The Echo of Old Books(42)
“Gin and tonic, thanks.”
Your mouth curls at the corner, the merest hint of a smile. “Of course. The Englishman’s drink.”
I feel slightly disoriented as you turn and repeat the order to one of the white-coated waiters your father has hired for the occasion, as if time has warped somehow and whisked me back to the night of your engagement party, and then I realize you intended that very thing. You’re teasing me, a cat with a mouse.
You take my elbow, seemingly oblivious to the absurdity of the moment, and nod to the opposite side of the room, where your father stands chatting with three men in very expensive-looking suits. “Come, let me introduce you to your host.”
Your father looks up as you approach, a ready smile appearing on his squarish face, and for an instant, I see a hint of you in him, the smooth, practiced expression, flipped on like a switch. You have that look in your repertoire too.
He holds out an arm as you come to his side. “Gentlemen, my beautiful daughter and . . .” He pauses, running an eye over me. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know your friend, my dear.”
You give him my name and nothing else. There’s a beat of silence, as if he’s waiting for me to fill in the blank. When I don’t, he thrusts out a hand. He looks me over for another moment, taking my measure, then introduces me to his companions. Wheeler, as I suspected, is one. Cobb is another. Dillon is the third.
“And how do you know my little girl?” he asks in the booming voice of a man who believes he has the world in his pocket.
Somehow, inconceivably, I haven’t prepared for this question. To my relief, you jump in. “He’s a friend of Teddy’s. We met at the St. Regis the night of my engagement party and I happened to run into him today as I was coming out of DuBarry. It was such a raw day that he took pity and offered me a ride. And I thought the least I could do was invite him to dinner as a thank-you. I forgot we were having guests.”
What a smooth liar you are, I think but manage to nod and smile. And then you’re whisking me off to introduce me to your sister, where the “old friend of Teddy’s” charade is repeated.
I only glimpsed your sister from a distance that night at the St. Regis, but once again, I’m struck by the differences between you. There are similarities, of course, despite the gap in your ages, a vague resemblance if you look very hard, but she’s a bloodless version of you, smaller and paler, as if the years have washed out all her color, and I find myself wondering if she always looked like this or if it’s the result of the life she’s lived. A husband chosen by her father, a stable of impeccably reared children, years of living up to expectations someone else has set for her. It makes me shudder to think you might look like this after a few years with Teddy.
She offers her hand, eyeing me a little too keenly for comfort. “Well, well. An Englishman. It seems my sister’s been hiding you from us. Why do you think that is?”
I shift uncomfortably, expecting you to come to my rescue, but you remain curiously tight-lipped, as if you’re enjoying my discomfort. “Well,” I say, trying not to sound awkward. “I’ve been rather busy since coming over. Settling in, getting the lay of the land. I’m afraid I haven’t had much time for socializing.”
Cee-Cee lifts a sharply penciled brow. Curious and a little skeptical. “It seems an odd time to travel, though, with all the trouble in Europe . . .”
Her words dangle, unfinished. Not quite a question but near enough, and I realize I’ll need to tread very carefully. This one does bother with politics. I nod, acknowledging her point. “It is indeed. But life must go on for the rest of us.”
“Your Mr. Churchill seems determined to drag the entire world into his war,” she observes drily, then tsks in mock disapproval. “Is it really wise to leave at a time like this? When your country needs every able-bodied man on the battlefield?”
I reach for my oiliest smile and throw in a wink. “Can you think of a better time to leave?”
Her face lights up, as if she’s just recognized a friend. “I take it you’re not a fan of war, then?”
“I am of the opinion that war is always to be avoided.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said all evening and it seems to please her.
“I see. Are you political, then?”
“Alas,” I say, choosing my next words with special care, “it has been pointed out to me, quite recently in fact, that as a visitor in your country, I am not entitled to be political. At least not on this side of the pond. Though in certain matters, I admit to holding very particular opinions.”
Cee-Cee is clearly intrigued, but before she can ask what those opinions are, I feel your arm wind through mine. “We should keep circulating and give you a chance to meet everyone before we go in to dinner.”
But Cee-Cee quickly checks you, claiming my other arm. Her eyes flash in your direction as she pulls me to her side with a saccharine smile. “Don’t you dare take him away just when we’ve found something in common. Why not make yourself useful and go circulate with the wives? They’re all green to the gills over that dress. And don’t worry about your friend, darling. I’ll see that he gets to the dining room when it’s time.”
You puff up a little, as if you’re about to protest, but in the end, you nod coolly and turn away, clearly annoyed that your sister has stolen your mouse.