The Ghosts of Paris by Tara Moss

Author:Tara Moss [Moss, Tara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so much green in one place,” Sam remarked as they stepped out of the Hurricane, and indeed it was a picture of English country perfection, floating clouds sailing across misty skies. As London had fallen away, rolling hills and fields taking over, so, too, the war had seemed to fade into another time far away, leaving them instead in a tranquil place untouched since the time of Shakespeare.

Billie stretched from one side to the other, took off her driving coat, and much to Sam’s surprise handed him the keys. “Happy to be the driver now?” she asked.

“The driver?” He was stunned, knowing her strong preference for being at the wheel.

“When I go in, I want you to wait with the motorcar, so we don’t overwhelm them. Is that okay with you?” she explained.

He nodded, quickly getting her meaning. “Of course, Ms. Walker.” She walked around and got into the back seat, and after closing the door for her, Sam climbed behind the wheel, grinning like a schoolboy.

“Steady now,” she said, seeing that he was enjoying this. “Remember, this is all perfectly routine.”

“Perfectly routine.”

Sam started up the elegant motorcar and followed Billie’s directions as she looked at her borrowed map and navigated their way. Soon they pulled into the entrance of the Caversham-Smithe estate, moving through a magnificent iron gate surrounded by aged stone walls, and marveling at the manicured gardens as they made their way along a winding drive lined with tall trees. All was as one might expect in an English fairy-tale setting, and perhaps that was what this was. Spring flowers—daffodils, crocuses, and irises—were blooming, the sunlight glinting on freshly watered lawns. This was where those elusive greener pastures seemed to have been hiding. Nothing appeared out of place; not a blade of grass or tree had grown in a way that might disrupt the carefully constructed pastoral harmony. Had the war even come here?

As the drive opened up to the front of the stately home, there was a large clearing of pebbles bleached by hundreds of summers. Not only was there plenty of room for Sam to park the motorcar, but one might have pulled up twenty or more horse-drawn carriages with room to spare. Before them was a beautifully maintained double-story seventeenth-century home. To the right, farther back, was a carriage house, larger than many people’s homes.

“Well,” she heard Sam say, otherwise lost for words.

A uniformed member of staff came out to meet them, his face cautious and his bearing austere. Sam, sensing the moment, came around and opened Billie’s door for her in a more formal manner than he was accustomed to. Billie stepped out and straightened her apparel.

“Good day. I am here to see Mrs. Caversham-Smithe. Ms. Billie Walker is my name.”

“Is she expecting you?” the man said, as if to say he knew she was not.

“Oh, certainly. We telegrammed ahead from Australia.”

This brought a suitably impressed eyebrow raise. “This way, please.”

Sam stayed by the car, standing at attention, as Billie was led inside.

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