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  “Yes,” Ellie laughed, “and then I’d find them in the most unlikely places!”

  “How did you and Grandpa meet?”

  “We’ll set the timer to let the dough rise, and then I’ll tell you,” Ellie said. She filled Jenny’s glass with ice and poured lemonade for both of them. “I was in nursing school,” she remembered. “Ed had just come back from the war and was taking engineering classes on the GI Bill. We studied at the same library. I noticed him because he was tall, like your Colin.”

  Ellie and Colin had met on one of his Texas visits, and he had been charmed by her resemblance to Jenny in her stature and her smile.

  “The other nursing students and I had a system for rating boys. We called it the R Factors: RT, RC, RS, and RN, for Real Tall, Real Cute, Real Smart, and Real Nice. We didn’t go out with anyone who was just one R; two or more Rs we’d give a try.” She laughed. “We always said that a 4R was MM: marriage material. We were all very silly and immature, and in the end I married your grandfather because I loved him and felt at home with him. Ed and Elinor, but he called me El. Of the four I think the Real Nice factor was the most important for an enduring and happy marriage, although if he hadn’t been Real Smart, he couldn’t have gotten the job at NASA.”

  Colin had been all four and more: real sexy, real strong, real tender. And he alone had called her Jen. “You can talk about him and laugh,” she said wistfully.

  “We had our disappointments. We both wanted a big family but had just your mother. We were married almost forty-five years, but in his later years his heart disease kept us from traveling the way we had hoped after his retirement.”

  “Colin and I wanted a large family, too.”

  “I’m so sorry, dear,” Ellie said. The timer dinged. “Time to roll out the dough and season it.”

  Jenny found the brown sugar and cinnamon in the pantry and watched while her grandmother added them to the flattened, buttered dough and rolled the dough into loaves. She nibbled the brown sugar crumbs that spilled out the edges.

  “When the dough has risen in the loaf pans, we’ll put them in the oven.”

  Thirty minutes rising in the pans, thirty minutes cooking, and ten minutes cooling before they upended the pans and rested the loaves on sheets of foil. Jenny’s grandmother gave each of them a thick slice and took the butter out of the fridge. “Now we receive the reward for our hard work,” she said with a smile.

  Jenny took one bite and sighed with satisfaction. “Colin would have loved this. I wish I’d known how to make it.”

  “Now you do,” Ellie said briskly. “Another slice? I’m having one more.”

  “Of course! It’s too good to resist.”

  Ellie cut two more pieces. “We’ll let the other loaves cool while I take my nap.”

  When Grandpa Ed had been diagnosed with heart disease, he had begun resting for an hour every afternoon. After he died, Grandma Ellie had continued to nap, saying it was a habit. Now Jenny suspected that she had wanted to keep doing the things they had done together. She wandered into the den and scanned the book titles on the shelves. Many referred to space and the solar system, which she expected, but an unusual number of others focused on the famous thirteen-day siege of the Alamo in 1836.

  The Alamo’s defenders, over two hundred of them, had fought to the death against General Santa Anna’s 1,500 troops. The battle had been an inspiration to other Texans, and Texas, led by General Sam Houston, had won her independence just weeks later at the Battle of San Jacinto.

  “Who was so interested in the Alamo?” she asked her grandmother when she woke.

  “Your grandfather,” Ellie answered. “It was always said in his family that they were related to one of the men who died there. As far as we know, only two of the Alamo defenders had children: William Daniel Hersee from England and Thomas Jackson, who was Irish. Ed was never able to confirm or disprove it, however.”

  “Then I might have some British blood in my veins,” Jenny exclaimed. Colin would have been intrigued.

  That night after her grandmother had gone to bed, Jenny thumbed through one of the books. Twenty-six men from Britain had died at the Alamo. They had been young, most in their twenties, the oldest only forty-one. Why had they left the cool temperatures of home for the heat of Texas? Why had they fought for someone else’s independence? Was it significant that they had died fighting? Or just that they had died? Colin had been killed trying to keep others safe. RP: real protective.

