Evergreen Falls (14 page)

“I’m supposed to make a date as soon as possible,” Flora replied, turning back to the picnic. “I have to talk to Tony about it. He’s been away on business in Sydney.”

Eliza nodded, seemed as though she wanted to say something but didn’t. Instead, she smiled. “You love him?”

“I do. How about you and Vincent?”

“I keep hoping he’ll ask me to marry him, but he doesn’t. It’s been ages. Six months. It doesn’t help that he’s been up here for so long.”

“That might be my fault. Or perhaps my brother’s fault. Sam won’t leave, so I can’t leave, so Tony stays on, so they all do. But don’t worry, we’re all coming back down after Christmas in June. Just two more weeks. Perhaps then Vincent will do the right thing.”

Eliza shrugged. “I don’t know. Do men really even know ‘the right thing’ to do?”

“I hope so.”

She dropped her voice. “Flora, if you knew that Vincent was . . . doing the
wrong
thing . . . would you tell me?”

Flora was taken aback by the question. “Vincent is the kindest man, Eliza. You have nothing to worry about.”

“But would you?”

“Would you want me to?”

Eliza nodded emphatically. “I would want to know if he did something he oughtn’t.”

“Then, yes, I would.”

Eliza’s gaze went over Flora’s shoulder, and she turned to see Tony emerging from the water.

Flora beamed at him. “Giving up already?”

“Had a few nibbles.” He nodded at Eliza. “Mind if I steal your companion a few minutes? I need to talk to her.”

Eliza said, “Of course,” but Flora had the distinct feeling some animosity passed between them.

Tony took her by the arm, and they headed into the woods. As soon as they were out of earshot, Flora asked, “Don’t you and Eliza get on?”

“Eliza? She’s a silly thing. Vincent can do better. I don’t like it when she gossips and whispers like that.”

“You heard her?”

“She has a shrill voice that carries. I heard her whisper, though I didn’t hear what she had to say. I don’t care to know, Flora. Just be wary of her.” He stopped, turned her to face him. “But I didn’t bring you here to talk about Eliza.”

A cool edge touched his voice, and Flora’s stomach flipped over. “No?” A breeze picked up and fretted in the branches above them. A deep smell of eucalyptus and dank soil reached her nose.

“I received a letter from your father when I arrived back yesterday.”

The letter. The cursed letter. Flora squirmed. “Why didn’t you mention it yesterday?”

“I thought I might see if
you
mentioned it first.”

Flora shook her head. “Don’t be cross. I know I’ve been silly.”

“I want to get this straight. You told your father that
I
wanted to delay the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And you told me that
he
wanted to delay the wedding?”

“Again, yes.”

“But all along, the only person who wanted to put the wedding off was you?”

This time she simply nodded, cheeks heating with shame despite the chill air.

Tony turned half away from her, his lips set in a hard line, shaking his head with anger.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” she said, reaching for his shoulder.

He flicked her off. “Can you tell me why?”

“Everything seemed to be going too fast.”

“Do you not want to marry me?”

“Of course I want to marry you. I love you.”

“Then I simply don’t understand.”

She took a deep breath. Maybe Tony would understand if she
told him. They were to be married, after all. Partners for life, confidants. “Do you ever feel that your life isn’t your own? That you are floating along helplessly on a course already set out for you?”

“Must you go on with such nonsense, Florrie?” Tony said, moving from anger to exasperation. “All these starry-eyed notions—they’re the reason your brother is such a mess. I expect you to be more practical. It’s what I love about you.”

“You’ve never felt it? You’ve never felt that you’re unfairly compelled to work in your family business rather than pursue some greater passion? That you’ve been forced to marry me rather than meet the girl of your dreams?”

“I don’t believe in girls in dreams. They only come when I’m sleeping,” he said hotly. “Is that what this is about? Are you holding out for a dream man?”

“No, that’s not at all what I meant.”

“Flora, our fathers are great friends, that’s true. They introduced us because we suited each other, not because this is a nineteenth-century novel and we have to marry against our will. We get along, don’t we? We like each other’s company?”

Slowly, it dawned on Flora that Tony was hurt by her doubts.

