dreams for one of us, but nightmares were easier to bear when there were warm arms in the dark to burrow into. When grief came for either of us, it wound its way through the night and became part of the sweetness.
I haven’t known you long enough to be this crazy about you, I thought, watching Finn’s profile in the soft light. But I am.
One afternoon, two and a half weeks into our stay, Eve said over a post-lunch espresso, “Maybe René isn’t here.”
Finn and I traded glances, both doubtless thinking of all the heads shaken no over the photograph since we’d arrived. Three restaurant managers and an expensive tailor had thought they recognized the face, but couldn’t remember the name that went with it. Otherwise, nothing.
“Maybe I should g-give it up. Let Charlie here go back home to knit booties, and have you”—Eve nodded at Finn—“take me back to the land of fish and chips.”
“Can’t say I’m ready to go home yet.” I kept my voice light, but Finn squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.
“Let’s give it another week or two,” Finn said. Eve nodded. “But let’s take the afternoon off. I want to amble over to the garage and check on the Lagonda.”
“He’s going to harangue those poor mechanics to death,” Eve chuckled as he walked away.
“Or apologize to the car for not visiting more often,” I agreed.
We sat for a while, finishing our espressos, and then Eve looked at me. “I’m no good at afternoons off. Let’s pick a few restaurants. I reckon the two of us can b-brace the waiters without our solicitor in tow.”
I looked at her, gray eyes gleaming in her tanned face as she clapped her big hat over her brow at a rakish angle. “Maybe you should introduce me as your daughter this time. You’re not so plausible as my old granny anymore.”
“Pshaw.”
“I’m serious! It’s this flowery air in Grasse; it’s like the elixir of youth.” As we strolled through the oldest part of the city, where the buildings arched overhead, leaning on each other like friendly shoulders, I realized I loved Grasse. All the other cities we’d passed through—Lille, Roubaix, Limoges—had been blurred for me by the search for Rose. But here in Grasse we’d finally stopped to breathe, and the city was unfolding to me like the jasmine blossoms in the fields. I never want to leave this place, I thought, before pulling myself back to the search at hand.
Two unsuccessful restaurant stops later, Eve pulled out her map to search for a third. I munched a concoction of fried courgette flowers to which the Rosebud had become almost as addicted as bacon, eyeing a nearby shop window. The display was all children’s clothes: sailor suits, ruffled skirts, and laid out across a display pram a tiny lacy baby dress embroidered in rose vines. I looked at that dress and had an attack of utter lust. I could see the Rosebud wearing it at her christening. I could feel her now—in what felt like a matter of days, I’d gone from utterly flat in front to just a little rounded. You couldn’t see it through my clothes, but it was there, that tiny bump. Finn didn’t say anything, but he kept running his fingertips over my abdomen at night, butterfly touches like kisses.
“Buy it,” Eve said, noticing my stare. “That armload of lace you’re drooling over—just b-buy it.”
“I doubt I can afford it.” Wistfully, I swallowed my last fried flower. “I’ll bet it costs more than all my secondhand clothes put together.”
Eve crammed her map into her handbag, marched into the shop, and emerged minutes later with a brown paper package that she tossed me unceremoniously. “Maybe now you’ll pick up the pace.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I hate being thanked. March, Yank!”
I marched. “You’re spending a lot lately, Eve.” The money from my pawned pearls had run out, and Eve was now covering all our expenses, though I’d sworn to repay her as soon as I could crack my bank account open in London.
“What have I got to spend it on? Whiskey, vengeance, and baby dresses.”
I grinned, hugging the package. “Would you be her godmother?”
“Keep saying her and it’ll come out a boy just to spite you.”
“His godmother, then.” I paused, suddenly serious though I’d said it flippantly. “Really, Eve—would you?”
“I don’t behave well in church.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“All right.” She gave me a rusty smile, then stalked on like a heron through deep water. “If you insist.”