Page 12 of Beloved Beast

In the interim they were to drive about, stop at various places as if a son was taking his mum on a day trip. When the sun set, they would make their way to Luke’s small loft and spend the night. Tomorrow evening around dusk, after he collected his personal effects, they would head to Charlwood.

Why had he been upset when Mr. Parker suggested the village? There was much she did not know about this man. What caused his injuries, the scars, and the strange shade of his skin? She found it disturbing she could not look him in the eye. How could she assess what he thought, what kind of man he was, if she couldn’t read what was in his eyes?

“The black Anglia right ahead,” he whispered, pulling her from her thoughts. Like a dutiful and polite younger man, he opened the passenger door and offered his assistance. Gillian made a show of how difficult it was for her to climb in. Luke placed the bag in the boot, slid into the driver’s seat, and turned the ignition. The Motorola radio located on the dashboard blared “We’ll Meet Again” by Vera Lynn.

Luke turned the volume down then causally glanced out the windows of the auto. Pulling out into traffic, he turned onto Tothill Street, heading toward Westminster Bridge. “My place is north of here, on Hastings Avenue. For now, we’ll go on a bit of a tour of London. Stop at a teashop and whatnot.”

“A mother and her son on an outing?”

“Makes sense. I do not think we are being followed, but we must make absolutely sure that is the case. Keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious vehicles. Take note of the plates.”

“Righty-o.”

They drove in silence for more than an hour. The BBC radio programs and news reports playing low in the background kept her company while she glanced out the side mirror at the vehicles behind them. It was then she saw it: two men wearing fedoras following closely. And they did for close to ten minutes. “Luke, the green Austin Eight, directly behind us. Two men.”

“Good girl. I noticed them as well. Copy down the plate number. Let me take a few quick turns and see if they follow.” He made two expert moves within the law as not to draw attention. The Austin did not follow them. Gillian exhaled in relief as she scribbled the plate number on a piece of paper and tucked it in her purse. “Keep a watch in case they pop up again. They could have taken another route.”

Fifteen minutes passed. “Luke?”

“Hmm?”

“I acted like a complete ninny earlier in Mr. Parker’s office. I have no excuse except to say I appear to be experiencing a case of nerves as of late. You may have been given the impression your appearance is abhorrent to me; it isn’t. It merely caught me by surprise. Am I telling the truth?”

He did not answer right away. “You are. I understand your reaction. Let us get this out of the way. I suffer from photophobia vitium, a combination of sensitivity to light and a rare skin pigmentation disorder. Hence the strange shade of my skin and the dark glasses. We need not discuss it again.”

Ah. She’d never heard of such a condition but did know about photophobia. It explained a good deal. “I’m fine with that.”

“Let’s stop at this Lyon’s Tea Shop. I will wager you are hungry.” He pulled the car up by the sidewalk and stepped on the brake.

“I am rather. I could go for tea and scones.”

Luke came around and opened her door, holding out his hand. “Remember, you are an old lady,” he whispered, a hint of a smile curving about his mouth. The scarf was now tied carelessly about his neck with most of his face on display. A man walking by gaped at Luke, not hiding his distaste. Gillian had the terrible urge to trip the man up with her prop cane. If Luke noticed the rude response of the passing pedestrian, he didn’t let on and neither did she. People could be blasted impolite.

Taking his arm, they entered the small but crowded teashop and found a table against the wall. Luke steered her to a chair while he took the one opposite facing the window looking out over the street. Gillian was unfamiliar with certain parts of London; she either kept to her flat, work, or Joan’s place in the East End. None of this was recognizable. “Where are we?” she whispered.

“Wellington Row, in the East End.”

A harried waitress scurried over to them and laid two menus on the table without saying a word. On her way to the kitchen she stopped and took a few orders. Gillian glanced at the sparse selection. “If we’re in the East End, perhaps I can see Joan…”

Luke shook his head. “No. I am sorry. Fred may have already been there and taken her away. We stick to the plan.”

Well, it was worth a try. Sighing, she perused the menu. “How can I eat with this veil?”

“Very carefully.”

She glanced up at him, surprised to see a slight smile. Though he probably could not see her pleasantry, Gillian returned it.

“I would suggest we order sandwiches to take with us. I don’t have much in the way of food at my flat,” he said.

The waitress returned with pencil poised, her breathing labored. “What can I get you?”

“Tea and scones for two. We would like sandwiches to take away. Two egg, two ham and cheese. And two dozen shortbread biscuits,” Luke replied.

The waitress stared at him, her mouth slightly agape.

“Are you going to write that down anytime soon?” he asked smoothly.

“Yes. Right away, sir.” The waitress hurried from their table, glancing at Luke, her expression bordering on horrified.