“Don’t you see?” he continued. “Other troubles go away when we marry—mine and yours. With me as your husband, your father can cut you out of his will later on and it doesn’t matter. We’ll still be fine. He’s promised to buy us a house, for heaven’s sake. With you as my wife, I get invited into society more readily. I’m not ‘new money’ anymore; I’m an honorary Honeychurch-Black. Flora,” he continued, touching her shoulder, letting his hand wander lightly to her breast, “there are other things that I really don’t want to wait for anymore.” Then he lifted his hand away, ever the gentleman.

Blood thudded in her head.

“What would you do, Flora?” Tony pressed. “If you didn’t marry
me, if you didn’t live the life your family dreamed for you, what would you do? You’d be a fish out of water.”

“I’d be a doctor,” she blurted.

Now he laughed. “You? A
doctor
?”

Her face stung with indignation. “I’m very clever and I like helping people.”

He shook his head, laughter dying on his lips. “Flora, I do love you. But you are
being ridiculous.”

A loud cheer in the distance alerted them to the fact that somebody had caught a fish.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” she said softly, but he didn’t seem to hear.

“Let’s get back,” he said. “I forgive you for bending the truth. Put it out of your mind.”

“September,” she said, with sudden, decisive courage. “We’ll get married in the spring.”

“Perfect. Choose a Saturday near the middle and let your father know.” He put his arm around her and led her back out of the woods. “Aren’t you glad we had this little chat?”

She nodded mutely. She couldn’t find fault with any of his arguments, so she didn’t entertain that little shred of protest inside her that said,
But what about my dreams?
Tony was right. Dreams came only when sleeping. Tony had woken her up, and it was time to get on with life.

*  *  *

Flora called in at Sam’s room that afternoon to tell him about the wedding date.

“I’d say I’m happy for you, Sissy,” he said, “but I’m too miserable at the idea that Tony DeLizio will be my brother-in-law until the day I die.”

“Don’t be like that, Sam,” Flora said, sitting on the bed next to him. She noticed a book on the bedside table, folded open. She was pleased that he’d been reading, and that she could not detect any smell of opium smoke in the room. “I have to grow up sometime.”

“So, a spring bride, eh?” He snapped his fingers. “You should get married up here! This place is easily big enough and posh enough for a society wedding.”

Flora frowned. “We’ll be gone long before September,” she said. “We’re leaving straight after Christmas in June.”

“Are we?”

“You promised me. Also, the hotel is closing down.”

He spread his hands eagerly. “It’s not. Not entirely. I was talking to Lord and Lady Powell this morning. They’re staying on—Lady Powell is trying to finish her book. And of course, she’s terribly good friends with Mrs. Wright, the opera singer, who has said she’s staying, too. And Miss Sydney has adopted Mrs. Wright as a mother figure, so she and her odious fiancé will dig in as well. Miss Zander told them she’s retaining a skeleton staff. Imagine? A handful of us rattling about with the hotel all to ourselves.”

Flora was shaking her head through this entire speech. “No, no, a thousand times
no
, Sam. The Christmas party is the twenty-fifth of June, and we are leaving on the twenty-sixth.”

“You can go without me,” he sniffed.

“I can’t. Father won’t allow me to leave you here and I—”

“But, Flora,” he interrupted, placing his index finger over her lips. “I’m feeling so much better. I’m smoking less. I’m sure it’s the mountain air.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I know you want me to stop altogether, but that’s so hard. Instead, I’m slowly cutting down the number of pipes I smoke. Look
at me now.” He dropped his finger and stood in front of her, and she did have to admit he looked well.

“Really?”

“It’s Violet,” he said. “She makes me want to be a good person.”

“Violet? The waitress?”

Once again his index finger returned to her lips. “Don’t say a bad word against her. She’s done this to me. She’s done what you never could.”

How his words hurt her, gouged her deep in the belly. But if it was true that his love for the waitress inspired him to smoke less, then she had to accept it. “Please be careful with her,” she said.

“I wouldn’t do a thing that wasn’t right and good,” he replied. Then smiled a boyish smile. “Well? Can we stay?”

“I’m not getting married up here.”

“We can stay over the winter?”

Tony wouldn’t like it, but that mattered little. Sam’s health was her first priority. “As long as you continue to cut down.”