  On her flight home the next evening, a loaf of cinnamon bread in her carry-on luggage, Jenny thought about her trip. High temperatures, high humidity, but not a drop of rain. Colin would have missed the rain.

  CHAPTER 18

  Not long after Jenny returned from Texas, Beth invited her for dinner. Brian was on late turn, so Jenny came to their home in Rickmansworth, or Ricky, as the residents called it, northwest of London. The weather was beautiful, so she decided to take the tube from the Finchley Road station. With no sign of rain in sight, the longer walk from the flat didn’t discourage her, and she could take the Metropolitan line straight to Ricky.

  After their marriage, Brian and Beth had lived first in a flat on Nightingale Road while they waited for a house they could afford to become available. “Ours is the smallest on the street,” Beth laughed, “but at least we’re on the street!” True, the walkway behind the privet hedge to the front door left little room for grass, but the back garden was large enough for Brian’s cookouts. The red brick trim that arched over the entrance was cheerful against the white stucco, and the first-floor bay window in Brian and Beth’s bedroom gave a broad view of the quaint street. Their daughter, Margaret Lynne, whom they had nicknamed Meg, was almost a year old and already walking. Used to being the center of attention in her family, she was noisy, curious, and full of life.

  “You’ve repainted,” Jenny said. The living room walls were now a creamy blue with flowered print curtains over the windows and the dining room pale green with a floral border. Because of Meg, Beth was serving dinner in the kitchen, where the numerous windows let in the light and the pale yellow walls looked like the first rays of the rising sun.

  “I wanted to bring some of the outdoors in. And make the rooms look bigger!”

  Their families had given them most of their furniture, and the worn look made it cozy, but the coffee table was bare. “Where are your family pictures?” Jenny asked.

  “I moved them to the mantelpiece. The less Meg can reach, the better.” She took a chicken pie from the oven. “Promise you won’t tell Brian?” Beth asked. “When he’s not here, I give Meg prepared food. I don’t cook from scratch, the way he does. How was your trip to Texas?”

  “Strange. My friends are either advancing in their professions or raising their families or both. I spent a lot of time with my parents, but sometimes I got the feeling that they were at a loss to know what to do with me. And I couldn’t get any UK news, except a brief report on the Queen Mother’s funeral with a shot of all the people lining the streets. Nothing of much importance was reported in the Houston newspaper, just numbers that showed attendance down at the Astros baseball games and stories about other cyclists trying to implicate Lance Armstrong in drug use.” She paused. “Some funny things happened, though. We went to a country French restaurant, and the waitress welcomed us by saying, ‘Bonjour,’ with a Texas accent and then asked, ‘Do y’all want a menu or the buffet?’” She watched Meg bang her spoon on the highchair. Beth fed her with another spoon. “My mother made all my favorite foods: sugar cookies seasoned with nutmeg and rolled in powdered sugar, homemade Oreos, and lemon cake with lemon custard between the layers.”

  “All your favourites are sweet!” Beth laughed.

  “Lots of Mexican food, though. Tacos, tamales, enchiladas, fajitas. All with guacamole.”

  “When I’ve finished feeding Meg, we’ll have our dinner: leftover shepherd’s pie that Brian made. Hope that’s all right.”

  Jenny smiled. “My dad had shepher
d’s pie recently. We went to the Black Labrador, a pub in Houston, if you can believe it! It was fancy on the outside, with a red British telephone booth near the parking lot and a red door, but my kind of casual on the inside: bargain basement tables and chairs, no two alike. The food was terrific, though.”

  “Good girl, Meg,” Beth said. “One more bite for Mummy.”

  “I had bubble and squeak, and it made me homesick for Brian’s cooking. The first time he made that, I objected to the cabbage, and he said, ‘Trust me. You won’t taste the cabbage. It just holds the mashed potatoes together.’ And I didn’t. Their wow-wow sauce was good, too, but not as good as Brian’s.”

  “Did they have British beer? I’ll be ready for one when I get Meg down.”

  “Yes, I had a Boddingtons and then wondered why Colin liked it.”

