to Vera. His face was all angles, like his paintings, but with a loose, friendly grin that softened his features. His eyes were striking, the color of heaven in a children’s illustrated Bible, all faded blue-green and glorious. She could have inspected them as she inspected the paintings on her wall, each little glint and shift in shade. She caught herself and looked away.
“Hello, Mrs. Bellington. Pleased to meet you.” He held out a hand, and she hesitated. She could not politely refuse such a gesture, but that same phantom grip that had pulled on her shoulder before held her back.
“How do you do?” she said, forcing her hand forward. He gripped it, and her cheeks grew warm. She gestured to the car, ready to go home and be done with the pleasantries. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get you to your apartment, so you can settle in.”
“How was your journey?” Ida asked as she and Vera climbed into the backseat.
Hallan took the seat up front by the driver. “There was a bit of rough weather on the third and fourth days, but otherwise it was lovely. It’s a beautiful ship. And the food was wonderful.”
“So glad you enjoyed it,” Ida said. “You know, Clarence and I were thinking of taking a trip on the
Leviathan
next spring. I do love Europe in the spring. Don’t you, Vera?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Just lovely.” Vera looked out the window.
Ida chatted with Hallan the whole way, occasionally pulling Vera into the conversation for a word or two. She concentrated on listening, trying to place his accent. He had a clipped British accent, very posh, that sounded to Vera like the ones she had heard among the better families of London. Nothing of the aristocracy, but certainly something one would hear at a fine restaurant, and not from a waiter. Every once in a while a hint of something else would creep in at the back of his throat, a sort of hard, brushed sound, like something scraping metal. But it was fleeting and always disappeared before Vera could identify it.
A week or two had passed since Vera had exploded with questions at Bea’s declaration that she would somehow be delivering boys. Uncharacteristically stoic, Bea had refused to answer, saying only that Vera should be on her guard. Despite this warning, Vera hadn’t thought to be on guard as she slept in her bed.
The doorknob turned, and the sudden click woke Vera. She sat up. The stream of thought that blared through the fuzziness of sleep said there must be an emergency in the building. But Bea, not the dorm matron, appeared in the crack of light from the hall. She slipped into the room, fully dressed, and crept to Vera’s bed. A tingle of relief ran down Vera’s spine.
“Goodness, I thought the building was burning down,” Vera said. “What on earth are you doing?”
Bea’s cheeks were flushed, and her breath carried a faint sting. “Get dressed. We’re going out. Oh, and do something with your hair.”
“My hair? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s not really the middle, more like the beginning. You go to bed earlier than my grandmother.” Bea opened the wardrobe and began to paw through the skirts inside. She pulled out a royal blue one. “Ooh, this one is killing.”
Vera rubbed her eyes and slung her legs out from under the quilt. “Don’t use slang.”
“Listen to you. Even half asleep, you’re still a walking rule book. Here, let me pin your hair. Oh, and have a sip of this.” Bea pulled a flask from her purse and held it out to Vera.
Vera reached for the flask, and warmth hummed through her chest before she even took a drink. Her mind grew sharp, now she was wildly awake. “Where are we going?”
“To meet the boys, of course. I promised you boys. I deliver on my promises.” Bea fished combs out of the box on the dresser and started arranging them in Vera’s hair. “It’s my cousin—he goes to Yale—and a few of his pals from the rowing team. You’ll like them.”
Vera laughed nervously. “My
“Hello, Mrs. Bellington. Pleased to meet you.” He held out a hand, and she hesitated. She could not politely refuse such a gesture, but that same phantom grip that had pulled on her shoulder before held her back.
“How do you do?” she said, forcing her hand forward. He gripped it, and her cheeks grew warm. She gestured to the car, ready to go home and be done with the pleasantries. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get you to your apartment, so you can settle in.”
“How was your journey?” Ida asked as she and Vera climbed into the backseat.
Hallan took the seat up front by the driver. “There was a bit of rough weather on the third and fourth days, but otherwise it was lovely. It’s a beautiful ship. And the food was wonderful.”
“So glad you enjoyed it,” Ida said. “You know, Clarence and I were thinking of taking a trip on the
Leviathan
next spring. I do love Europe in the spring. Don’t you, Vera?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Just lovely.” Vera looked out the window.
Ida chatted with Hallan the whole way, occasionally pulling Vera into the conversation for a word or two. She concentrated on listening, trying to place his accent. He had a clipped British accent, very posh, that sounded to Vera like the ones she had heard among the better families of London. Nothing of the aristocracy, but certainly something one would hear at a fine restaurant, and not from a waiter. Every once in a while a hint of something else would creep in at the back of his throat, a sort of hard, brushed sound, like something scraping metal. But it was fleeting and always disappeared before Vera could identify it.
A week or two had passed since Vera had exploded with questions at Bea’s declaration that she would somehow be delivering boys. Uncharacteristically stoic, Bea had refused to answer, saying only that Vera should be on her guard. Despite this warning, Vera hadn’t thought to be on guard as she slept in her bed.
The doorknob turned, and the sudden click woke Vera. She sat up. The stream of thought that blared through the fuzziness of sleep said there must be an emergency in the building. But Bea, not the dorm matron, appeared in the crack of light from the hall. She slipped into the room, fully dressed, and crept to Vera’s bed. A tingle of relief ran down Vera’s spine.
“Goodness, I thought the building was burning down,” Vera said. “What on earth are you doing?”
Bea’s cheeks were flushed, and her breath carried a faint sting. “Get dressed. We’re going out. Oh, and do something with your hair.”
“My hair? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s not really the middle, more like the beginning. You go to bed earlier than my grandmother.” Bea opened the wardrobe and began to paw through the skirts inside. She pulled out a royal blue one. “Ooh, this one is killing.”
Vera rubbed her eyes and slung her legs out from under the quilt. “Don’t use slang.”
“Listen to you. Even half asleep, you’re still a walking rule book. Here, let me pin your hair. Oh, and have a sip of this.” Bea pulled a flask from her purse and held it out to Vera.
Vera reached for the flask, and warmth hummed through her chest before she even took a drink. Her mind grew sharp, now she was wildly awake. “Where are we going?”
“To meet the boys, of course. I promised you boys. I deliver on my promises.” Bea fished combs out of the box on the dresser and started arranging them in Vera’s hair. “It’s my cousin—he goes to Yale—and a few of his pals from the rowing team. You’ll like them.”
Vera laughed nervously. “My
Similar Books
