Page 7 of The Last Night in London
“Precious says the light is more flattering to her complexion,” Arabella whispered.
“I can hear you, you know” came a soft Southern voice from an upholstered chaise beneath a large bay window. Her words dripped like melted butter, the familiar accent an unexpected tug on my heart, making me homesick.
Laura pulled open the drapes, exposing a small balcony railing outside the French doors and illuminating an open doorway into an adjacent bedroom behind the chaise. Colin placed the tray down on a small table, and Laura excused herself.
I tried not to stare at the woman on the chaise, but then I imagined she was used to being the focal point of any room. She wore a long peach silk robe with floating feathers around the neck and peach satin kitten-heeled slippers on her slender feet, her ankles currently crossed. Thick blond hair in perfect waves rested on her shoulders, making me wonder if she wore a wig like my aunt Lucinda, who placed hers on a plastic head on her dresser each night.
She had the same high cheekbones as the woman in the photograph in the hallway, the same patrician nose and jaw, the angles of her face still sharp. Yet she was slighter, too, all extra skin and tissue jettisoned, as if she’d paid a balance due each year, leaving behind a woman who at first glance appeared diminished.
Or not. Maybe if I’d seen her first with her eyes closed, I would have believed that. But her eyes weren’t the eyes of an old woman nearing the end of her life. Her pale blue eyes were like those of a cat perched on a ledge, deciding between the approaching stranger and a leap into oblivion.
“Good morning, Aunt Precious,” Arabella said as she leaned down to kiss the old woman’s lifted cheek.
This was definitely the woman in the photograph stepping out of the car. Even at her age, her bone structure and poise, the long limbs and elegant neck, the near-perfect alabaster skin still made her abeautiful woman. I recalled a book I’d read in high school lit class about a man who’d sold his soul to the devil so that he would have eternal youth. I’d never believed such a thing was possible. But now, looking into those eyes, I almost believed it was.
“Hello, Nana.” Colin bent to kiss the offered cheek, and when he went to straighten up, Precious took his hand and held tight.
“Sit next to me,” she said. “So I can get a good look at you.”
“Of course,” he said. “But allow me to introduce you to the journalist who will be interviewing you for theVoguearticle.”
“I’m Madison Warner,” I said. “My friends call me Maddie.” I reached out my hand, and she dropped Colin’s so she could place soft fingertips in mine, much like I imagined the queen did when meeting her subjects.
Precious peered at me closely. I wondered if she didn’t wear glasses out of vanity, or if she didn’t need them. “It’s such apleasure,” she drawled, her voice lingering over syllables the short word wasn’t meant to have. I wanted to let go of her hand, but she kept looking at me.
“Arabella tells me we’re kin.”
She hadn’t indicated that I should sit, and Colin wouldn’t sit until Arabella and I did, so we remained standing awkwardly. “We are. Arabella and I found out by accident when we were at Oxford. My sister had sent me a copy of our ancestry chart, and Arabella saw it and recognized your name. That’s how I learned that you’d been a model before and after the war.”
She continued to examine me closely, and I had to resist the impulse to squirm. Standing this close, I could see the ashen pallor beneath the makeup on her face, could feel the brittle, birdlike bones of her hand. It reminded me too much of my mother, and I wanted to jerk away. But she continued to hold on tightly, her eyes studying my face.
She let go of my hand. “I’m a very good observer of people, and if I had to guess, I’d say you have your own story to tell. I see it in your eyes.” Precious didn’t wait for me to respond. “I’ve changed my mind. Maddie, please sit next to me. Colin, why don’t you andArabella take your tea in the drawing room while I get to know Maddie better.” She didn’t bother with an inflection at the end of her sentence; it hadn’t been a question.
“Of course,” Arabella said brightly. “I need to get back to work anyway. My phone has been blowing up with texts.” She leaned over and gave Precious a peck on the cheek. Colin moved the iced tea glasses to the table, then removed the tray. With a quick glance in my direction, he followed Arabella from the room.
I suddenly felt as if I’d been thrown from the side of a boat without a life preserver. I bumped into the small table as I maneuvered my legs beneath it, feeling like Alice in Wonderland as I overshadowed not only the table but the chaise, too. I wondered how Colin would have managed it.
“I’m glad you’re here to write about the clothes and not about me. I don’t like to talk about my past,” Precious said without preamble. She reached for her iced tea glass, her hand shaking slightly. I somehow knew better than to offer assistance. “Although I suppose it’s about time. Everybody tells me I’m dying, so I figure I’d better pay attention and tell my story to someone before it’s too late. Maybe I’ve just been waiting for the right person to tell it to.”
She leaned close, studying me intently. “I do believe I see the family resemblance.” Her voice was more breath than words, the effect almost wistful. As if she wished that her words were true. Precious sat back. “Perhaps that’s why Arabella thought we might get along like biscuits and gravy.”
I watched as she brought the glass to her lips and took a small sip. I picked up my own iced tea and did the same, trying not to shudder at the blandness and avoiding a small clump of undissolved sugar. Our eyes met with silent understanding. Precious stared into her glass at the sugar clumps floating at the top like little icebergs. “Poor Laura—she’s so kind to make sweet tea, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that she’s doing it wrong.” She grimaced as she replaced the glass on the table, looking relieved either because she’d managed a sip or because she hadn’t dropped the glass.
“One thing you should know about me is that I’m very good atnoticing details about people. Why does Colin call you Madison if your friends call you Maddie?”
I considered evading the truth, but knew that her sharp gaze missed nothing. If I wanted her to be frank and open with me, I needed to do the same. “Because we aren’t really friends.”
She raised an elegant eyebrow. “And why is that?”
I felt her discerning gaze upon me again, seeing the truth behind my smile. I took a deep breath. “Because I dated some of his friends.”
She frowned. “Did Colin never ask you for a date?”
“Actually, he did. We even went out once.”
She didn’t say anything but continued to look at me as if waiting for me to say more. I sighed, deciding to be candid. “We had a great time. That’s when I realized that Colin is the kind of guy a girl could really fall for. In a permanent way. So I never went out with him again even though he asked. More than once. With his buddies, there was no danger of anything permanent.”
She was quiet for a moment—digesting my answer, I supposed. “And now?” she asked. “Do you still only date temporary men?”
