Page 27 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

And yet, she had no idea what she could do about it.

It was heaven to be able to blow out her hair, get her modest makeup on, and look presentable in her jeans and sweater. She wanted to spend some time with the book Mariah’s mother had planned. Flipping pages in a yellow notepad until she found a clean sheet, she started listing the important points from the file Mariah had sent.

Here in London, the itinerary was fairly thin—a stop in a café called Café Guli and an address in Brick Lane, which of course Veronica had heard of. A little wisp of curious excitement lifted her spirits. Maybe they could wander around a little, although that might be hard with Mariah’s mobility issues.

She frowned. What were Mariah’s limitations, anyway? It was hard to tell, and as a companion, Veronica needed to understand what the issues were.

Back to the notes. After London was a short jaunt to Paris, with directions.Russell Square—>Kings Cross—>Eurostar—>Gare du Nord, Paris.

A lot of time was allotted for London. Had the time been built in to allow for Mariah’s injuries? And who had planned the route? Maybe it had been the aunt.

It would be helpful to have this information.

In the meantime, she pulled up her own research on Elsie Turner. She’d lived somewhere nearby, as had Virginia Woolf and her sister Vanessa Bell, a painter.

Of course, there might be nothing left, although even on her little walk yesterday, it felt like there were identifiable buildings from other centuries. Using the hotel Wi-Fi, she looked up maps of the area and sent them to her phone, feeling a strange new hum in her brain. It took a minute to recognize what it was—the scholarly part of her brain, buzzing with sustenance.

How long had it been? Decades and decades.

Just as the sky was lightening to show another dark day, Mariah came out of her room—with a guy. He was a tousled sort, a haze of beard on his jaw. He gave Veronica a wave as he made his way to the door and let himself out.

Veronica blinked. “Where did you find him?”

She stretched, leaning on the threshold for support. “Cute, right? At the pub down the street.”

Veronica struggled with what to say. “You just went down to the pub and found a guy and brought him back? Is that like, Tinder or something?”

“Wow.” Mariah grinned, showing a dimple in her left cheek. “I mean, it could have been.” She rubbed her back against the doorjamb, scratching. “But he was the bartender.”

“Oh.” It seemed so ... shocking. Or maybe bold. Mariah wanted what she wanted, without apology. Veronica found her voice. “He was cute.”

Mariah wiggled her shoulders. “Henry will be here around ten so we can head out, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Without even thinking, Veronica asked, “Do you want breakfast?”

Mariah didn’t answer immediately. She stood by the door, unmoving, and looked out the window.

Veronica felt suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, was that wrong? I have a daughter your age, and I find myself falling into the role I’d play with her.”

Mariah tucked her long hair behind her ears. Her eyes when she looked at Veronica were the clear pale blue of a winter sky. “I don’t need a mom,” she said, “but I would like breakfast. Scrambled eggs and oatmeal and some kind of fruit, and a big pot of coffee. Get something for yourself, too. We have a lot to do today.”

“Oh, I had a big meal last night when I got back. I’m okay.”

“I’m gonna need you to eat something, V.”

Not Ronny, which she hated. V. She liked it. “Okay. I’ll eat.”

During the room service meal—Veronica had ordered a slice of toast and one egg, scrambled—Mariah ate heartily and gulped down copious amounts of coffee with cream and sugar. Her skin had that youthful luminosity that faded with time, and the vigorous outdoorsy good looks that would sell a million copies ofOutsidemagazine. “What’s the agenda today?” Veronica asked.

“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think we’re starting with a Parsi café in Southall.”

“So, how did you even get started on this project?” Veronica asked.

She twisted her mouth wryly. “I have been a pretty obnoxious patient, frankly. My mom’s sister, Jill, thought it would be a good thing for me to get away from home around Christmas to do something kind of productive.” She buttered her toast generously. “And one night I found this weird file in my mom’s office.” She took a bite of toast, raised her eyebrows. “It’s like a Nancy Drew setup, right?The Case of the Parsi Cafés.”