  Beth looked up sharply. It was the first time Jenny had mentioned him. “Are you doing all right?” she asked. “We’re worried about you.”

  “I miss him so much, and it doesn’t go away. And I’m not sure where I belong now. I belonged here because I belonged with him, and now that he’s gone, I don’t know what to do. I feel lost.”

  “You still belong here,” Beth said firmly.

  “Everyone’s moving on with their lives,” Jenny commented, “even the wives of Colin’s colleagues I used to shop or lunch with. My brothers, too. Matt’s a sophomore in college now, majoring in computer science, and BJ’s in his first year of law school. My family and friends seem to lead such innocent lives. I attended one of my dad’s lectures on American history, and that made me sad. So much of history involves conflict, and that means fear and death for some and loss and grief for others.”

  Meg had spit out her last bite, and Beth wiped her mouth. Somehow Meg had gotten food in her hair. “It’ll all come out in the bath,” Beth laughed. She lifted Meg out of the highchair. “Let me give her a quick wash and a bottle and then we’ll have our meal.”

  “I’ll clean up here,” Jenny said. She rinsed the tray on the highchair, swept the floor beneath it, and threw away the extra napkins Beth had used while feeding Meg. She found the shepherd’s pie in the refrigerator and put it in the oven to warm. As she set the table for two, she remembered that at her flat, she only needed dishes and cutlery for one. Then she opened the small bottle of wine on the counter and poured herself a glass.

  Beth brought Meg into the kitchen. “Give Aunt Jenny a kiss,” she said.

  Jenny hugged the little girl in the zoo animal pajamas and then gently handed her back to Beth.

  “Back in two ticks,” Beth said. “It doesn’t take Meg long to get sleepy when her tummy is full of milk.” When she returned, she looked at Jenny thoughtfully. “You’re good with children. We miss you at school. Summer term doesn’t end until July. Are you coming back?”

  Jenny had enjoyed her time with the children. Hearing them speak had caused her to realize that her child – hers and Colin’s – would have a British, not an American, accent. She had been delighted. Now there would be no baby. “I’m not ready yet. What’s the news here?”

  “I’ve got to know my neighbours,” Beth answered while serving their plates and opening a bottle of beer. “The couple next to us – the ones in the pebble-dash house with trellises on each side of the front door – are empty nesters. The wife offered to watch Meg from time to time, and her husband gave me the history of the housing development. I didn’t know I lived in Metroland!”

  “Even Brian’s leftovers taste good,” Jenny said. “Metroland? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “In the late 1800’s, the Metropolitan Railway – that’s above-ground trains – extended their line out this way. In the early twentieth century, they set up a company to create housing and shops along the line so they’d have more customers. It was supposed to be a mixture of countryside and suburbia. Of course, we’re served by the Metropolitan Underground now, but the name still fits. Poems have even been written about it.”

  “None that I studied,” Jenny admitted. “What else is new?”

  “The latest gossip? Simon has a real girlfriend. An A&E nurse, very outgoing. He brought her to Brian’s last cookout, and we liked her. Reminds me of you in a way, some of her expressions. Tall and blonde, of course. Sometimes I feel we brunettes are the last to be noticed. He met her at hospital, when he was injured.”

  “I didn’t know he was hurt. I’ve really been out of it,” she said, trying to swallow her last bite of shepherd’s pie past the constriction in her throat. “Is he okay?”

  “You’d never know if he weren’t! Brian says he’s tough as nails. I don’t think they’re sleeping together yet, Simon and Marcia. That’s her name: Marcia. They’re relaxed with each other but still a bit reserved, if you know what I mean. More pie?”

  “No, I’m replete. I’ll have a little more wine, though.”

  Later Jenny wondered if she were always going to be doomed to experience happiness and sadness at the same time. She’d been happy to be with Beth and happy when Meg climbed in her lap, but so sad that she and Colin hadn’t had a baby. She was happy that her brothers had a sense of purpose in their lives but sad because she couldn’t imagine anything giving her that enthusiasm. She was happy that Simon had found someone, if he really had, but for some reason that made her feel more alone than ever.

