Page 103 of The Unknown Birds

“Come now, Little Bird. There were others. Card games and confidences. Friendship. Franzbrötchen.”

It broke her heart how those memories were all tainted with regret.

“Let’s go,” he said, offering her his elbow and re-entering the thoroughfare.

“Go where?”

“You need to see something beautiful.”

They took the Underground to Trafalgar Square, and though Ashley protested most emphatically, Rook began to make his slow and steady way up the many stairs to the entrance of the National Gallery. “I think you’ll find I’m even more stubborn than you are,” he teased her as he climbed.

Laughing, she dashed to catch up and gave him her arm to make his way a little easier.

Inside, however, they were met with an unexpected sight: abject chaos everywhere they looked, as paintings were propped against the wall, wrapped and loaded into boxes, all in various states of their removal.

“Just a precaution,” a docent said in an overly chipper voice as a man walked by carrying Vermeer’s Lady Seated at a Virginal, while nearby a woman wrapped heavy paper around a Seurat.

The empty walls and fleeing portraits were all too much, and Ashley burst into tears.

“Oh, don’t worry my dear! They’re only going on a little journey to keep them out of harm’s way. It’s a whole lot of trouble for nothing, I’m sure, but better safe than sorry. Only imagine how you’d feel if the place were turned to rubble. Now there would be a reason for tears.”

The docent’s words were kindly meant, but they made Ashley cry harder, and she hated crying, especially in front of an audience. Especially in front of Rook. But since the dam had broken at Collingwood Park, she seemed close to drowning in her sorrow every minute of every hour. She didn’t even know who she was these days.

“I’m sorry,” she told him as they made their way back down all those stairs.

“As well you should be. How dare you insist I drag you off to see paintings knowing full well they were being packed and sent away? Quite thoughtless of you.”

She choked on a tiny laugh.

“That’s better.”

Still, she hated it—all of it—the paintings and the crying and most of all, his seeing her be weak. She was not the Ash he fell in love with during the war, and she didn’t want him to realize her true form and turn away.

“Where to now?” she asked, as he headed lazily back down the Strand.

“I promised you something beautiful, and damn it, I’m going to deliver.”

It was a long, slow walk to Temple Church, but the simple act of strolling with her hand tucked in the crook of his arm brought Ashley’s emotions back under her control. After all the tears, she felt a certain sort of peace in moving and breathing and existing alongside her fondest friend.

“I really do apologize for the waterworks,” she whispered.

He made a pish sound. “Sometimes I’m surprised we’re not all underwater from crying twenty-four hours a day.”

Inside the church, he looked around as though drawing strength from the hallowed walls.

“It is a beautiful church,” Ash agreed.

“It is, but the church isn’t the surprise.”

“There’s a surprise?”

“Course there’s a surprise. Come this way.”

He tossed some coins in the collection box and lit some penny candles. Then he led her to the organ and patted the bench for her to sit.

Settling himself alongside her, he clenched and then spread his fingers and began to play, just a warm-up at first, before moving on to something different and rather wonderful.

“Perhaps it’s hubris for me to call this beautiful,” he said softly. “But it’s finally finished, and I wanted to share it with you before anyone else.”