Buku The Spies of Shilling Lane by Jennifer Ryan

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The Spies of Shilling Lane by Jennifer Ryan

Author:Jennifer Ryan

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Crown/Archetype

Published: 2019-06-03T16:00:00+00:00

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The Spies of Shilling Lane by Jennifer Ryan

30.

Back at the house, after they’d put on some dry clothes, Mr. Norris put the kettle on and pulled the kitchen chairs up to the oven for extra warmth.

“Cassandra, you never told me you’d been married,” Mr. Norris said.

 

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The Spies of Shilling Lane by Jennifer Ryan

Author:Jennifer Ryan , Date: July 2, 2019

,Views: 83

Author:Jennifer Ryan

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Crown/Archetype

Published: 2019-06-03T16:00:00+00:00
30.

Back at the house, after they’d put on some dry clothes, Mr. Norris put the kettle on and pulled the kitchen chairs up to the oven for extra warmth.

“Cassandra, you never told me you’d been married,” Mr. Norris said.

“I thought it would be easier if no one knew. I could just build a new life for myself, then I could forget the old me, and Peter. But it doesn’t work like that, does it?” She began to cry, and it all came out, how they’d been madly in love, running through the streets of London, hand in hand, delirious with passion and togetherness. They were inseparable, devoted. Nothing could come between them.

Except death.

“If you have true love and lose it,” she sobbed, “you wither, like a petrified tree. You look the same, but you may as well be dead yourself.”

“But you can’t try to ignore it, pretend that you’re all right,” Mrs. Braithwaite said. “Someone I know”—she glanced at Mr. Norris—“told me that you need to cherish those that die. Let them stay alive within you. You can’t let someone go just because they die. You need to tell his stories, cherish the time you had together, cry because you miss him, because of course you do.” She put her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

Cassandra, her blond hair drying in soft tendrils down her long, elegant neck, looked fraught, as if she were letting a manic animal out of a cage. “But it’s too large. It’ll suffocate me.”

“Grief feels a lot like fear,” Mr. Norris said gently. “We’re afraid of it taking us over. But we owe it to ourselves, to those we have lost, to let grief in. Only then can we start to remember them with a cheer in our heart, a cheer for them and all that they were.”

Cassandra burst into tears, turning her face into Mrs. Braithwaite’s shoulder.

It was a long night. They stayed at the kitchen table talking about the people they had lost until they were all too tired to keep going. Bedtime beckoned, and after Cassandra left for her room, Mrs. Braithwaite gave Mr. Norris a sorry smile. “Well, we misjudged Cassandra, didn’t we?”

“What a sad story. Such a lovely girl, and not at all the vixen we thought her.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Braithwaite said, adding, “And it obviously wasn’t Cassandra who took the passport. She couldn’t care less about her handbag—I think it’s still down in the crypt.”

“So if it wasn’t Cassandra,” Mr. Norris said, “then it must be Florrie. It’s a pity that she’s still out. We’ll have to confront her in the morning.”

“Perhaps we could check her room, while she’s away. We might even find the passport. She must have left something incriminating somewhere. She’s so forgetful.”

“Unless—” Mr. Norris glanced over at her.

“Unless what?”

“Unless that’s part of her disguise. Did you ever notice how she drops her handbag every time the conversation becomes a bit awkward?” Mr. Norris said evenly, as if everything were falling into place.

“It’s happened twice just with me.

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