“Here we are,” Clio said, as the taxi pulled to a halt outside the town house.
Ro paid the driver and stepped out to see Clio still in the middle of the pavement, not having yet started up the front stairs. “What is it?” she asked.
“I think there’s someone here to see you,” Clio told her.
Ro peered past her, expecting to see a welcoming Haggis McTavish bounding toward her.
But it wasn’t Haggis McTavish at all.
Instead, there, sitting on the front steps, looking rather disheveled, was Vincent.
* * *
“I must go inside,” Clio said as she hurried off to leave the pair in peace. “Good evening! Or, good morning, I should say…”
Ro barely registered a word her sister uttered. If Clio had been mesmerized by the lights of the Curlicue Club before, so Ro was now by Vincent’s very presence. As he rose from the steps, Ro took in what he was wearing. “White tie and tails. Goodness, where have you been?” She didn’t admit to it—she was still slightly cross that she had been overlooked for several weeks—but Vincent looked devastatingly handsome in his formal attire.
“To the opera,” he replied, with a yawn, walking over to join her. “I really should say it was marvelous, but it was awfully long and dull, as was the company. I found myself wishing you were there many times over.”
Ro couldn’t help but laugh, despite the fact she was dying to ask if Genevieve had been present. And dull. “That doesn’t sound all that amusing. How long have you been waiting?”
“Quite some time. But I was determined to sit it out. To give you this,” he said as he pulled a small box from inside his jacket and passed it to Ro. “Happy birthday.”
Ro tried very hard not to grin from ear to ear. “You remembered! How thoughtful!” She did not rush to unwrap the package immediately, happy to simply feel the warmth that emanated from it, having been kept close to Vincent’s chest for several hours.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Vincent smiled at Ro as she continued to stroke the present.
“Oh, yes,” Ro replied, dreamily. “Sorry.” She ripped open the brown paper wrapping and found a small, black velvet-trimmed box inside. She snapped it open to reveal the most darling little rhinestone owl brooch inside. He was an angular little thing, glittering cool and clear in the moonlight and with the most spectacular turquoise-colored rhinestone eyes.
“I thought of you when I spotted it. First, the spectacular eyes and then, well, they’re terribly wise, owls…”
Ro looked up from the little box now. “Oh, Vincent, I love it!” She smiled. “Really!”
“If you’ll permit me,” Vincent said as he took a step closer toward Ro and plucked the brooch from the box. Expertly, he undid the clasp and attached it to her lapel, his gaze only leaving hers for the shortest time.
When Vincent was done, Ro looked down, touching the brooch with one hand. “Thank you so much. It was sweet of you to remember. I didn’t think that…” She looked up again to see Vincent’s face near hers and her words trailed off as his mouth fell upon her lips. She kissed him greedily as if to make up for the time that had passed between meetings, not caring who saw them upon the street.
“I have missed you,” Vincent said as he finally pulled back for air.
Ro smiled up at him. “You needn’t have. I’ve been here the whole time.” As she drank him in, for some reason she remembered Thalia’s comment about Vincent being like ivy, and forcefully pushed the barbed words from her mind. Why did Thalia have to spoil everything? Anyway, it wasn’t only Thalia who could have a good time. Vincent was here, now, to see her. In this moment in time, he wanted her and that was all she needed to know. She didn’t want to quarrel about the past few weeks, but to make the most of the time they had together. “You must be tired. Why don’t you come inside?” Ro said after hesitating, sounding far braver than she actually felt. “Upstairs, I mean. To my room.”
* * *
Across town, Thalia opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly from what she found was, rather unexpectedly, the cool enamel surface of a bathtub. Inspecting the room more closely, she came to recognize it was neither the bathtub in her own bathroom nor was it Venetia’s. Where was she? She couldn’t remember. She tried to think backward, but her head felt as if it were stuffed full of cotton wool and after only a few seconds of questioning her current situation, she was forced to close her eyes once more. No, there seemed to be little hope of remembering how she had come to be wherever she was. In a bathtub, of all places. She might have nodded off for a while after all this effort, because the next thing she knew, she was hearing the door open across the room and a man was peering inside. “There you are,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you. So many promises, so little delivery. What about all the fun you said we were going to have? Hey!” He ducked his head outside, calling out down the hall. “She’s in here!”
Thalia frowned, confused, trying harder to concentrate this time. The man at the door was an American. She vaguely remembered some Americans from the club she had been at with Ro and Clio. They had spoken about some “petting party” they were off to, and had bundled her into a taxi with them, sharing some of the medicinal items on their persons with her, which was really most kind of them. The problem was, it had been a long afternoon and evening and Thalia started to realize during the taxi ride that she had, perhaps, indulged a little more than might have been a good idea over the span of those few hours. To be honest, she didn’t remember much after that. Only maybe some music, waking up to find herself lying on a rug in a drawing room she had never seen before, and, now, the bathtub. And, as much as she wanted to keep her eyes open, for some reason she found she couldn’t and had to close them again, as before.
