She’s wearing a long, flowing dress, modest but expensive, with a wide floppy sunhat. She smiles at us and tilts a head.
“I see you made it,” she says to me. “And you’re meeting the troublemakers already.”
“Hello, Aunt Sylvia,” Maggie says.
“Hi, Aunt Sylvia.” David gets up and kisses her cheek.
“Hello, David. Congratulations on the job.”
“Thank you,” he says, smiling a wooden smile. He sits back down next to his sister.
They’re both being perfectly peasant and polite, but I can hear and sense a strange undertone to the moment. Both of them are wooden and awkward, almost like they’re afraid of her.
“Dean,” she says, looking at me. “May I have a word?”
“Mom, if you want to talk to him, we can—”
She gives her daughter a perfectly calm look, but Lora stops talking.
I step around her and put a hand on her arm. “It’s fine,” I say. “I’d love to talk, Sylvia.”
I see Maggie wince out of the corner of my eye when I say Mrs. Lofthouse’s first name.
But she doesn’t bat an eye. “Come along then, Dean.” She turns and sweeps off.
I give Lora a look. “It’ll be fine,” I say, and hurry after her.
Sylvia leads me through the party and I get more than one strange look. I suspect more than just the siblings back there are afraid of Mrs. Lofthouse. In fact, everyone seems to shy away from her just a little bit.
From what I know, I can’t blame them. She’s considered the power here, even if she did marry into the family. She has a sort of gravitas about her, a strange and hard to explain weight. Every time she looks at me, it’s like she’s staring through me, reading my mind, weighing my flaws.
We step inside and she removes her hat with a sigh. “I burn so easy,” she explains. “And I have a higher risk than average for skin cancer.” She shrugs as if to say, what can you do?
I smile. “It’s a very fashionable hat.”
She laughs, light and easy. “Thank you, Dean. You always seem to know what to say.”
That phrase seems loaded, so I don’t reply.
She leads me into a sitting room just off the main living room. A staff member pokes his head in and Sylvia asks for tea. He nods and leaves as she gestures at a chair. I sit down and she sits across from me, a small round table between us.
“So, Dean,” she says.
“Thank you for allowing me to come today,” I say.
“Ah, that wasn’t my choice.” She tilts her head, a little smile on her lips, and I suspect that it actually was.
“Still, I appreciate your hospitality.”
“Dean, what are you doing with my daughter?”
I frown at her, surprised. “I’m sorry?”
“I don’t think that question is ambiguous,” she says, and frowns at me. “But I can be more direct, if that’s what you need. Although you don’t seem like a slow man to me.”
“No, I just—” I clear my throat. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“What did you expect?” She frowns a little. “Why else would I call you back to speak in private?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Meaning, you didn’t think about it. Next time, Dean, please think about it.”
I sit back, surprised and not sure what to say, when that same staff member returns with a tray. There’s a teapot, two teacups, and a small assortment of hard cookies. He places the tray down and Sylvia thanks him before pouring the tea. She sips her cup and smiles. “Very good,” she says.
The staff member smiles and leaves without a word.
“Go ahead,” she says. “Taste it.”
I pick up the cup. “I’m not much of a tea drinker.”
“Try it anyway. You might find you like it.”
I hesitate but take a sip. It’s bold and flavorful, not at all like the tea I’m used to. I frown a little. “Huh. This actually is good.”
“I import it myself,” she says. “Direct from a small grower in India. I have a contact there, you see. It costs a fortune, but,” she shrugs, “I have a fortune.”
I smile a little. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“Of course. I’m glad you like it.” She puts down her cup. “Now, you still haven’t answered my question.”
I nod once. “I’m working with her,” I say.
“Yes, I know that.”
“I’m helping her. We spoke of this before, I just—”
“Dean,” she says, interrupting me. “She’s not here. She won’t know what you say to me, and what you say to me now will be very, very important.” She gives me a flat look.
I nod slowly. “I’ve known Lora for a long time,” I say.
“Yes, you have. In fact, you’re one of her oldest friends, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I’d do anything for her,” I say. “We lost touch, and I always hated that… but it’s like we’re picking up right where we left off.”
“Why did you lose touch?”