes with skepticism. Boston’s frost-heaved sidewalks—the by-product of decades of harsh New England winters—could be challenging in flats. Pencil-thin heels coupled with a box she’d barely be able to see over spelled disaster.
“It’s no trouble,” she assured Soline as she pushed to her feet and grabbed the box from the table. “I’m parked right up the street.”
Soline nodded, but her discomfort was plain. “Yes, all right.”
Rory held the door open as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. She couldn’t explain her sudden solicitousness. Soline Roussel wasn’t remotely feeble. And yet there was an air of fragility about her, like a broken bit of porcelain whose pieces hadn’t been properly mended. If she were jostled too roughly, she might break into a million pieces. And Rory knew only too well what that felt like.
ELEVEN
RORY
Soline sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hidden behind a pair of Hepburn-esque dark glasses, her purse clutched tightly on her knees. She hadn’t spoken since rattling off her Beacon Hill address. Rory glanced at her as she turned onto Cedar Street and let off the gas.