Epilogue
The door to Rosewood was, as always, unlocked.
Dameer Rafiq sighed as he let himself in, making a mental note to remind Kalila to please for the love of all that is good, lock your doors. She’d respond by telling him that it was important for her laboratory to be accessible to anyone who needed it, and he’d respond with—
Well, no matter. It was a conversation they had often. There was no need to recount it.
Bounding up the stairs, Dameer arrived at the laboratory to see that a meeting of The People’s Society for Cellular Biology had come to a close.
The first thing he spotted was Virginia in her enclosure, alert as Oliver’s mother, visiting from Kent as she so often did, replenished her water.
The snake had been retired from the Zoological Society and was now spending her twilight years as something of a mascot for The People’s Society.
He saw Kalila by the bench, dark hair twisted up in a messy knot, the sleeves of her cotton dress pushed up to her elbows.
She was surrounded by women and men alike, all of whom seemed to be clamoring for her attention.
Dameer knew a few of them well by now, especially those who had followed Kalila from Laurence Comerford’s Society of Microscopic Biology.
His cousin was speaking to Phineas Talbot as Timothy Dunn, Kenneth Young, and the others listened in fascination.
For her part, Kalila stated her opinions with the confidence and grace of a seasoned scientist.
She thrived here, Dameer observed. Thrived in a way she had not been able to do in Painswick.
Home was lonely without her, of course, but Dameer was content to travel back and forth as needed.
He was in London for the summer, having skipped out on yet another family holiday.
He would always choose time with Kalila over—what had it been this year?
Oh, right, the seaside. Difficult to forget, really, considering the letter he held in his hand.
“Dameer!” a voice crowed. Dameer turned to see Oliver approach as he dried his hands on a rag that he then tossed carelessly over his shoulder. His spectacles were balanced on his head. “Waiting for Kalila, are you?”
“It would seem so.”
“She’s in high demand,” Oliver said, eyes resting on his wife as she waved her hands while giving an animated explanation of some scientific concept or another.
They’d been married a year now and were both as sickeningly in love as ever.
“Indeed,” Dameer said. “You ought to start charging people to see her.”
“Shall I start with you, then?” Oliver asked with his usual cheek. “Oh! Have you read her latest publication? I daresay everyone is talking about it.”
“I have not,” Dameer replied, “because I quite literally do not understand a single thing the two of you talk or write about.”
“Ah, well, you’ll just have to take my word for it.” He nodded at the letter Dameer held. “What have you brought with you?”
Dameer sighed. “It’s from my sister.”
“A letter from Farah?”
That was Kalila, who had managed to extract herself from her throng of admirers at long last.
“Yes.” Dameer shoved the folded up piece of paper in her direction. “She wrote this right as they were getting ready to leave for Painswick.”
Kalila gave the letter a quick once over. “Is everyone all right?”
“They’re fine,” Dameer assured her, watching as his cousin absorbed his sister’s words.
“How are things going with Amelia?” Oliver asked, clearly unwilling to stand about while Kalila read.
Dameer’s face grew warm. He would be the first to admit that things with Amelia had been rather impossible last year, but he was now convinced that she was as fond of him as ever.
He’d spent more time with her at the townhouse this summer than he had at Willow House, and she did happen to say that she was looking forward to seeing him at Christmas.
Not looking forward to visiting the family, mind you. Looking forward to seeing him.
It was only a matter of time, really, and he was a patient man.
“Things are going well,” was his short reply.
Oliver lifted an eyebrow. “Well? For shame.”
“What’s the matter with that?” Dameer demanded, anxious for Kalila to finish reading.
“You can do a bit better than well.” Oliver regarded Dameer with intense gravity. “You do know you can come to me for advice, don’t you?”
Dameer rolled his eyes. “I struggle to believe that your advice would help.”
“Oh, you wound me.”
Kalila lowered the letter. “I don’t see what the matter is.”
“You don’t?” Dameer sputtered, shocked. “Surely you did not miss the part about the man?”
“Farah is always meeting men while on holiday,” Kalila said, shrugging. “Remember last year’s Frenchman?”
“A shame that she let him get away,” Oliver put in with a mischievous twinkle.
“The difference,” Dameer said, “is that she claims they’re engaged.”
“Not officially,” Kalila said, ignoring Oliver. “He’s yet to inherit.”
“She intends to wait,” Dameer grumbled.
“Five years is a long time,” Kalila soothed. “I’m quite sure she’ll find someone else to dote on in the coming months.”
Dameer frowned. Farah did seem to be capable of transferring her affections with very little trouble. She herself was the first to tell anyone who’d listen that she’d never been serious about any of the men she’d met while on holiday—but only once her so-called relationship inevitably fizzled out.
“When I am serious, Dameer, I shall let you know,” she’d once said while out in the garden picking at her herbs.
Why, then, was Dameer filled with such unease?
“Listen to Kalila,” Oliver advised. “She’s never wrong.”
Dameer sighed in resignation. “Oh, all right. It’s not as if Farah can do anything to force this man’s inheritance to come in sooner.”
“Precisely,” Kalila said.
What they didn’t know, of course, was that Farah Rafiq was planning on doing precisely that.