Lovers and Liars Trilogy Read Online Free PDF Page A

sixty-eight now, and not used to traveling. She had packed enough clothes, judging by the weight of these valises, for a stay of two months.
    Gini smiled to herself, and maneuvered the suitcases down the narrow stairs. When Gini had first purchased her basement apartment, with its central heating, its modern kitchen and bathroom, Mrs. Henshaw had regarded her with some suspicion and alarm: a tall, thin American girl, unmarried, working for a London newspaper. “I like to keep myself to myself,” Mrs. Henshaw had said, eyeing her around the crack of her front door when Genevieve came up to introduce herself. Then, gradually, this suspicion had worn off. Mrs. Henshaw discovered that the young American kept a cat—a magnificent marmalade cat called Napoleon—and Mrs. Henshaw was very fond of cats. This forged the first bond. Then Mrs. Henshaw found to her surprise that this eager, boyishly dressed young woman who seemed to work such long hours could always spare the time to pick up groceries for her when her arthritis was bad, and was even prepared, over a cup of strong tea, to listen to Mrs. Henshaw’s memories, to look through her old, faded photograph albums, to hear the stories of hard times past, and the six children Mrs. Henshaw had brought up in this place. Mrs. Henshaw, resigned to being chivied and dismissed as an elderly bore, lonely since her children had married and moved away, responded to this. “That Genevieve—she’s like a daughter to me,” she would now claim in Mr. Patel’s grocery store.
    As Gini made her way down the stairs, she found Mrs. Henshaw waiting anxiously in the hall below. She was wearing zip-up furry boots, three cardigans, an overcoat, a new woolly scarf Genevieve had bought her, and her best hat. She was trembling with nerves. As Genevieve descended, she was checking the contents of her handbag for the third time, and muttering to herself. Tickets, spectacles, hanky, purse, pension book, keys: Genevieve put down the suitcases and put an arm gently around her shoulders. It was hard, she thought, to make the simplest trip when you were old and poor, and alone and not used to traveling farther than a few streets. The important thing was not to rush her neighbor, or to show the least sign of impatience.
    “Mrs. H.,” she said, “that is one incredible hat. You look great.”
    Mrs. Henshaw flushed pink. The flurry and anxiety diminished a fraction. She peered at her reflection in the small hall mirror, and then smiled.
    “It’s my best. I last wore it for my Doreen’s youngest’s christening, and that’s eight years back. My Doreen always did like it, so I thought….”
    From the basement below came the sound of renewed knocking; the noise put Mrs. Henshaw into a new panic at once. “Oh, Gini love—all that banging, I can’t think straight. Did I put the gas off? What about the milk? I forgot to cancel the milk….”
    Genevieve edged to the front door, opened it, called down again to the delivery man in the area below, and then began the complicated process of persuading Mrs. Henshaw out of her house. She tried not to think of how late this was making her for the News office, and tried to keep up a soothing refrain. Yes, the gas was off, she had checked in every room; yes, the milk delivery was canceled, and all the windows were shut and locked. Yes, Mrs. Henshaw’s daughter would meet her at the station at the other end, and at this end the cab driver would help her onto the train, even carry her suitcases on for her. It was all fixed.
    Genevieve helped Mrs. Henshaw down the front steps to the street. Her neighbor had a new plastic hip, but her pace was still unsteady and slow. When her attention was diverted, Genevieve gave the cab driver a hefty tip.
    “You’ll see her onto the train? You’ll take care of her bags? Oh, and please don’t hurry her. It gets her in a state….”
    The young cab driver looked her up and down and grinned.
    “Your gran is it,