Page 91 of The Lost Heiress
“He’s tracked us down,” Astrid said brightly. “A regular Sherlock Holmes, this one.”
She set a steaming cup of tea down in front of Charles at the table and sat next to him with one of her own. She was wearing a silk kimono, her hair loose around her shoulders, and she had dark circles under her eyes from the previous night’s opium-induced haze.
“What’re you doing here?” Florence asked.
Charles gave Florence a reassuring smile. “Scarlet was worried sick when your letters stopped,” Charles said. “She phoned RJ, but he was evasive. First, you were always out. Then, you had gone on a trip. It was weeks before he admitted that the two of you had left and he didn’t know where you had gone off to or if you were ever coming back.”
“We’re not,” Astrid said, taking a sip of her tea. “Sit, darling,” Astrid said to Florence. “You’re making me nervous, just hovering by the door like that.”
Florence sank into a chair at the table, her knees weak. “But how did you find us?” Florence asked.
“I came to London myself after RJ admitted that you’d taken off,” Charles said. “I hired a private detective. You rented this place under your real names. It wouldn’t take RJ half a week to find you if he put his mind to it.”
He sounded slightly admonishing when he said this part. Florence couldn’t decide if the censure in his voice was directed at them for running off and hiding or the fact that they hadn’t done it well enough. Or perhaps it was directed at RJ for not putting an ounce of effort into finding them.
“Scarlet was fit to be tied when she heard you’d run off,” Charles said. “The doctor prescribed her bed rest. She refuses to eat.”
“Mother has always loved her theatrics,” Astrid said, sounding exasperated.
“Astrid, this is serious,” Charles said. “Scarlet was devastated not knowing where you were, if you were all right.”
“We’re fine,” Astrid said dismissively. “In fact, we’re better than fine. We’re more fine than we’ve ever been in our entire lives.”
“I can see that,” Charles said, looking around the room.
“Tell her we’re living in a quaint little apartment in Paris,” Astrid said. “I’ve taken up painting. We’ll come home for Christmas if that’ll make her happy. Tell her to eat something.”
Florence looked over at Astrid—how flippantly and casually she had offered for them to fly home and back again for the holiday. Did she not know the cost of two round-trip transcontinental tickets? Did she not grasp the stark reality of their financial situation? They were barely getting by, week to week. They were barely making rent.
“Now, I’m starving,” Astrid said, as if she were bored with the conversation. “I’m going to go rinse off, and then let’s go out. There’s a Peruvian restaurant down the street that you’ll just die for, Charles.” Astrid gathered her towel and her bath caddy and disappeared out the door.
For a moment after she’d gone, Florence and Charles just looked at each other across the table.
“She’s not well,” Charles said.
“I know how it looks, but—it’s because of her foot,” Florence said hurriedly, wanting to reassure him. “It bothers her. It’s the only thing that helps.”
“How did it happen?” Charles asked. “Her injury?”
Florence paused, bit her lip. “When she told RJ that she wouldn’t give up dancing, he told her he’d make it so she couldn’t anymore,” Florence said. “He took a hammer to her foot while the butler held her down.”
A vein flared in Charles’s neck. Florence knew him to be an even-tempered man. She’d never seen him angry before.
“Animal,” Charles said under his breath.
“Please,” Florence said, leaning forward. She set her hand on top of his on the table, imploringly. “Don’t send her back to him, Charles. He’ll kill her.”
Charles thought for a moment. “And I suppose she won’t come home?” Charles asked. “I mean, more than just for the holidays. To stay.”
“That would kill her, too, but in a different way,” Florence said. “I’m not sure which would be worse, in her eyes. She’s happy here, you know.”
Charles looked around the room again. His eyes landed on the single bed. “There’s a sanatorium about a day’s drive from here,” Charles said. “I don’t suppose she’d go?”
Florence shook her head. “I know her too well to ask.”
After their newly found freedom, to go to a place where she didn’t have any—Florence knew that would break Astrid.
“She’s happy here?” Charles asked. “Truly? You both are?”