The last thing she recalled hearing was the sound of several sets of feet crossing the bathroom floor.
* * *
“You look happy.” Ro woke from her daydream upon Clio’s words to find her sister staring at her across the dining table. “You’ve also been buttering that same piece of toast for at least five minutes now.”
“Oh!” Ro pushed it away, untouched. “I didn’t realize.” She took half of it now and fed it to Haggis McTavish, who accepted her gift both greedily and happily.
“I take it you patched things up with Vincent last night?” Clio asked, taking a sip of her tea.
“He gave me the most beautiful brooch for my birthday,” was Ro’s only explanation, though she was sure her scarlet cheeks gave everything away—Thalia would have guessed in a moment if she were here. Thankfully, however, unlike Thalia’s evening caller, Vincent had slipped away this morning unnoticed. Their tryst had gone quite undetected.
After Vincent had left in the early morning light, Ro had not been able to go back to sleep and had lain in bed, in turn fretting and swooning. She had, of course, immediately on his departure, used every single device and unguent that Hestia had offered, not wanting to take any chances. Though, Vincent had carefully mentioned that she needn’t worry—if anything ever were to “happen,” he “knew” a doctor—so there was always that to fall back on if she had to.
To be honest, the experience hadn’t been everything she’d dreamed of and hoped for, initially. Vincent had been very gentle with her, and had kept asking her if she was all right, but really it was all rather painful and she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Afterward, Vincent had told her that, with time, she would enjoy it more. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that—should she take comfort in the fact that he was so much more experienced in such matters? Ro tried not to think about this too hard and instead concentrated on the fact that he had chosen her bed over the awful Genevieve’s. This had been her consolation until just before Vincent had left.
She had awakened Vincent at dawn, worried that Hestia, or one of her sisters, might for some reason rise early. But then Vincent had slipped his hand up her nightdress and begun to caress her, asking her over and over again, his breath hot on
her cheek, if she was entirely sure she wanted him to leave. The answer quickly became “no” as Vincent stroked and teased her, leaving her breathless and asking for more in turn. In the end, she lost herself so completely that she had cried out with a ferocity that shocked her, not caring who came running into the room.
“Ro? Ro?!”
“What?” Ro said, her pulse racing once more.
“I said, you’ll have to show me the brooch later.” Clio gave her a curious look. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Oh, yes, fine. Just tired after our late night.” Really, she shouldn’t think about such things in public.
“You didn’t see Thalia this morning, did you?” Clio changed the subject. “I don’t think she’s come home at all.”
Ro shook her head. “No. But I wouldn’t worry. She’ll turn up. She always does. Usually at the most inconvenient moment—” The front doorbell buzzed, cutting Ro off and sending Haggis McTavish into a frenzy of excitement. “See? She’s probably lost her key as well. Which would be the third time, I think.”
“I’ll get it.” Clio stood up, pushing her chair back. “You need to eat something.”
* * *
“For you,” Edwin said as he pushed a bunch of wilted, dilapidated flowers at Clio the moment she opened the door to the town house. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. I think.” She took the flowers from him gingerly, as she inspected Edwin from head to foot. He looked for all the world as if he had been dragged through a hedge backward—his hair was dirty and tousled and he was still wearing a dinner jacket, which was muddied in several places.
“I know it’s a bit late, but I’ve been carrying them around since yesterday evening, trying to get over here and failing miserably.”
“How very thoughtful of you,” Clio said, her voice a monotone.
“It’s just that I was a tiny bit detained by the constabulary once again and…”
Clio held up one hand. “It’s all right, Edwin. I don’t need to know. In fact, I don’t want to know.” She had had enough of his, and Thalia’s, silly games. It only made her cross to hear of them. When she spent so much of her time fretting about how she would find the means by which to move her mother to a warmer climate, or at least to afford the services of more good doctors, it infuriated her to hear of entitled people roaming the streets of London and getting up to ridiculous antics simply because they were “bored.”
“You see—” Edwin tried again, pleadingly.
But Clio was undeterred. “No, I don’t see, Edwin. And I don’t want to see. I don’t want to understand what possessed you to stay out all night and roll in the mud. I’m sure it was all terribly amusing and that all the newspapers will gush about it tomorrow, but I really don’t care to know.”
Edwin bristled slightly at this. “Now, see here—”
“Did you come here to wish me a happy birthday and to give me flowers, or to argue?” Clio said, plainly.
“Well, of course I—”
“Thank you for the flowers, Edwin.” Clio stepped forward and gave him a kiss upon his right cheek, before stepping back again, her hand upon the door. “It was lovely of you to think of me. But I think you’d better go home, take a bath, and change your clothes.”
Edwin, who had been ready to come to his own defense, deflated at this. “You’re too good for me, Clio Silsby,” he said, in a miserable, tired voice.
Clio’s eyes skated over him from head to toe. “Yes,” she replied, as she closed the door slowly between them. “I rather think I am. Good day, Edwin.”
