April 2
Will told me it would be best if I visited Destiny alone. He closed the cab door and told the driver to take me to her place in the lavish Kensington Square. She liked living there because she could stroll through Hyde Park during the day and take a short cab ride to the theater almost every Friday and Saturday night, Will said.
My eyes followed my traveling partner as he dragged our bags into the lobby of The Grand East Hotel. The car jerked forward with a jolt and rolled away from the curb. Dizzily, I gazed at the colors and lights that shone through the hazy mist falling from the sky. I could feel my heart pounding double time.
What would I say to Destiny? How could I ask petty questions when she was fighting for her life? All of a sudden, I regretted this impulsive trip into no man's land. I hated the grim dark clouds, the damp, musty odor lingering in the air and the steady humming of the engine.
I wanted to go home. Nausea twisted my stomach as raindrops distorted the front stoops, the dark rooftops and the passersby hurrying along. What must have been Hyde Park was a long blur of trees, wilting under the pounding water. I don't know how much time had passed, but suddenly, the car rumbled to a halt in front of a rose-colored Victorian-style house. We were on a tiny tree-lined side street that seemed sheltered from the hustle and bustle of shops and restaurants. I pressed my credit card into the driver's hand, sloppily signed the receipt and bolted out the door.
So there I was, rushing up the four steps to the front door. Water clung to my hair and moistened my hands as they pressed the bell. A small, round woman opened the door almost immediately and ushered me into the vestibule. The space was dim but elegant, with golden wallpaper and vases overflowing with lilies.
"You must be the young lady who's come from the States?" the woman said. "I'm Margaret Bloome, the nurse."
She handed me a small business card with the words "Bloome Agency" inscribed on it. I smiled and introduced myself.
"I'm afraid you won't be able to see Destiny today," Margaret said. "She's much too tired, and we can't take the risk of getting her too excited."
"I won't cause any trouble," I said, desperate to see Destiny as soon as possible.
"Of course, I know you have the best intentions. But it wouldn't be a good idea. She's had visitors over the past few days, and I'm afraid they've drained her energy. I shall have our driver take you back to your hotel, and we'll call for you when Destiny is a wee bit stronger. Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day."
I looked at her pathetically, but I couldn't insist. I had no choice but to return to The Grand East Hotel.
A half hour, maybe forty minutes later, I stood in front of the same freckled-face attendant who, a couple of months earlier, had looked at me as if I were crazy. She slid a sealed envelope across the counter.
"The gentleman who checked in your baggage left this note for you," she said. "Your room is No. 406. Do you need assistance?"
"No, I can find it on my own," I said, wrinkling my brow in confusion. "That gentleman... Will Delaney... Can you tell me what room he's in? Since he checked in my suitcase, we're obviously not strangers."
"But he doesn't have a room here, Ma'am. He left straight away."
I looked at her blankly for a moment, thanked her in a dull voice, and gripping the envelope in one hand, hurried to the elevator. Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall.
I stepped out at the fourth floor, followed the open corridor and glanced into the atrium. Everything was still, silent. I didn't see one soul as I made my way through a doorway, turned left, then walked through another doorway, turned left again and finally spotted No. 406. A narrow glass table holding a vase of pink roses was the only spot of color in the hallway. After slipping my pass into the magnetic slot, I rushed into the room, half opening the envelope with one hand and rolling my suitcase with the other.
I didn't bother to examine this familiar place. With curtains drawn to block any natural light, all of the rooms wore the same dim shades of gray. I sank onto the down comforter and yanked a thick yellow note card from the now-ragged envelope.
Dear Kat,
The last thing I want to do is deceive you—please remember this as you read my words. I brought you here to see Destiny and to accept the things she has to reveal. I'm no longer needed here in London. Our future together is in New York. That's where I'll be, waiting for you. No matter how long it takes. You probably have a million questions, but believe me, it's better this way.
Will
I read the note over and over, as if somehow I would understand it more clearly after the fifth or sixth time. Feelings of elation and angry confusion collided, making a wickedly unpleasant cocktail.
I tossed his letter onto the bed, sprang to my feet and paced in front of the masked windows. I was tired of playing games, especially since I seemed to be the only one without a copy of the rulebook.
Waiting for you. Still, those words made my heart soar.
But how could he be sincere when the only thing he seemed interested in doing was delivering me to Destiny? How could he return to New York so abruptly if he really was falling in love with me? Or was he? He never mentioned the word love. Maybe this was nothing more than a cruel game.
I closed my eyes and collapsed onto the bed. I thought of Paul, the good times and the bad. I thought of Will's lips on mine. Destiny. Gabriel's parties. Sam's sadness. Everything whirled together until those unwanted tears escaped, savoring their liberty.
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