Fern’s grin made her eyes even more opaque. She pursed her Cupid’s bow lips to ask, “And the outcome when it does?”
“They don’t do it again. Is Prince André a recent arrival?”
“I knew him in Paris.”
“Was he a refugee then?”
“Far from it. His family had estates in France.”
“And also in America?”
“None I know of,” Fern said. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” said Bell with a glance at Prince André and a private smile for Marion.
>
“A blunt question,” Fern said.
“Blunt away,” said Bell. “What’s on your mind?”
“When we met the first time, when you were chasing . . . whoever you were chasing?”
“Yes?”
“I had the impression that you could, under the right circumstances, like me very much.”
“I’ve always liked characters,” said Bell.
“Good characters or bad characters?”
“I mean, different types—nonconformists, bohemians.”
“I’m not sure I’ve been complimented.”
Bell grinned. “You’re positive you’re complimented. You love standing out.”
“So you could like me?” Fern smiled. Her almond eyes slid toward Marion. “Under the right circumstances.”
“They don’t exist,” said Bell. He turned to Prince André. “We’ve entertained you far too long, sir. Forgive the interruption.”
Marion slipped her hand into his arm and they continued across the speakeasy. “I’ve yet to meet a Russian refugee who wasn’t a prince or at least a count.”
“He’s a tough-looking prince,” said Bell.
“I thought so, too. Did you see his hands?”
“Powerful. His shake felt more American than European.”
“He told me he fought in the cavalry.”
“I hope Miss Hawley knows what she’s doing.”
Marion said, “Miss Hawley strikes me as a woman who has known what she was doing since the day she broke every heart in kindergarten. Do you find her attractive?”
“I certainly would,” said Bell, “if I weren’t with the loveliest woman in the world.”
“How would you feel if I bobbed my hair like hers?”