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would be for nothing and no one.
    He raised his hand and knocked. There was a moment’s
silence, then he heard someone moving around on the other side of
the door.
    He took a deep breath, waiting. Hoping.
    And then the door opened.
     
    Violet agonized for a full day over how to tell
Elizabeth what she’d done and finally settled for the coward’s
way—email. She sat down to compose a message three times before
finally simply confessing that she’d blabbed to D.D.—short for
Droopy Drawers—and that she was sorry for being such a feeble
friend but that he’d been so insistent and sad that she’d felt
unable to deny him. She’d hit send and sat back to wait for her
friend’s response.
    It took two days before Elizabeth’s reply arrived in
her in-box—two days of Violet sweating it out and feeling like the
worst friend ever.
    It’s okay, Vi. You did the right thing. I didn’t
mean for you to get caught in the middle of all this. Martin turned
up on my doorstep a couple of days ago. We talked. I hope we parted
as friends. I guess time will tell. Will write more when I can.
    Love you,
    E
    Violet frowned at her laptop screen. Was it just her,
or was Elizabeth’s account of what had happened woefully
inadequate? Where was Martin now, for example? Had he come home
again? When was Elizabeth coming home? Maybe Violet was reading way
too much into her friend’s economical email, but she sensed that
there was something else going on with her friend. Something
unrelated to both Martin and her father.
    The shop bell tingled and she glanced up to see a
tall, broad shouldered figure filling the doorway. The sun was
directly behind him, reducing him to a silhouette, and her heart
gave a crazy, nervous thump against her rib cage.
    “ Martin?” she said.
    The moment he stepped into the light she saw it
wasn’t Martin. Disappointment thudded in her belly.
    “ Excuse me. Can you tell me where I
would find the nearest Tube Station?” he asked with a broad
American accent.
    “ End of the street, turn right. You
should see the sign on your left.”
    “ Thank you. Have a great
day.”
    The polite smile faded from her lips as he exited.
She had no idea why she’d thought he might have been Martin, why
Martin had been the first person to leap to mind when she’d seen
that tall, broad silhouette in the doorway. There was no way Martin
would ever turn up at her shop voluntarily. He despised her. He
thought she was a bad influence on Elizabeth. Hell, he probably
blamed her for everything that had happened with her friend.
    Not so many days ago, Elizabeth had told her that she
needn’t bother getting hot under the collar about Martin any more,
since she never had to see him again. Violet should have been
grateful for the knowledge. She should be celebrating even now that
she would never have to look into his condemning grey eyes
again.
    So why wasn’t she?
     
    Martin’s footsteps echoed around the empty space as
he walked from the formal dining room into the kitchen. He glanced
around the room at the gleaming white cabinets and Carrera marble
counters, then crossed to the window to see if the sash had been
repaired, as per his instructions.
    Not that it mattered. He would never live in this
apartment. He’d bought it for Elizabeth. He’d planned to surprise
her with the purchase when they returned from their honeymoon. He’d
searched for months for just the right property. The right
neighborhood, the right proportions. He’d had the whole place
repainted, taking his cues from Elizabeth’s grandparents’ stately
Mayfair mansion.
    He’d been deluded. He could see that now. What woman
wanted a house she hadn’t chosen for herself? Better yet, what
woman wanted a house that had been decorated to someone else’s
taste?
    The window moved smoothly, indicating the sash cords
had been replaced. He let the window thump back down to the
sill.
    He should go home. It was late, and there was no
point to this. He was simply rubbing