“Alice? Sweetie, are you there?”
“Flora,” she groaned. Of course. Any minute, her father and Jasmine would appear to tell her to buck up and pull herself together (and not to worry, anyone would have made the same mistake). She buzzed her up.
“I’ve been calling for days!” Flora greeted her at the door in another of her floaty gauze dresses, a scarf drifting from her hair and bangles jangling on both tiny wrists. She turned, calling down the stairs. “We’re up here!”
A moment later, two deliverymen emerged from the stairwell, weighed down under huge boxes of produce. As they heaved their goods past her into the flat, Alice caught a glimpse of piles of fresh fruit and vegetables—enough to feed an entire family. Flora beamed at her. “I was just out at the farmer’s market, so I picked up some things for you too!”
“Really, you shouldn’t…” Alice protested, eyeing the organic artisan loaves and crisp folds of butcher’s paper. “I don’t need—”
“I wanted to.” Flora pulled a few notes from her embroidered purse to tip the men on their way out. “Thanks so much!” she trilled after them, closing the door with a firm click. Looking back at Alice, her perky grin wavered: “You remembered our lunch date, right?”
Alice blinked. “Um…” She was barefoot, in takeout-stained tracksuit bottoms. Did it look like she was ever venturing outside again?
“Alice!” Flora looked hurt. “I left you a message.”
“Thanks, but I don’t feel up to it.” Alice’s voice was slow and thick, and even standing up felt like a huge effort. She pulled her ratty old dressing gown more tightly around her and yawned. “Maybe next week?”
“You need to get out and about—it’ll make you feel better, I promise.” Flora looked her up and down. “Why don’t you just jump in the shower?”
Alice shook her head. “I said no. It’s sweet of you to want to help, but…” She sighed. There was nothing to be done. Ella was gone.
Flora’s eyes widened. Alice knew from experience that it would be only seconds before her lip began to tremble and a lone, tragic tear would roll down her cheek. “Look,” Alice added quickly, trying to preempt the guilt trip. “I’ll call you when I’m feeling better. Maybe we could do that spa thing you wanted.”
“No.”
Alice blinked.
“You’ve been hiding out here for days.” Flora folded her arms, looking at Alice with surprising determination. “I bet you’ve got a million messages on that phone of yours, and Stefan says that solicitor has been trying to get in touch.”
“I’ll get to it.” Alice shifted uneasily on the spot, defensive now.
“Oh, really?” Moving quickly to where Alice’s phone lay, discarded, on the couch, Flora dialed her voice mail and switched to speakerphone.
“Alice, sweetie, it’s me, Flora—”
“Ms. Love, this is Peter at Capital One—”
“Hi, I’m calling about your outstanding balance—”
“Aly! It’s Flora, call me!”
“Alice, this is Rodney, down at the bank. You haven’t been returning my calls—”
There were a dozen more. One by one, Flora clicked through the messages.
“I said I’d get to it!” Alice protested. “I’ve had a lot to deal with.”
“Right! And the first step to dealing is actually leaving the flat.” Flora tucked an arm through hers and steered her toward the bathroom. It occurred to Alice that if Flora was steering her anywhere at all, she must be in one sorry state.
“Come on.” Flora beamed gently at her. “You get in the tub and have a nice, invigorating shower. I know I always feel tons better after a scrub!”
Alice exhaled. Because foaming bath oil made everything right with the world. But Flora didn’t seem to be budging; she was bustling around the black-tiled room, assembling a towel and various fortifying, gloss-promoting products. And it had been a while since Alice had been near hot water…
With a sigh of defeat, she reached for the L’Occitane.
***
“There, now isn’t that better?” Flora pulled Alice gently out of the taxi and toward a paved square full of cafés and lunching office workers. Flora had dragged her down to Spitalfields for some reason, sleek office buildings looming above them and purposeful, efficient people at every turn.
“Why couldn’t we have just stayed near Cassie’s?” Alice mooched behind her. “There’s a diner down the road. I wouldn’t have even had to dress.”
“Because I picked the restaurant especially.” Flora trotted ahead, suspiciously eager. “And you know I’m gluten-, wheat-, and soy-free now for my detox!”
“Silly me. I forgot.”
Alice knew she sounded ungrateful—after all, Flora was doing her best to help—but as they crossed the square, it felt like every smiling face she passed was a personal insult. They were out enjoying their happy, solvent lives, full of purpose and direction, and friends who didn’t lie to them for months before disappearing with their entire life savings, and—Alice now remembered—their favorite blue cardigan they’d loaned them just the other week.
“Here we are,” Flora trilled, pushing Alice ahead of her as they neared a corner café, the tables outside adorned with neat white tablecloths that fluttered in the breeze. A waitress waltzed past bearing a delicious-looking sandwich, and Alice felt the first stirrings of an appetite.
She softened. “You’re right. This looks lovely,” she apologized, giving Flora a weak smile. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch.”
“It’s OK,” Flora told her. “You deserve to, after everything…” She trailed off, looking past Alice. “Oh, good, he’s already here.”
“He?” Alice turned, just in time to see a very familiar man look up from his table and wave: Nathan.
Chapter Eight
Alice’s stomach performed a strange ballet as she watched Nathan unfold himself and saunter toward them, looking disarmingly disheveled in a rumpled shirt and dark jeans.
“No…” She whipped her head back around and fixed Flora with a desperate look.
“Yes!” Flora exclaimed, oblivious. “Nathan Forrest. You know, from my party?”
“You set this up?” Alice gulped. “But…I…”