He pressed his hand fervently to his heart. “I give you my word.”

“Then we’ll stay,” she said, and regretted it immediately.

*  *  *

Dances at the abandoned house had become a regular Saturday-afternoon occurrence, and Violet, owner of the gramophone, was expected to come. She didn’t mind so much: she loved to dance, and spending all week in a black-and-white uniform was terribly dull. It was nice to put on some color and do her hair.

Today, the room was buzzing with excitement about the upcoming Christmas-in-June celebrations. The staff were considering their own celebrations before the winter break, and word had it that Miss Zander had given permission for the staff to mingle with the guests at the afternoon Christmas party. Somebody had brought new records—they’d
all tired of Violet’s three—and the music was fast and fun, and Violet hit the dance floor to dance the black bottom, the Saint Louis hop, and the Charleston. Evening was coming. One of the chambermaids had brought along a bag full of cracked glasses from the hotel that were destined to be thrown out, and she went around the room setting them out with candles in them, adding a little flickering light to the interior. A foxtrot came on, and Clive approached her hopefully. She let him take her in his arms, but tried to keep a cool distance between them. It made their steps awkward, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m not supposed to say anything,” Clive confessed, “but I simply must know if Miss Zander has asked you to stay over winter.”

Violet glanced around. Nobody was listening. The music and chatter were loud anyway. “Yes, I am. She didn’t want me to tell anyone, though.”

Clive grinned. “Me, too,” he said. “We’ll both be here.”

“I’ll be glad to have a friend here,” she replied guardedly, knowing he wanted more. Clive was a good man, a kind man. But now she had known feelings of a different order; Clive would never be enough. “I don’t know if Myrtle is staying. I daren’t ask her.”

“Where is Myrtle today?”

“Back at the hotel with a sprained ankle. She slipped in the kitchen this morning. She really is accident prone.”

“I’ll say she is. Why, just last week she . . . Who’s that?”

Violet turned, following the direction of his gaze. Her heart grew hot. It was Sam, standing at the entrance to the house, searching the room with his eyes.

“Isn’t he a hotel guest?” Clive asked.

Sam found her and strode over. The crowd parted, still dancing but eyeing him curiously. Murmurs passed from lips to ears. Sam extended his hand for Violet, not even looking at Clive. “Will you dance with me?”

“I . . .”

Clive tightened his grip on her for a moment, then took note of the expression on Violet’s face and realized he’d been bested. He let her go. “If you want to, Violet. Don’t let me stop you.”

Violet moved swiftly into Sam’s arms, but the foxtrot ran for only another half minute and then they stood for a few moments, still holding each other, gazing at each other, waiting for the next song.

It was a waltz: “It’s Time to Say Goodnight” by Henry Hall. He pressed her to him, his warm hand on the small of her back, and they started to move. The party, the crowd, receded into the distance. There was only her body and Sam’s body, perfectly in time with the music. His good breeding meant he danced like a dream, twirling her and catching her, pulling her back against him. Her feet may as well have been on clouds. Such happiness, such lightness inhabited her. Finally, the last line of the song rang out and silence came. The record had finished, but still they danced, the waltz’s rhythm faultless in their hearts and bodies as they danced from one end of the room to the other and back again, while the crowd parted and stood on the sides watching them.

As if waking from a sleep, Sam blinked rapidly, realizing the music had stopped. He released Violet, picked up her hand, and kissed it once. He leaned close to her ear, whispered two words, then turned and left through the same door he had come. Another record went on, and slowly people began to return to the dance floor. She stood where Sam had left her, and several of the other girls eyed her curiously, jealously. Judging her with their gazes.

Clive joined her. “That’s Samuel Honeychurch-Black, isn’t it? You know him?”

“Only from serving his dinner,” she lied.

Clive looked to the door, then back to Violet. “How very strange for him to turn up here like that.”

Violet cleared her throat, pretending she was anything but deeply affected by dancing with Sam. “Yes. He does seem a little odd. But he’s a very good dancer.”

“Be careful Miss Zander doesn’t hear about this. Fraternizing is—”

“Strictly prohibited. Yes, I know. But everyone saw him come to me. It wouldn’t have been polite to refuse him, given he’s such an important guest.”