Lib Novel Page 145
“No, I’m not. But I appreciate art. I’m Sonya. Is it all right if I sit down while you work?”
“Company is always invited to sit. Manners are essential to a decent society.”
“I’ll be close by,” the caregiver murmured, and stepped out of the room.
“It’s very kind of you to pay a call. May I offer you some refreshment?”
Though surprised by the offer, Sonya smiled again. “No, thank you. We’re fine. Is there anything we can get for you?”
“Oh, I have everything I need, and Mother will be here soon. We’ll have a civilized tea when she arrives. I will have to start packing shortly. There’s so much to do before I leave for New York. And I still have to pack and buy my train ticket. Is that where you’re from?”
“New York? No, I’m from Boston originally.”
“Mother and I travel to Boston twice a year to shop for the season. Mother has an image to maintain at work, and hosts important dinner parties for important people. One must be appropriately dressed at all times. Mother selects my wardrobe, of course. Mother has excellent taste.”
Sonya had an image of a young woman led around on a leash. But pushed it away.
“I’m sure she does. I always enjoyed shopping in Boston, but Cleo and I live in Poole’s Bay now.”
“Who is Cleo?”
“My friend.” Sonya gestured to where Cleo sat.
“She’s very pretty. She could be an artist’s model. I don’t use models for my art. I enjoy painting still lifes and landscapes primarily. It’s good to have friends, but of course, when you’re a member of an important family, they must be carefully chosen.”
The leash she’d envisioned now ended in a choke chain.
“Do you have friends in Poole’s Bay?”
“I’m very busy with my art. Very busy.” Then she frowned. “I know you.”
“I’m Sonya.”
“No. No. I don’t know that name. It sounds foreign, and I don’t know that name. But I know those eyes. Poole green. Mine are blue, like Mother’s.”
Sonya thought of Trey’s word—agitated—as Gretta picked up another crayon.
“She’ll be here soon. Mother is a very busy woman, and is always punctual.”
“I have something of hers.” Sonya reached in her purse, brought out the compact.
“Where did you get that!” Gretta started to reach for it, then snatched her hand back. “Not supposed to touch Mother’s things. So pretty, so shiny! But mustn’t touch. No. No. She’ll be angry.”
“You’ve seen this before?”
“Not that, like that. You shouldn’t have that.”
“I found it,” Sonya said carefully. “In the manor. Cleo and I live in the manor now.”
“No, you don’t!” The words whipped out as the eyes behind thewhite-framed glasses went hard and bright. “Nobody does. Mother says it’s an albatross, but Papa won’t sell it. I’m not allowed to go there. No one is.”
“Charlie went there. Charlie lived there with his wife, Lilian.”
“Charlie was bad! He never listened, always in trouble.” Her voice went to singsong, like a child’s. “He went away. I stayed. I was good, he was bad.”
“He was an artist, like you.”
“He had responsibilities to the family, to the business. He—he shirked them. The manor is bad. I painted it once, and Mother destroyed it. It’s cursed,” she said in a whisper. “Locked up tight.”