And now, well . . .’ Francesca shrugged. ‘I feel like I only know part of the story. It’s frustrating, but at least I learned something. And regained a mother, I suppose.’ She flashed a crooked smile at Maggie, who had a sudden vision of Valerie, seething, and felt a stab of loneliness and a deep, unquenchable sadness. She pushed down the feeling and sat patiently, waiting for Francesca to continue. ‘I had to find out, though. I knew there was something in my past that was not quite right.’ She tapped the table and stared sightlessly ahead. ‘And I also knew before I set out to find the truth that it might not make me happy. But I felt like it was, I don’t know . . . necessary,’ she sighed, lifting her glass of red wine to take a sip. ‘What’s that phrase? You can’t always get what you want, but if you try . . .’ ‘You get what you need.’ Maggie nodded. ‘And are you happy now?’ Francesca tipped her head to the side, considering. ‘Happy? I’m not sure. I feel more certain in some ways, and more uncertain in others.’ It was five o’clock, and Maggie and Francesca were sitting in a little hole-in-the-wall bar called Lovers & Peddlers, which Maggie had stumbled upon one day off Bond Street.
