“So, you’re saying that she didn’t love my father, that she loved…someone else?”
“What I want you to understand is that the human heart can only be pushed so far, and then it takes on a mind of its own. Whatever reasons your mother had for leaving California were big ones, brave ones even. It was her second act.”
I nod blankly. Her words linger in the late afternoon air. They try to penetrate my heart, but I won’t let them.
“Well, enough of me rambling on. Aren’t you going to open the card?”
I hesitate for a moment but finally lift the edge of the envelope as she watches in anticipation.
Dear Valentina,
You’ve arrived at your next clue! I do hope this one wasn’t too hard to track down. I knew it might take some digging, but I wanted you to meet May. When I returned to London, the world felt like such a dark place. May was one of those magical people here in Primrose Hill who lit a lamp for me and helped me find my way. And I did, in time. I can’t tell you how I know, but let’s just say a little birdie told me your world is feeling a bit dark right now. I wish I was there to make it better, and that I’d been there for you in the years you needed me most. But there is no going backward, only forward. So, I’ll leave you with a little cheer: daffodils. Ask Matilda, and she’ll offer you her velvet green blanket, but do keep an eye out for the foxes wearing gloves: They’ll show you the way to the little house.
I’ll be waiting,
Mummy
Los Angeles, California
May 17, 1968
“Welcome home,” Frank said, squeezing my hand as the plane touched down on the runway. I’d never been on an airplane before, so I didn’t know whether the sudden thud was normal or if the aircraft was about to spontaneously combust. Besides, I’d spent the entire flight fighting tears and was now merely going through the motions.
Home. How could a foreign land ever take the title? I blinked back tears as bright sunlight streamed through the window, steadying myself as best I could. I would not let Frank see me cry.
I spotted palm trees in the distance as passengers descended from another plane, clutching their bags and hats. A fashionable woman with hair much blonder than mine cinched a silk scarf around her neck and handed her bag to a handsome man with dark hair and smart-looking glasses. Of course, I thought of Edward, but immediately scolded myself for it.
“You’re going to love it here, darling,” Frank said. “The city is changing every day. Take LAX. It’s an airport for the jet age. The terminal area opened only seven years ago. And in the Theme Building there’s a restaurant in the observation deck with a view of the entire airfield. We’ll have to try it some night.”
I nodded despondently, following him down the plane’s exit ramp as the sun beat down on my pale skin. Squinting, I caught a glance at the city shimmering in the distance. So, this is America. Home of the new.
But my heart belonged to the past.
Even the sound of Frank’s voice made me think of Edward and the chapter I’d left unfinished in London.
Suddenly, I was back at the Royal Automobile Club.
“American men, they all sound like—”
“Cowboys,” we said in unison, then laughed.
Frank turned to me, beaming. “Darling, are you feeling all right?”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I was just a little…air sick. I’m better now.”
He reached for his wallet, then handed me a few strange-looking bills. “Why don’t you grab yourself a snack while I get our bags?”
“Thanks,” I said, walking ahead. I found my way to a café inside, and ordered two black coffees—to go—lingering beside a magazine stand before I reunited with Frank outside, where he already had a cab waiting.
“Darling, you know I don’t drink coffee,” he said.
I glanced down at the two Styrofoam cups in my hands. “No, no—this one’s for the driver,” I said, reminding him of my quirky habit of buying an extra coffee for cabbies in London.
“Do you want to know what’s great about living on the west side of Los Angeles?” he asked, turning to me. It was obvious that he wanted my attention here and not back in London. “It’s really the perfect location. Of course, we have everything—the best restaurants, beaches. But you can’t beat the proximity to the airport. We’ll be home in a few minutes.”
Home. That word again. I gazed out the window at the city skyline. It looked nothing like home but rather a distant planet, populated by…who knew what.
“There are no true skyscrapers here,” Frank said. “Since 1926, the tallest building has been city hall, at four hundred and fifty-four feet. Leading architects planned it that way. Their vision was to keep the development spreading horizontally, to maximize the benefits of city living over the largest possible area.”
The buildings that whizzed past were commercial and low to the ground, and there were few pedestrians, nothing at all like the neighborhood feel of Whitechapel Road in the East End, teeming with people who worked and shopped and ate and drank right where they lived.
Twenty minutes later, the driver turned onto a palm-lined residential street. The car climbed a hill, and from its peak I could see the blue ocean. We passed dozens of white-stucco homes with roofs made of terra-cotta tile, or something like it. Everywhere were carefully tended lawns, fruit-bearing citrus trees, and clipped hedges with not a single leaf askew.
Frank pointed to a large, modern-looking home just ahead that seemed like it belonged in a design magazine. “There she is,” he said, smiling. “Welcome home, Mrs. Baker, or rather, soon-to-be Mrs. Baker.”
I gasped, genuinely astounded. “Really, Frank? It’s…beautiful.” And it was, shockingly so. Beyond the manicured lawn and garden with two tall palm trees framing the entryway, the two-story home sat perched on a large corner lot, with giant picture windows facing the ocean. It was the sort of house you’d imagine movie stars living in, not regular people like…me.
As the driver unloaded our bags, Frank took my hand and proudly led me through the front door.
A stocky woman in a black dress and white apron, with dark hair pinned back into a tight bun, smiled at me from the first step of the staircase. Her kindness warmed me, and I liked her instantly.
“Eloise,” she said with an accent I couldn’t place. “Welcome.”
“My dear,” Frank said to me, “this is Bonnie, our wonderful housekeeper.”
“Very nice to meet you,” I said, returning her smile.
“You must be tired,” she added, beginning to fuss over me. “May I take your purse? Can I get you any—”
Frank cleared his throat. “Bonnie, I take it you’ve made all the preparations I wrote you about?”
“Yes, Mr. Baker,” she said quickly, beaming with pride. “The house is ready for your bride, just as you asked.” I wondered what she must think of me, this stranger Frank had carted home from London…like a souvenir.
“Darling, let me show you around,” he said, taking my hand. He told me about the very important architect he’d hired to design the home and how he’d spared no expense in the construction process, attending to every detail. And, oh, the details. I’d never seen a refrigerator this big, or a sofa so plush, or a…I paused, looking out at the terrace equipped with a swimming pool…to think that I had a pool of my very own.