Where You Belong by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page B

it.”
    I jumped up, opened the bottom desk drawer, and took out a cardboard box. Carrying it over to the sofa, I handed it to Jake. “Take a look at these,” I said as I sat down next to him again.
    He did so, staring for a few minutes at the old photographs of my grandmother that he had removed from the box. “Yes, you’re a Denning all right, and a dead ringer for Cecelia. If it weren’t for her old-fashioned clothes, she could be you as you are today.” He shuffled through the other photographs in the box and chuckled. “I took this one!” he cried, waving a picture of me at me.
    â€œHey, let me see that!”
    Still laughing, he handed it to me. I couldn’t help smiling myself as I stared back at my own image. There I was in all my glory, standing outside the Commodore Hotel in Beirut, which is where I’d first set eyes on Jake. I was wearing my safari jacket and pants, and a collection of assorted cameras were slung haphazardly around my neck. It was obvious from my solemn expression that I took myself very seriously indeed. I was looking too self-important for words, and I gave a mock shudder. “I must have really fancied myself, but God, how awful I looked in those days.”
    â€œNo, you were the most gorgeous thing on two legs I’d ever seen!” he exclaimed, and then stopped with suddenness; a startled expression crossed his face, as if he had surprised himself with his words. Clearing his throat, Jake returned to the conversation about my mother when he said, “It is very odd, Val, the way your mother has always treated you. With all of your accomplishments, she should be proud of you.”
    I sighed and made a small moue with my mouth. “It’s a mystery. And one I have no intention of solving. I just can’t be bothered. Now, how about taking me to dinner?”

Chapter 4
    I
    London, September
With a great deal of effort, I had managed to put the memorial service out of my mind for the past few days, but now that Jake and I were about to depart for it, I was experiencing sudden panic. The service loomed large in my mind, and, very simply, I just didn’t want to go. In fact, my reluctance had become so acute, it startled me. Later I was to ask myself if I’d had some sixth sense about it, a foreboding of trouble, but I wasn’t sure; I can never be certain about that.
    In any event, there I stood, waiting for Jake in the handsome paneled lobby of the Milestone, wondering how to gracefully wriggle out of going. Naturally, I couldn’t. It was far too late to pull such a trick as that, and besides, I would never let Jake down.
    Turning away from the front door, I spotted Jake coming toward me looking tan and healthy and very smart in his dark suit, and wearing a shirt and tie for a change. But his expression was as somber as his dark clothes, and he was limping as badly as he had the day before when we’d arrived at Heathrow in a thunderstorm.
    He drew to a standstill, but I didn’t dare mention the limp or ask him how he felt, since he’d practically bitten my head off last night when I’d worried out loud about his wounds. Instead, I took hold of his arm, leaned into him, and kissed his cheek.
    He gave me a faint smile and said, “Sorry I kept you waiting. Now we’re running late, so we’d better get going.”
    The heavens opened up the moment Jake and I started to walk down the front steps of the hotel. The uniformed doorman hurried after us, wielding a large umbrella, and the two of us huddled under it as he led us to the waiting chauffeur-driven car Jake had ordered.
    Once we were seated in the car, Jake said quietly, “It’ll be all right, Val, try not to worry so much. It’ll soon be over.” Reaching out, he took hold of my hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
    Being a very private person, especially when it came to my feelings, I’d never worn my emotions on my sleeve.