‘I won’t take a cent from them, and I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you tell Florie. That’ll be colourful.’
‘They’ll play dirty, Sam. These kinds of people always get what they want.’
‘Nice company you keep, Princess Grace.’
‘You’ve heard of requisitioned property?’
‘They’d just take the land away from me? Only the government can do that.’
‘They have friends everywhere, Sam.’
‘Is that a threat?’
A clatter of shells, stones and tin echoes around the room as the fishing net hurtles to the floor. Becca stands under the ragged pieces of net, her face pale with rage.
‘Becca?’
Running at Sophie, Becca flails at her as strangled sobs tear from her body. Sophie throws up her arms. ‘Becca, stop. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
Sam grabs hold of his daughter, hugging her against him. The girl’s body shakes, and her wails infiltrate the core of Sophie’s being.
Sophie picks up her laptop and walks past Sam and Becca and out to the porch. Outside the cottage, the first drops of a night shower splatter against her body. Tucking her laptop against her body, she raises her face to the rain and lets it run over her. Willing it to purify her. Willing it to make everything better.
Chapter 62
Norwich, England – 21 November 1952
‘George!’ Dottie smiles at George in the dressing room mirror and waves for him to enter the cluttered room. Bouquets of roses and lilies spill over every surface, their fragrance sitting on the stale air like perfume on sweaty clothes. ‘Come in! I had no idea you were coming to the performance tonight. My goodness, don’t you look dashing.’
George edges past discarded dresses towards the glamorous woman seated in front of the mirror, ashamed now of his meagre bouquet.
‘I brought you some flowers, Dottie. It’s lovely to see you again. You look … you look smashing.’
Setting down her lipstick, Dottie reaches out for the bouquet of carnations. ‘They’re lovely, George. That’s very sweet of you.’
George pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘You were marvellous tonight, Dottie. I was watching you and kept thinking to myself, There’s little Dottie! Up on stage at the Norwich Philharmonic! I knew her when!’
‘You certainly did. I’ll defy anyone to say you didn’t.’
George straightens the bow tie on his rented dinner suit. ‘It’s been ages, Dottie. I wouldn’t have recognised you if I’d seen you in the street.’
‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing, George?’
‘Oh, a good thing. No, I mean, it was always lovely to see you when you were younger, too.’
Smiling at George in the mirror, Dottie picks up a bottle of Shalimar and dabs behind her ears. ‘I was just a silly girl back then. You only had eyes for Ellie, anybody could see that.’
‘That was a long time ago.’
Dottie glances over at George from the corner of her eye. ‘Have you been in touch with her?’
‘I’ve had some Christmas cards from her. I … I always send her one, too.’
‘Oh, isn’t that nice.’
‘Well, we’ve known each other since we were children.’
‘Just like me.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. I’ve known you since you were a baby.’
Dottie, pushes out of the chair and tugs at the décolleté of her blue satin dress. ‘Well, I’m not a baby, now.’ She takes hold of George’s arm. ‘Where was it you were taking me to dinner?
‘Oh, uh. I haven’t … I haven’t—’
She collects her fur stole from the back of a chair and picks up her clutch purse. ‘Don’t worry, George. I have a table booked at the Royal Hotel. Their dover sole is to die for.’
***
Dottie watches George exit the hotel as she waits for the lift up to her floor. He was miles older than she, of course, but what did that matter? Elizabeth Taylor had just married her second husband and he was thirty-six to her twenty. George was only nine years older. It was nothing.
The lift bell rings and the doors open. A young attendant in grey uniform and white gloves pulls aside the polished brass grill doors. ‘Which floor, please?’
‘Fifth.’
He pulls the doors shut and the lift jerks to life. George had looked quite handsome tonight in the dinner suit, with his hair slicked down, just like the men in London. The suit was a little too large for him – rented, obviously – but, still, he’d been a worthy dinner companion. So very polite. Not fawning like the London men. It was all too easy with them. She’d had to pull out her full flirtatious arsenal for George. Well, perhaps not the full arsenal. That would come later.
If only Ellie could see them now. She shivers with the thrill of it. Her little sister, Dottie, on her ex-fiancé’s arm at the best restaurant in Norwich. She’d felt the eyes of the other diners on them all night. This was what it was like to fly. Soon Norwich would be nothing but a long-forgotten memory. She was off on a tour of the great cities of Europe with the London Philharmonic Orchestra next year. Featured soloist. Look at me now, Ellie. Look at me now.
First, though, she had some unfinished business here in Norwich.
George.
Chapter 63
Tippy’s Tickle – 14 September 2011
Sophie hurries down the wooden steps from Kittiwake and heads across the road and past a row of the colourful houses towards the shop. She takes the note out of the pocket of her jeans and scans the scrawling blue ink. Frowning, she refolds it twice and slips it back into her pocket.
She mounts the steps to the store. A hum of loud chatter wafts through the screen door. Pulling it open, she walks past the white counters and into the large room with the bay window. Instead of finding Ellie bending over her printing press, or hosting an art class at the wooden table while Florie packages up purchases, she’s
