Lark was only beginning to grasp the damage Payton had done to Channing’s life and career, while knowing Channing was too decent to take her down.
“There are other things I can do, Lark. Investment companies, venture capitalists. Just not insurance valuation…and maybe not anything to do with consulting for mergers or acquisitions. The problem is that I won’t get a glowing reference from Albright if they think my saying I was homesick was bollocks. Working four years someplace and not getting a decent reference is a red flag for potential employers.” She perched on the arm of the opposite loveseat and folded her arms, a gesture of resignation. “Ultimately I’ll need Mitch’s blessing, but I can’t march into his office right now and ask for it. It could take some time to finesse. I’m sorry.”
Wait till she hears… Lark laughed sardonically, shaking her head. Now didn’t seem like a good time to add that Gipson was pulling her from all work in Cambridge. The universe was conspiring against them.
“I love you, Lark. If you can please be patient…”
“I can be whatever you need. As long as you love me, nothing else matters.”
“That’s absolutely all I need to know.”
Lark stepped into her open arms and finally allowed her heart to rest in knowing they’d make this work. The where and when weren’t important—only the who.
Epilogue
The walk to passport control at Heathrow was as long as Lark remembered, but there was a jubilant spring in her step that belied an overnight flight. It didn’t hurt that British Airways had answered her prayers with a last-minute upgrade from business to first. She’d come full circle. How was it possible this was just her first trip back since the summer? It would have been unbearable had Channing not been to Boston six times.
After breakfast on the plane, she’d slipped into the lavatory to change into warm leggings and a cable-knit sweater that reached her thighs. Knee-high leather boots and a lively scarf completed the look. Channing would approve. In fact, she might even “approve” as soon as they got to the car.
She’d left behind eight inches of snow in Boston, not unusual for mid-November. There were murmurs last night among the flight attendants over whether they’d even be able to depart, but then they joined the long line for de-icing and finally rumbled down the runway just before midnight.
“Now for the fun part,” said Brian Petty, an industrial kitchens salesman from Cincinnati who’d shared her center row cubby. If pressed to describe him, she’d say he was well groomed, with close-cropped hair and neat fingernails. He’d started off the flight overly chatty, which she forgave once he admitted his borderline panic about flying over the ocean. “Hope you have your docs in order. I hear these guys do everything but take blood.”
“You’d be surprised how much you can learn from someone’s blood.”
He chortled. “I guess you’d know that, being in the medical business.”
The medical business…she needed to break her ridiculous habit of telling people she wasn’t an actual doctor. Or maybe stop using a luggage tag. She’d detached the one from Gipson and left it in her seat-back pocket.
They turned the corner at the end of the hall and found themselves behind several dozen travelers in line at immigration. Apparently another flight had arrived several minutes before theirs, but Lark didn’t mind. The wait only added to her brimming sense of excitement.
As they neared the front of the line, Brian grew increasingly antsy. Clearing his throat, straightening his tie and smoothing his hair…she recognized with alarm the signs of a man stoking his nerve to ask a woman out. “Look, I’m going to be in London for—”
“Gosh, I hope my fiancée made it down from Cambridge. She’s picking me up to save me the bother of getting the train. There shouldn’t be much traffic on a Sunday. I can’t wait to see her.”
“Oh, cool. So it was nice to meet you.”
Lark’s anticipation was building. She’d expected to zip through passport control. Instead the agent acted as if he were the last line of defense against an impending invasion.
“Do you have a permanent address in the United Kingdom?”
It was plainly written on her landing card. “Yes, it’s Number Two, Penderworth Lane, Horningsea.” She’d have to ask Channing why it wasn’t Number One, since it was the only structure on the lane. Then again, they’d be living in the Brownings’ cottage for at least the next year while the renovations were completed on the manor house.
“Your employer?”
“PharmaStat Industries, Cambridge Science Park.” With a coveted corporate sponsorship that allowed her to stay in the UK for five full years.
To the surprise of no one, Jermaine Martin had been named director of PharmaStat Cambridge upon Niya’s departure. Struggling to repair the trust that was shattered by the Flexxene scandal, he approached Pierre Dancourt with the idea to hire Lark as deputy director, a move he thought would give them instant credibility with US pharmaceutical companies. Even Kirsten admitted Gipson would have more confidence in PharmaStat Cambridge knowing Lark now had operational oversight of their drug trials.
Meanwhile Channing had started a new job as a valuation analyst at Easton Capital in Cambridge the first week of September. The work was similar to what she’d done at Albright, but the firm was smaller and more casual.
Lark dutifully answered the agent’s remaining questions and felt a surge of elation when he stamped and returned her passport. Almost there.
Even after they decided to move heaven and earth to somehow end up together in England, Channing went ahead with Kenny’s offer to buy half of Penderworth. It wasn’t just the money, she said, but the desire to solidify their partnership to preserve the manor. If something happened to her, she liked knowing it would end up as part of the sprawling Alanford estate—provided the earldom didn’t fall to the Irish mafia wing of the family. To that end, she’d also hinted to Lark that it might also be in her interest to help Kenny and Oliver with their science project.
Lark couldn’t wait to start her new life at Penderworth.
Her fellow passengers crowded around the baggage carousel, but she had only a small rolling suitcase, having shipped most of her belongings two weeks ago when the apartment lease expired. Chloe had promised to send the last box.
Rolling through the final station, she dropped her landing card in the box—nothing to declare—and proceeded through glass doors that opened automatically. Up ahead, the woman she loved held aloft a sign that read Welcome Home Dr. Latimer! It was all she could do not to run.
Bella Books, Inc.
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