Page 17 of Ticket Out

“I saw the movers downstairs,” Gabriella said. “I didn’t even know he was going.”

“Me, either. But Solomon’s arranged for me to have his flat.” Mr. Rodney’s hands twisted around each other.

“That’s . . .” Gabriella found herself speechless for a moment. “That makes sense, Mr. Rodney. I’ll be sorry not to have you opposite me, but you’ll be far more able to go about if you don’t have to take the stairs, and you’ll have that sweet little garden out the back.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do. Solomon must have spoken to Mr. Higgins about it in advance and kept it as a surprise.” And she had a good guess as to when that had happened.

“That lad.” Mr. Rodney shook his head. “He does so much for me.”

“No more than you deserve.” Gabriella handed him his post. “I suppose I won’t need to get your letters brought up anymore. You let me know when you’re moving your things down, and I’ll give Solomon a hand.”

“Gabriella.” Solomon appeared at the top of the stairs, and Gabriella realized she hadn’t heard him walking up. He said her name in four syllables, and there was a warning in his voice.

“Solomon.” Gabriella repeated the cadence. “What a lovely surprise for your uncle.”

“He shouldn’t have to go up and down stairs at his age, eh?” Solomon smiled his delightful smile. “Want to come down and see the flat? Mr. Higgins is out now, and gone.”

“I would.” She was always nosey about looking through other people’s houses and flats.

She followed the men down, and when they entered Mr. Higgin’s old place, she noticed Mr. Rodney went straight through to the lounge and out the double doors into the garden.

“This is a good thing,” Gabriella said, voice low. “But how did you manage it?”

“I found a new place for Mr. Higgins.” Solomon said. “Persuaded him he would be happier elsewhere.” He paused. “And that stays between ourselves, Gabby.”

She mimed buttoning her lips, and he laughed softly.

She wondered how he’d managed to pull this off in three days, but if money talked, money and muscle probably talked even louder.

Then she wandered into the kitchen, and came to a stop in the doorway, mouth agape.

“Quite something, isn’t it?” Solomon came to stand directly behind her. “This was the original kitchen of the house, back when it used to be a posh Victorian home to a rich industrialist.”

“The bread I could make in that,” Gabriella said, eyeing the oven.

“Bread?” Solomon asked.

She moved into the room and crouched in front of the oven, opening it up to have a look inside.

She would give Mr. Higgins points for keeping it spotless.

“My mother is a baker. I’ve nursed my sourdough starter all the way from Melbourne. It got a good workout on the ship coming across to London, because I worked as the bread maker in the ship’s kitchens in lieu of my fare, but all I’ve done is feed it since I’ve been here, due to lack of an oven.”

“I’m sure my uncle would enjoy a fresh-baked loaf. Why don’t you do a deal with him? Use of the oven in exchange for some of the bread.”

“I’ll take that deal,” Mr. Rodney said, stepping in behind them. “I wouldn’t know what to do with an oven like that.”

“I do,” Gabriella said. She rose to her feet. “Let me know if I can help with the move, but right now I have to get ready.”

“Going out for a Friday night on the town, Gabby?” Solomon asked.

“My friend Liz persuaded me to go to Dance-a-Go-Go.” In fact, she had insisted. And given what she’d dealt with in the last week, Gabriella had decided a night out might just take her mind off everything else.

Solomon gave a slow nod. “Well, mind how you go.”

As she ran up the stairs, Gabriella realized she spent more time than she should trying to analyze what Solomon really meant when he spoke.

---