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Back Reluctantly Home Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  55. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The woman nodded, but the accompanying expression in her eyes suggested something that Evelyn couldn’t quite put her finger on. Was it a disappointment that that was what her life amounted to – not that Evelyn could see anything inherently wrong with the job herself – or sadness? Or loss? Yes, that was it. Evelyn could see loss in the woman’s face. It was something she recognised because she saw it reflected in her own features every time she caught sight of herself in a mirror.

‘But there’s more to it than that,’ Evelyn continued thoughtfully, as if she were a stage medium. ‘That’s not your job of choice, is it?’

The woman gave a brief shake of her head. ‘I’m a barrister,’ she said, her eyes no longer meeting Evelyn’s and focusing on the wall of the house instead. ‘But I’m not currently practising.’

She didn’t say any more, but there was more to be said, Evelyn could tell. Perhaps she should let her in? She could try to get to the bottom of this story as well as getting the diary back. She didn’t seem like a scammer or an axe-murderer, and Evelyn realised suddenly how much she ached to have a conversation with another human being, someone who did not feel obliged to be there and talk to her.

She opened the door a little wider and invited the stranger in.

32

32

Pip followed Evelyn inside. The door closed behind her, the sound heavy in the silence of the house, and suddenly the hum of the street outside was gone.

She found herself in a dark corridor, the air cloying and thick with the smell of dust. Evelyn led the way, and after a moment’s hesitation opened a door on her right into what Pip imagined would be the sitting room. There was no daylight in there either, but Evelyn stepped sure-footedly and opened the window blinds to let the sun in. The dust, so recently disturbed, floated around her, catching in the rays of light that now sliced through the space. There was a musty, neglected feel to the room, and Pip wondered how long it had been since the door had last been opened. She longed to fling wide the windows and let fresh air circulate, but instead she instructed her lungs to accept the poor-quality oxygen without complaint.

‘Please, sit down,’ said Evelyn, indicating the high-backed chairs that sat on either side of the tiled fireplace.

A thick layer of sticky dust caked the chairs as well, so it was almost impossible to discern the colour of the tweed upholstery. Somewhere between green and brown, Pip guessed, and definitely from the early part of the twentieth century. Somebody somewhere would part with a fortune for this retro look, but here it just had an air of being forgotten and unloved.