As the door clicked shut, Clio stared at the flowers and felt deflated herself. It wasn’t like her to say such things, but she’d thought … no, she’d hoped … that with that kiss, on the night of the dinner party, that Edwin might somehow magically change. But people didn’t change, did they? Frogs only turned into princes in fairy tales told to little girls. Well, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She needed to be practical now. And, right now, the most practical, logical, sensible thing to do was to write to Nicholas. In Kenya.
* * *
Clio spent most of the morning formulating her letter to Nicholas, starting, then stopping, crumpling piece after piece of writing paper. She wasn’t at all sure of what to say, how to say it, or even what she wanted to say. She kept recalling the evening that she, Ro, and Thalia had been driven out to the countryside—to the party in the tower. Her sisters had been horrified that she might even consider marrying someone she was not violently in love with. Was she really wrong to consider it? She knew that her own parents barely knew each other when they married. They had come to love each other in the years afterward and they could not have been happier for it. Wasn’t it better to choose with your head than with your heart, which might be full of nothing but lust? After all, Edwin’s kiss had made her heart race compared to the one she had shared with Nicholas. But just look at Edwin’s actions—how he lived his life. They could never be happy together. With a sigh, Clio returned to her letter, rereading the few lines she had composed. No, that wasn’t right, either. She crumpled yet another piece of writing paper and threw it down on the library floor beside her.
“Goodness,” Ro said, entering the room. “That must be a difficult letter to write.”
Clio turned in her seat. “It is. And not a particularly pleasant one to write on a birthday, either.” She didn’t elaborate and hoped that Ro would not ask who she was writing to. “Did you manage to get a little more sleep?” she asked, changing the subject. Ro had mentioned she was tired after their late night and had gone back to bed post breakfast.
“A little,” Ro replied. “I thought I shouldn’t rest too much longer or I won’t sleep tonight. I’m going for a walk with Haggis McTavish. I was wondering if you’d like to come, but you seem a little busy.”
“I am.” Clio sighed again. “I really must finish this before it sends me mad.”
Across the room, Ro leaned against the door frame. “I take it Thalia hasn’t come home yet, or you would have mentioned it.”
Clio shook her head. “No. I have to say I’m beginning to become a little worried now.”
Ro, however, didn’t seem too concerned. “She most likely slept at Venetia’s. And is probably still doing so. I’m sure it wouldn’t cross her mind that we might worry.”
“No…,” Clio said, unsure. “Perhaps not. Still, she has never been away for this long before. If she doesn’t come home before this evening, perhaps we should tell Hestia?”
Ro snorted slightly at this. “Well, for that to happen, Hestia will have to appear herself. Good luck with your letter!” And, with this, she was gone.
* * *
Clio was standing at the library window, gazing out over the pavement toward Belgrave Square garden, when someone ran past, as if possessed, then paused, on seeing her figure silhouetted against the window.
“Edwin!” Clio exclaimed. What was he doing here? And, she noted, in the same disheveled state as before. She frowned slightly, waving him away. There was nothing more to discuss. “Go home,” she mouthed at him through the closed window.
But Edwin shook his head and Clio saw now that he seemed agitated. And then he mouthed a single word himself.
“Thalia.”
* * *
“Where is she? Is she all right?” Clio was at the front door in an instant. “Oh, I should have made inquiries sooner. I should have thought to ask you before. I knew something was wrong. I knew it and I did nothing.”
Before her, Edwin took several deep breaths. He had obviously run some distance. “She is all right. For now. But I think something must be done.”
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“From what I can gather, she combined a few too many drugs with far too much to drink. From what I’ve heard over several different accounts, she fainted twice last night, but then recovered and kept going. I can hardly believe it, but someone told me that at one point he thought her dead. And no one even seemed
concerned! But that’s not the half of it. She wound up … well, exposing herself. On the street. And she was arrested.”
Clio’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, no.”
Surprisingly, Edwin looked as shocked as Clio felt. “Usually, I wouldn’t worry too much about a little arrest, but from what I’ve heard, and from what I’ve seen of her lately, she seems determined to—I’m not sure—harm herself in some way. Does that make any sense to you?”
Clio nodded slightly, her hand still covering her mouth. “Yes. Yes, it does.” There was something about Thalia’s devil-may-care attitude that had always worried Clio. There were only so many chances one could take in life. Clio lowered her hand, trying to get her head around the situation. “What do we do? I mean, what do I need to do?”
Edwin was silent for a moment. “I thought about it all the way here and, the thing is, I’ve got this friend—”
Clio interrupted him here. “I don’t think we need any more of your friends involved, Edwin. They’ve done enough damage as it is.”
But Edwin was determined to continue. “No, it’s not like that. Please listen to me, Clio. You see, Thalia reminds me a lot of this fellow. His father is a doctor and when his son started to behave in the sort of fashion Thalia is now, he sent his son to this … well, they called it a nursing home … before it was too late. For a kind of intemperance treatment. I visited him there and it was a lovely place, not horrid at all. And, best of all, it worked. I’m not entirely sure what they did, or said, but it cured him. Says it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”
The Heiresses Page 25
