As she pushed the brass button, Evelyn listened for the sound of the bell inside the house. She did not hear it but the door looked heavy and as though it would block sound from within. She tried to smile and waited expectantly. After a few minutes, she began to grow tense once again. If no one was home, how long did she stand on the doorstep before giving up? Or it was possible that someone was home but did not want to be disturbed. She was reluctant to keep ringing the bell and discover she’d simply irritated whoever was in the house. Still, the letter she had to deliver was important. Important enough to risk ringing the bell again.
Evelyn listened for the sound of the bell again, and again heard nothing. After waiting a final minute, she tried the brass knocker on the door, hearing that sound echoing in the hallway within. She knocked three times and waited, almost holding her breath. Moments later, she was sure she heard movement. She bit her lip and tried to set her expression to friendly, but not too friendly.
The door opened and Evelyn found herself looking into a round pink dimpled face with bright green eyes, surrounded by cropped red hair which curled around the jawline and sat in a straight line just above the eyebrows. A woman, who looked a little older than herself. The woman wore a blue silk housecoat with an Egyptian pattern embroidered onto the fabric. Her feet were bare. Evelyn drew breath and found herself lost for words.
“Oh, hello there!” The woman spoke loudly and cheerfully. She did not have an accent like the people Evelyn had heard in London so far. Rather her voice was clipped and proper. Clearly this was an educated and wealthy woman. Still, her smile was open and warm. “Did you ring the bell? Oh no, you haven’t been waiting there for ages, have you? I’ve told James we have to get someone to fix it, but somehow neither of us ever gets around to it! Simply ridiculous of us really. Sorry.”
“I wasn’t here very long before I knocked,” Evelyn responded, rather taken aback at the robust manner of this woman and her flow of words, all delivered at quite a pace.
“Oh good, good, that’s all right, then. Now, how can I help?”
Evelyn had rehearsed her explanation several times on the train, but now she was here her planned words evaporated from her mind. “Well, I’m looking for a Miss Lilian Grainger. I was given this address for her.”
“You’ve found her then,” the woman said, now beginning to look curious. “I’m Lilian. Who are you?”
“My name’s Evelyn Hopkins.”
“Pleased to meet you, Evelyn. I can call you Evelyn, can’t I? You can call me Lilian. I can’t stand all of the formalities, we’re just two people after all.”
“Yes, of course.” Evelyn felt herself being blown further and further off course by Lilian’s breezy personality and seeming inability to stop talking.
“So why are you looking for me, Evelyn? Is it to do with my singing?”
“No, it’s nothing to do with singing. It’s, well, it’s about your brother.”
“So it’s really James you’re looking for?”
“No, I’m looking for you. It’s not James. It’s your other brother.”
Lilian’s smile faded. “I’ve not had another brother for a long time now,” she replied. Some of her friendly demeanour had diminished. “He was killed in the war.”
“I know,” Evelyn said. She could see the pain in Lilian’s eyes and feared making the other woman angry.
“What do you mean? What do you know about Frank?” Lilian demanded.
“My brother, Edward. He served with him, you see. And Eddie came back from the war with a letter. For you, from Frank.”
“A letter?” Lilian was staring at Evelyn now, as though she was trying to comprehend the words.
“Yes.”
“But the war ended eight years ago. Why would you only bring it now?” Lilian’s tone was suspicious suddenly. “And why you and not this brother of yours?”
Resentment rose in Evelyn’s heart at the implication that Edward had done something wrong in not sending the letter before now, the hint of mistrust in Lilian’s voice. She wanted to defend her brother, defend her own sense of loss. “Eddie came back, but he was shell-shocked—you must know what that can mean. He’s barely spoken since he came home. He struggles to let us know what he wants, what he thinks, or to do anything at all, really. It took him a huge effort to make me understand what he wanted, when he asked me to do this. I can’t say why he waited until now…I’m sorry.”
Lilian’s face softened again. She reached out a hand and touched Evelyn’s. “No, I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you.” There were tears in Lilian’s eyes. “The war was so ghastly, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Evelyn replied. For a moment they were lost in mutual remembrance. “Do you want to see the letter?”
“You better come in.” Lilian stepped back from the door, and Evelyn passed into the hallway.
Chapter Three
“Sometimes I think of emigrating,” Jos Singleton declared, taking a sip of her scotch and running a hand through her untidy short black hair. She looked across the table at her friend Courtney Craig. “America is a place of opportunity isn’t it?”
Courtney smiled indulgently, red-painted lips parting to reveal
