Read Online A Desperate Fortune by Susanna Kearsley - Free Book Online
Authors: Susanna Kearsley
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She hadn’t asked me anything of consequence since we’d come down—no questions about ciphers, or my background, or my training—and there’d been no mention of the diary of Mary Dundas. Instead we’d talked of very minor things: the weather, and our flight from London, and the color of my skirt. I wasn’t sure what purpose this discussion had, and having spent the whole day planning how I could impress her, I was thrown a bit off balance now by being given no real chance to do so.
Jacqui kept the conversation going with, “That’s new.”
She nodded at Claudine’s piano. I’d admired it silently when we had first come in—an older upright, inlaid handsomely and gleaming in the lamplight.
“It wasn’t here,” said Jacqui, “when I visited before.”
“It was in the house, but not this room,” Claudine corrected her. “It was half-buried by the papers in my study, but Denise’s son takes lessons now and so we moved it here, where he could practice.”
Jacqui smiled. “He’s quite the little entertainer, that one. It was magic tricks when I was here in June.” My cousin had a soft spot when it came to children, and it showed in her tone as she said, “Sara, darling, be prepared. He likes to have an audience.”
Claudine agreed. “But now for his school holidays he’s gone to have a visit with Denise’s parents. So our days are quiet.”
I was privately relieved. I didn’t dislike children, but being around them made me feel tense and uncomfortable. They were so unpredictable, bundles of energy, frequently loud and demanding attention—and often affection—in ways that I just couldn’t give them. If Denise’s son was looking for an audience, he’d find me disappointing.
And Claudine would, too, unless I found a way to copy Jacqui’s easy way with small talk.
“Surely that’s new,” she was saying to Claudine, her gaze having moved to the painting above the piano, a street scene in winter. “You had a man’s portrait hanging there, before.”
“Yes, it is new.” Claudine smiled. “You have a good memory. The man in the portrait had eyes I wasn’t fond of. They would follow me. I sold him and bought this instead.” She lifted her sherry glass. “There are two more things I’ve changed in this room. Two more things that are new. Can you find them?”
A strange sort of challenge, I thought, till I noticed my cousin was smiling in her turn, and realized that it was a game. Not a game I could play, as I hadn’t been here before, but Jacqui’s keen gaze was already sweeping the salon expectantly.
“There,” she said finally. “The tapestried chair by the fireplace. That’s new.”
“Yes, and what else?”
Jacqui kept up her visual search of the room, but she seemed to be having more trouble with this final item, whatever it was.
Claudine asked her, “Give up?”
“No. Hang on, I’m still looking. I’ll find it. I—”
Her words were interrupted by the sound of the back door into the kitchen being opened and then closed again, while someone stepped into the house. A man’s voice called in French, “It’s only me.”
Claudine half turned. “Luc?” Speaking French herself, she told him, “Come and meet our guests.”
Still from the kitchen, he called, “That’s all right, I just came for my keys. I dropped my own set in the lane and I can’t find them, it’s too dark. I need the spare set from Denise. Is she not here?”
“If she’s not in the kitchen,” Claudine said, “she’ll only be upstairs a moment. Come and meet our guests.”
His voice was deep. Attractive. “I’m in no condition to meet guests. I’ve just got back. I need a shower.”
“Nonsense. You’ll look fine. Come, have a drink with us.”
He came through from the kitchen to the dining room and strode towards us, and my curiosity became a kind of self-conscious confusion.
He was beautiful. There was no other word for it. He wasn’t hugely tall, just average
She hadn’t asked me anything of consequence since we’d come down—no questions about ciphers, or my background, or my training—and there’d been no mention of the diary of Mary Dundas. Instead we’d talked of very minor things: the weather, and our flight from London, and the color of my skirt. I wasn’t sure what purpose this discussion had, and having spent the whole day planning how I could impress her, I was thrown a bit off balance now by being given no real chance to do so.
Jacqui kept the conversation going with, “That’s new.”
She nodded at Claudine’s piano. I’d admired it silently when we had first come in—an older upright, inlaid handsomely and gleaming in the lamplight.
“It wasn’t here,” said Jacqui, “when I visited before.”
“It was in the house, but not this room,” Claudine corrected her. “It was half-buried by the papers in my study, but Denise’s son takes lessons now and so we moved it here, where he could practice.”
Jacqui smiled. “He’s quite the little entertainer, that one. It was magic tricks when I was here in June.” My cousin had a soft spot when it came to children, and it showed in her tone as she said, “Sara, darling, be prepared. He likes to have an audience.”
Claudine agreed. “But now for his school holidays he’s gone to have a visit with Denise’s parents. So our days are quiet.”
I was privately relieved. I didn’t dislike children, but being around them made me feel tense and uncomfortable. They were so unpredictable, bundles of energy, frequently loud and demanding attention—and often affection—in ways that I just couldn’t give them. If Denise’s son was looking for an audience, he’d find me disappointing.
And Claudine would, too, unless I found a way to copy Jacqui’s easy way with small talk.
“Surely that’s new,” she was saying to Claudine, her gaze having moved to the painting above the piano, a street scene in winter. “You had a man’s portrait hanging there, before.”
“Yes, it is new.” Claudine smiled. “You have a good memory. The man in the portrait had eyes I wasn’t fond of. They would follow me. I sold him and bought this instead.” She lifted her sherry glass. “There are two more things I’ve changed in this room. Two more things that are new. Can you find them?”
A strange sort of challenge, I thought, till I noticed my cousin was smiling in her turn, and realized that it was a game. Not a game I could play, as I hadn’t been here before, but Jacqui’s keen gaze was already sweeping the salon expectantly.
“There,” she said finally. “The tapestried chair by the fireplace. That’s new.”
“Yes, and what else?”
Jacqui kept up her visual search of the room, but she seemed to be having more trouble with this final item, whatever it was.
Claudine asked her, “Give up?”
“No. Hang on, I’m still looking. I’ll find it. I—”
Her words were interrupted by the sound of the back door into the kitchen being opened and then closed again, while someone stepped into the house. A man’s voice called in French, “It’s only me.”
Claudine half turned. “Luc?” Speaking French herself, she told him, “Come and meet our guests.”
Still from the kitchen, he called, “That’s all right, I just came for my keys. I dropped my own set in the lane and I can’t find them, it’s too dark. I need the spare set from Denise. Is she not here?”
“If she’s not in the kitchen,” Claudine said, “she’ll only be upstairs a moment. Come and meet our guests.”
His voice was deep. Attractive. “I’m in no condition to meet guests. I’ve just got back. I need a shower.”
“Nonsense. You’ll look fine. Come, have a drink with us.”
He came through from the kitchen to the dining room and strode towards us, and my curiosity became a kind of self-conscious confusion.
He was beautiful. There was no other word for it. He wasn’t hugely tall, just average
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