  CHAPTER 19

  When Brian Davies saw Beth coming out of the loo, he smiled and propped himself on one elbow to get a better look. They both initiated sex, but wearing her black nightdress was one of her ways of letting him know she was interested. The other was chatting while they cuddled. She said it helped her to reconnect with him. He didn’t need helping; he felt connected to her the moment he came through the door. On his ride home, the tensions from what he saw on the Job – guns, knives, drugs, children who were casualties of the choices that adults made, all the bad – fell away. Once home, he rarely referred to them. And a chat before lovemaking was only ever a bother if Meg woke and interrupted them. He liked feeling Beth’s breath when she spoke, smelling her perfume, and thinking on what lay ahead.

  She stretched out next to him. “I wish Jenny would come back to school. The children liked her, and she was good with them, but she says she’s not ready.”

  He and Beth had known each other since they were children. She’d been his first love and he, hers. When she went to university and he to the police, he had thought it was over between them. He was as busy with the Met as she was with her courses, and upon graduation, she had returned to Norwich to teach. Some years passed before she found a teaching position in London and got in touch with him. It hadn’t taken them long then to realise that they were still in love. She kissed his chest, which he liked. Not as much as when she kissed him other places, but he would never tell her to stop. He held her closer.

  “Jenny had this and lost it. There’s been no pleasure in her life since Colin was killed.”

  He recalled hearing the news. “Bad one today, boys,” the duty sergeant had said. “Bomb near Bond Street Station. An unarmed officer tried to stop it but couldn’t. Bomber dead. Don’t know about the officer.” Fortunately it had been on a week when Casey’s team was spare, and three of them had headed to hospital as soon as they heard that the officer was Jenny’s husband.

  “That was a rough day,” he said.

  “Bri, if you were hurt or – or – ”

  She rarely brought it up, but he knew she worried. Since Sinclair’s death, she had risen with him on even the earliest mornings and sent him off with a kiss. When he came home at night, she was unable to hide her relief. “Not going to happen, Bethie,” he soothed. “Casey keeps us sharp. Makes us practise. We’ve got full kit. We’re ready for most anything.” On many operations the unexpected cropped up, but they were all experienced enough to adapt quickly. He never disclosed the problems to Beth, however, just the successes.

  “I’d still have Meg, though, and that would keep me going. I wish Jenny had been pregnant when Colin di
ed.”

  She’d regained her shape after Meg’s birth, except for a slight roundness near her navel. She didn’t like it, but he did. It put him in mind of what they’d done together. He put his hand under her nightdress and rested it on the spot.

  “She can’t have his baby now, but I can have yours,” she whispered.

  They had already decided to try for a second child, but because her life would change more than his, he had left the timing down to her. Now, as he thought on it, his heart skipped a beat. “Now? Tonight?”

  She gave him a long kiss. “Yes. I love you, Bri.”

  She could still take his breath away. “Sshh then,” he said. There was no more chat.

  CHAPTER 20

  Alcina had a new routine. When the lull came between lunch and dinner at the restaurant, she read the newspaper obituaries and drank ouzo. Just a swallow, of course, so Kosta wouldn’t miss it. Sundays she was off. She bought the newspaper, but there was no ouzo.

  So far her searches had not been fruitful. She had to assume that Sinclair’s wife was still alive, but she had no idea where. She was an American. What if she no longer lived in London? Where had Sinclair lived?

  She thumbed idly through the paper. Engagement and wedding announcements were listed, and many named the city where the groom lived. According to Sinclair’s obituary, he had married Jennifer Jeffries in 1999, but she hadn’t been married when she’d given her testimony, so the wedding must have taken place later in the year.

  The library would have back issues of the newspaper.

  On her first visit she covered May, June, and July. Her second visit yielded many marriage announcements in the months of August and September, but not the one she was seeking. Her lack of success irritated her. Having to use the library for her research irritated her as well. She had a computer, but the last time it had crashed, she hadn’t had the money to repair or replace it.