Daldry knocked and came into the room wearing a flannel suit and holding his shopping basket.
“I thought I’d bring along a little something I bought at the market this morning. It will be perfect with dinner.” He revealed a bottle of wine, which he immediately opened with the corkscrew he took from his pocket. “It’s Christmas, after all. We can’t just drink water.”
Over the course of dinner, Daldry told Alice stories from his childhood. He talked about the difficult relationship he had with his family, evoking the hardship his mother endured from having married a wealthy man who shared neither her tastes nor her vision of the world, let alone her delicate wit. He talked about his dull but ambitious brother, who had done all he could to drive Daldry away from his parents in hopes of becoming the sole inheritor of their father’s business. Daldry continually asked Alice if he was boring her, but she reassured him that, to the contrary, she found his family portrait sad but fascinating.
“And you?” he finally asked. “What was your childhood like?”
“Oh, very happy really. I was an only child. I always wanted a brother or sister, but in the end, I suppose I benefitted from having my parents’ full attention.”
“What did your father do?”
“He was a pharmacist. He used to experiment with medicinal plants in his free time. He ordered seeds and cuttings from all over the world. My mother helped him in the shop. They met at university. We didn’t live in the lap of luxury, but we were comfortable. My parents loved each other. It was a happy home.”
“You were lucky.”
“Yes, I realize that. But at the same time, maybe growing up surrounded by so much love leaves one with unrealistic expectations.”
Alice took their plates to the sink, and Daldry cleared the glasses. He stopped in front of her worktable and contemplated the rows of little vials and bottles, the small earthenware pots full of thin strips of paper.
“The absolutes are on the right. They’re derived from concretes or resinoids. In the middle are the accords I’m working on right now.”
“You’re a chemist, like your father?”
“No, I’m what they call a ‘nose.’ I try to create new compositions, new fragrances. Absolutes are essential oils, and concretes are obtained by extracting perfume from natural vegetal sources like rose, jasmine, or lilac blossom. That table is known as an organ. Perfume makers and musicians share a lot of vocabulary—we talk in terms of notes and their accords, which are comparable to musical chords . . . I’m sorry, this is all terribly boring.”
“Not at all. It sounds like an interesting trade. Have you already invented perfumes? I mean, perfumes that I could buy in a shop? Maybe something I know?”
“Yes. I manage to sell them sometimes,” said Alice with amusement. “Most of my fragrances are relatively unknown for now, but you can find them in a few shops in London.”
“It must be wonderful to see your work on the shelf. Just think—a man might have charmed a woman thanks to the cologne he was wearing, one you created.”
Alice laughed. “I’m sorry to crush your fantasy, but I’ve only ever created perfumes for women. But I might make a men’s cologne—it’s an idea. Maybe I’ll try for a peppery note, something woodsy and masculine, cedar or vetiver . . . I’ll think about it.” She cut two slices of fruitcake. “Let’s have dessert, and then I’ll let you go. I’ve had a wonderful evening, but I’m afraid I’m exhausted.”
“So am I,” said Daldry with a yawn. “I’m completely drained from concentrating on the road in the dark. You know, it snowed quite a bit while you were sleeping.”
“Well, thanks for staying awake and keeping us on the road.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. I haven’t eaten fruitcake in years.”
“And thank you for taking me to Brighton. It was very kind of you.”
Daldry looked up longingly at the skylight. “It must be so bright in here during the day.”
“It is. I’ll invite you for tea sometime, so you can see for yourself.”
With his fruitcake finished, Daldry stood. Alice walked him to the door.
“I’m glad I don’t have too far to go,” he said from the hallway.
“True, you don’t.”
“Merry Christmas, Alice.”
“Merry Christmas, Daldry.”
3
Monday, December 25, 1950
Alice sat up in bed but couldn’t see outside. Snow had blanketed the city in the night, and a fine layer of it had covered the skylight, dimming the room. She stood on the bed and lifted the pane.
As the snow fell away, a draft of icy air rushed in, making her close it as quickly as she could.
With her eyes still fogged with sleep, she teetered over to the gas ring and put the kettle on. Daldry had generously left his box of matches behind, and she smiled as she thought of the evening they had spent together. She didn’t feel like working today. It was Christmas, and since she didn’t have any family to visit, she decided she would go for a walk in Hyde Park.
She bundled up against the cold and tiptoed out of her flat. The old house was completely silent. Daldry was probably still asleep. Outside, the street was an immaculate white. It enchanted her to see the city transformed and to think how even the plainest houses had a certain beauty when cloaked in snow.
A bus was coming in her direction, so she ran to the stop and climbed aboard, buying her ticket from the conductor before settling onto the bench seat at the back.
Half an hour later, she walked into Hyde Park through Queen’s Gate, taking the diagonal footpath toward Kensington Palace. She stopped when she came to Round Pond. The ducks glided toward her across the inky-black water, hoping to be fed. On the other side of the pond, a man sitting on a bench waved in her direction. He stood and waved harder. It was Daldry. When he took some bread from his pocket and began tossing pieces of it into the water, the ducks shot off in his direction. Alice walked along the edge of the pond to meet him.
“What a surprise to see you here. Did you follow me?” Alice said.
“I was here first. How on earth could I have followed you?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I went out to get some fresh air and I found the bread in my pockets, so I decided I might as well give the ducks Christmas while I was at it. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, it’s just a place I like.”
Daldry broke a heel of stale bread in half and gave part of it to Alice.
“So our seaside escapade was all for naught.”
Alice crouched to feed the ducks and said nothing.
“I only mention it because I heard you pacing around. You didn’t sleep, did you?”
“I fell asleep, but I had a nightmare in the middle of the night.”
They had given away all of the bread. Daldry helped Alice up.
“Why don’t you tell me what that woman said?”
Alice recounted the fortune-teller’s predictions as they strolled down the deserted, snow-covered footpaths of Hyde Park. She even mentioned the moment when the woman had insisted that she wasn’t a fortune-teller at all.
“What a strange shift in attitude. But why did you stay after she admitted she was a fraud?” “Because it was precisely at that moment that I began to believe her. You may find it hard to credit, but I’m a rational person. I’m sure that if my best friend told me even a quarter of the things that woman said, I would never let her hear the end of it.”
“What bothers you so much about what she said?”
“What doesn’t bother me? Everything she told me is utterly shocking! Try to imagine yourself in my position.”
“And she said you should go to Istanbul?”
“Yes . . . Perhaps you can drive me in your Austin.”
“I’m afraid that Turkey is probably beyond our range of attack.”
They crossed paths with a couple coming from the other direction. Daldry waited for them to pass before he continued.
“I know what bothers you about this whole story. It’s that she promised you that the man of your dreams would be waiting for you at the end of your journey.”