Philly
We drive up to London. The traffic is terrible, of course, and there’s the congestion charge and the parking on top of that, but Dan takes it all in his stride.
I sit in front, so I can stretch out my leg in comfort, and Kendra and Finn are in the back.
I glance in the mirror to watch Finn’s face.
He’s wearing his ear defenders, and an expression of resolute determination, but I can still see the tension around his eyes.
I only hope whatever it is they’ve organised is going to be worth it.
I wouldn’t want it to end in another disaster after they’ve gone to so much trouble.
All they’ve told me is there’s some big surprise.
Which is a surprise in its own right. I can see how much it means to him, though, so I go along with it.
We walk through Green Park beneath the bare branches of the trees, and turn in at a set of grey stone arches, straight up to the main door of The Ritz, where Finn turns to me with a look of triumph.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ I say, feeling somewhat overcome. ‘Are we here for tea?’
‘Yes. It’s another bit of Unfinished Business, so we are going to help you finish it today.’
‘Well, this really IS a wonderful surprise, Finn.’
A top-hatted doorman ushers us inside with a flourish, not batting an eyelid even though we can’t look much like his usual clientele: an old woman with her walking stick and a young lad wearing ear defenders and now – even though it’s a dull London day – his sunglasses as well, which he’s put on in order to help him face this ordeal.
At the Palm Court we’re shown to a table in one corner, tucked behind a large potted plant and facing away from the mirrored end wall.
Finn sits with his back to the room. He sheds the sunglasses but keeps his ear defenders firmly clamped to his head, shutting out the babble of chatter and the clinking of cutlery on china.
The room is already filling up, even though we’ve come for the earliest sitting.
I look around, taking it all in, from the crisp white tablecloths to the white-and-gold pillars and the ornately gilded dome of the ceiling above where we’re sitting.
A piano tinkles discreetly in the background at the far end of the room.
Kendra excuses herself, saying, ‘I’ll just go and find the Ladies.’ I turn my attention back to our table. There seems to be an extra place set, which I suppose must be a mistake, despite all of Finn’s meticulous planning.
But then Kendra returns, and Dan is getting to his feet, pulling out chairs, and I realise they’ve invited an extra guest. The woman pulls off the red scarf covering her hair and undoes the buttons of her overcoat.
Then she says, ‘Finn, it’s so good to meet you in person at last,’ holding up her hand and mouthing the words clearly so he’ll understand.
Her accent is French, but there’s something else beneath it.
It takes me a moment and then I identify it: a faint twang of Polish.
‘Philly,’ says Kendra. ‘May we introduce you to Eveline Espelet? Also known as Dr Ewelina Krakowska. This is Janina and Jakub’s daughter.’
And then there are exclamations and tears, and laughter and more tears as she enfolds me in a warm embrace, before taking her seat at the table.
Once the emotions have died down a little, Finn tells me how he managed to track her down in another miracle of persistence and determination. ‘It was through a maths blog. She was invited on as a guest because she’s Professor of Mathematics at the Sorbonne which is a university in Paris.’
‘I’ve heard of it,’ I say, nodding.
‘Her specialist field is Partial Differential Equations,’ he says.
‘Seeing her name was a coincidence, but I remembered you said Janina’s surname was Krakowska, so I recognised it straight away.
And then I realised Ewelina is the Polish version of Eveline, which was your code name in France.
So I came up with a hypothesis that this could be Janina and Jakub’s missing daughter and I sent her a message and the hypothesis turned out to be correct. ’
A waiter hovers, but Dan asks him to give us a little more time as we have much to catch up on, and Ewelina tells me her story.
‘I grew up in a tiny village in the Pyrenees, believing my name to be Eveline Espelet and my parents to be French. When I reached my teens, and I was old enough to know such things, they told me my real parents had been a Polish couple to whom they had given sanctuary during the war. A neighbour had denounced them to the Gestapo and they’d been arrested one night.
But there was just time to hide me. The French couple who’d taken us in passed me off as their child in order to save me.
They kept me safe as my real parents were taken away to their deaths.
All I have of them is this headscarf of my mother’s, and my name.
They called me Ewelina, the Polish version of the French name Eveline.
My adopted parents told me they’d said it had been the name of a dear friend of theirs.
I was named in honour of another brave soul who had tried to help them. ’
Her words make me cry all over again. Once I’ve blotted the tears from my face, I raise my hand towards Finn across the table, spreading my fingers wide. ‘You truly are a remarkable boy,’ I say.
He looks at me, his expression serious. ‘Are you happy or sad, Philly? Now you are having tea at The Ritz with Janina’s daughter?’
‘Bless your soul, my dear, I am utterly happy. Absolutely stunned by your brilliant surprise, but totally and utterly happy.’
I really don’t think it can get any better.
But then the waiter reappears and sets down towering stands of cakes and scones in front of us.
And with a final flourish, he puts a smaller plate down before Finn, saying, ‘Your special dietary requirement, sir. Marmite sandwiches, as ordered.’ And my joy is complete.