Page 118 of A Convenient Fiction

“I expect so,” Tom said. “Though it won’t transpire anytime soon. Cases of this nature tend to draw out for quite a long while. Sometimes for years.”

The hope in Laura’s eyes dimmed.

Alex gave her a bracing look. “It doesn’t matter in any event. We’re well settled, whatever happens.”

“Yes. We still have the farm here in Grasse.” Her mouth lifted slowly in a faint smile. “It’s really quite lovely here. And the soil appears to be as excellent as the weather.”

“The food is quite good, too,” Jenny said. “Everything is so fresh and fragrant. I shall have to ask what spices the cook used in our stew.”

Tom grinned. “My wife is an expert on foreign spices. She’s been attempting to teach our cook how to make a proper Indian curry.”

“Poor Mrs. Jarrow. She does struggle with it so.” Jenny dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I don’t know what it is about the English palate. She won’t believe it’s done until all the flavor has been cooked straight out of it.”

“Our cook at Bramble Cottage prefers to boil everything,” Laura said. “There hasn’t been spice in our food in ages. Unless you count salt.”

Jenny wrinkled her nose in sympathy. “You poor thing.”

“Oh no,” Laura replied. “I never even noticed it until we came to France.”

“Have you never been out of England?” Tom asked.

“No, indeed. Not until Alex and I married.”

“We left for France the day after the wedding.” Alex reached the short distance across the table to cover Laura’s hand with his. “I wanted my wife all to myself.”

Laura’s gaze softened as her eyes met his. “Our honeymoon has been like a wonderful dream.”

A wonderful dream.

The words seeped into Alex’s soul.

She loved him, and she thought life with him thus far had been a wonderful dream. Despite the things he’d kept from her. Despite the appearance of Tom, and the revelations about Alex’s past. She loved him, and she’d never leave him.

Jenny cast a self-satisfied glance at Tom. “A love match,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Tom smiled. “So you did, my dear.”

Cannes, France

September, 1860

The beaches of Cannes were as unlike those at Margate as the night was from the day. Golden sands sloped gently to a sapphire sea, sparkling jewellike under the Mediterranean sun. It was warm and temperate. Perfect weather for bathing—and for swimming.

Laura spent hours in the sea, and Alex on the shore. She’d been hesitant when she’d first gone in. Alex had recognized the signs. The slight stiffening of her spine, and the setting of her shoulders. The glint of resolve in her smoke-blue eyes as she mastered her fear.

His own fears weren’t as easy to manage. Every instinct told him to drag her out of the water. To keep her safe on dry land. It took all of the strength he could muster to resist those urges. To trust that his wife wouldn’t come to harm.

She knew her limits now, or so she said. “I won’t push myself as hard as I did at Margate,” she’d promised him. “You won’t be obliged to rescue me again.”

Reassuring words, such that they were, but he still felt compelled to watch her like a hawk. He even employed a telescope on occasion—much to her amusement.

Had Tom been there, he’d surely have laughed at him, too. But Tom wasn’t there. Alex and Laura had left the Finchleys behind in Grasse, promising to see them again on their return. They didn’t plan on remaining at the seaside for long. There was too much business to sort out at the perfumery. Too many decisions to make about their future.

Cannes was merely a temporary idyll. Two glorious days of sun, sand, and Laura in his bed. But it wasn’t all holiday with them. Little by little, Alex shared with his wife the details of his meeting with Tom Finchley. He told her about his childhood in the orphanage. About Sir Oswald Bannister, and Leonard Cheevers. About Crenshaw, and Morley.

“I never wanted any of this to touch you,” he said one night as he held her in his arms. “All this sordid history.”

Her cheek rested against his shoulder. The gaslights were turned down low in their hotel bedroom. They cast a soft shadow on the curve of her face.