“He sounds like a good man, and your theory has weight. Unfortunately, it seems time is of the essence. I imagine London is more than a few hours’ ride.”
“My theory didn’t end there. The more I thought of my childhood home, the more I considered the role scent might also have in memory. Each place has a unique scent, but some scents like fresh bread or roses or the incense in a church evoke memory. Taste is much the same.”
She was nodding now. “Perhaps when walking about the village, I might encounter a scent that will evoke a memory.”
“Or if we go to a public house, you might taste something that brings a memory back. I am hopeful memory is like dominoes. When one falls, then the rest fall too.”
“Dominoes?”
“Yes.” He stood and went to a shelf that held a few porcelain figures and a couple of books filled with sermons. He took a small wooden box and set it on the floor before the couch. Marjorie rose and knelt beside him as he lifted out rectangular white tiles with black dots on one side. “Do these look familiar?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I doubt you were ever one for games,” he said. “My friend had a set like this when I was young. Before we knew how to play and calculate, we would line them up on the floor of his home like this.” Simon began setting the tiles upright, one behind the other until a long line of them snaked about the floor. “Now, knock that first one down,” he said when he was finished.
Marjorie touched it with her finger, and it toppled, striking all the others so they fell too, making a clatter on the wooden planks. Simon moved beside her and began to arrange the dominoes again, lifting the first. “This initial domino is a key memory. Once it is uncovered, all the rest will be revealed as well.”
“If that is true,” she said, watching him rebuild his line of tiles, “then when I remember something like Westminster, why don’t I remember everything else?”
“You didn’t remember Westminster. It was a word that seemed familiar, not a memory. If you had remembered Melbourne’s office or the drawing room in your flat or the name of your dog when you were a child, that might have set something in motion.”
Marjorie stared at the dominoes, considering. “If we subscribe to this theory, then I need a key memory,” she said. She scooted toward the end of the line of tiles. “This memory”—she touched one about five from the end of the line—“is the name of my childhood dog. Did I have a childhood dog?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s suppose I did. If I remember his name, it might only trigger the memories that came before it.” She pushed the domino over, and it toppled those behind it, but the dominoes before it remained standing. She moved to the first domino. “This is a more recent memory, and this”—she tapped the second domino—“is the location of the rendezvous. I need to trigger this memory, to recover all of these.” She flicked the first domino, and the rest fell over in a neat line.
“That’s it exactly, but the question is, how do we trigger that first memory? Nothing at this cottage is familiar to you. We only arrived two days ago, so our only chance is the village.”
“We should go first thing in the morning.”
“I’d planned to propose that myself, but for what seems like the second night in a row, you were determined to sneak out of the cottage without me. If I hadn’t stopped you, whoever tried to kill you last night might have succeeded tonight.”
She jolted violently. “What did you say?”
He put a hand on her arm, and his touch was reassuring. “Marjorie, you didn’t hit your head on a cave. You are the most graceful person I’ve ever met, notwithstanding a ballerina or two.”
A sudden shot of heat ricocheted through her chest, and she pulled her arm away from his hand. Was this jealousy she felt?
“I don’t know what you were doing on the beach last night, but whoever was waiting for you tried to kill you. He hit you and either thought you were dead or left you for dead in that cave. If you hadn’t climbed out on your own, I don’t think I would have found you in time.”
“But why wouldn’t I have told you my plans? I know I trust you.” Despite that ballerina comment. “I don’t need my memories to tell me I trust you. I can feel it.” She put a hand to her chest. “Here.”
“I wish I knew. I’m worried you held information you didn’t share and now, whatever that was, I can’t protect either of us from it.”
She reached for his hand and held it. “You’re very good for wanting to protect me. I don’t remember much about why I fell in love with you, but I know that must be one of the qualities I admire. Added to that, you’re attentive and astonishingly clever—”
“Marjorie—”
“But I have a feeling that the main reason I fell in love with you is this.” She put a hand on his cheek, and his eyes widened. “I fear I am a very shallow woman because I cannot seem to stop looking at your face. You’re terribly handsome.” That was an understatement. The contrast between his dark hair and light eyes mesmerized her. But there was more to her attraction than his appearance. Some sort of invisible force pulled her toward him, made her want to touch him, hold him... “I want to kiss you.”
“Marjorie, that’s very kind, but—”
“I’m not being kind. Your eyes are beautiful. I can’t seem to look away from them, and then there are these sculpted cheeks and this razor-edge of a jaw. And your lips.” She allowed her fingers to skate over to his lips, brushing the pads of his fingers over them. “I do like your lips, Simon.”
His eyes met hers, and she leaned forward and kissed him. She’d expected him to kiss her back as he had before—gently and carefully—but this kiss held neither of those qualities. He pulled her into his arms, one hand cradling her head, and kissed her with a thoroughness that left her completely breathless. His mouth met hers as though he had not eaten in weeks and she was a plate of all his favorite foods. He tasted and teased and devoured her. She felt hot all over and couldn’t catch her breath. Parts of her she hadn’t known existed began to tingle and ache for the feel of his touch. She couldn’t get close enough and, not breaking the kiss, she rose on her knees and moved into his lap. She would have crawled inside him if she’d been able.
Her hands slid down his chest and under the hem of his shirt. She touched the warm flesh of his abdomen, and suddenly he pulled back. “Marjorie.” He was as breathless as she, and the huskiness in his voice only made her want him more. She slid her hands up the muscles of his body to where his heart thudded so hard she could feel it against her palm. He put his hand over hers, trapping hers under the garment.
