Ida Mae paused in the kitchen doorway and feigned a swoon, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “Clive Boston is one of my favorites. I met him at that premier of your daddy’s.” Daddy’s hobby of Hollywood films benefited them all. “What about him for a beau?” Ida Mae wiggled her eyebrows, taking a tall pitcher of golden brown tea from the refrigerator.
“Clive?” Corina curled her lip. “He’s not my type.” Dark-haired, rugby-playing princes were more her speed. “And he’s like, forty-five.”
“Oh I see, a Methuselah, is he? I’ll take forty-five. Shoot, darling, I’ll take fifty-five.” Ida Mae snorted a laugh as she poured Corina a glass of tea and filled bowls with chips and salsa. “Eat up. You’re looking too skinny.”
“I don’t have you to cook for me.” Corina dipped the chips in Ida Mae’s homemade salsa and sighed. Simply heaven.
“Got cookies in the jar too.” The maid set a blue-and-gold ceramic cookie jar on the counter.
Corina lifted the lid, a surprise splash of tears in her eyes. Since she’d been old enough to shove the kitchen stool across the tile floor, she’d found the ceramic blue-and-gold jar full of cookies. But it was a tradition that got lost amid the grieving and coping.
“I decided it was time,” Ida Mae said.
“Does Mama know?” Cookie baking was one of the family traditions she’d discouraged after the funeral.
“She does, but I’ve never seen her eat one. I eat them or carry them over to my family dinners on Sunday. But once, I’m not sure, I thought I heard the lid clanking one afternoon when I was downstairs tending laundry.”
“Wow.” Maybe there was hope for Horatia Del Rey after all.
Ida Mae went to the library door. “Horatia, darling, someone’s here to see you.” The maid sounded more like a kind mother than a lifelong servant.
“Yes, I know,” Mama said, her voice coming from deep inside the light and shadowed library. “I saw you outside talking to Daisy. Corina, what brings you here?”
She saw her? And didn’t come to the door? When Corina and Carlos came home for Christmas their first year of college, Mama had the high school band waiting for them in the front yard.
“Hey, Mama.” Corina washed down her last bite of chips with a sweet swig of tea and moved into the library. The white brick fireplace in the center of the room was where she learned her letters. Where she curled up on winter nights and read her first book,Little House in the Big Woods. “I’m leaving for Brighton tomorrow. I came to get a few things.”
“I see.” Mama looked beautiful, as always, impeccably dressed in her silk blouse, linen skirt, and string of pearls resting at the base of her throat. Any other time she might think Mama was on her way to a luncheon or returning from a charity meeting.
But her gaunt cheeks accented by the dark circles under her eyes told a different story.
“How’s Daddy?”
“Off to Birmingham. Overseeing the construction of a new golf course.”
“Good for him.” As chairman of the Del Rey family fortune, Daddy mostly managed investments and sat on the board of a dozen companies. But when she and Carlos were teens, he developed a passion for designing and building golf courses.
“There’s another one after this one.” Mama sighed, smoothed her skirt, and sat in the Queen Anne-Marie chair she’d inherited from Corina’s great-great-grandmother Thurman. “What’s in Brighton?”
“A movie premier. Gigi received an invitation from the palace and decided to send me in her place.” Corina inched farther into the room, as if Mama’s question gave her permission to do so. Leaning against the couch, she ran her hands over the wool-and-silk upholstery. “Clive Boston is the star, and I’m supposed to interview him. But he’s notorious for not showing up.”
“Oh? Give Clive my regards.”
“Mama, say, why don’t you come?” On the spot. Spur of the moment. Itfeltlike a good idea. She’d have to figure out how to explain Stephen, but details, details. “I’m staying at The Wellington.”
Mama laughed. “Goodness no. What would I do in Brighton?”
“What you used to do in Brighton. Shop. Go down to the shore. Walk the art festival. Have tea with Lady Hutton. Take in a rugby match.”Be with me, your daughter.
Mama picked up her book. “I don’t need to shop. I’ve got more clothes than I can possibly wear. I’ve no need for art and I’ve not talked to Lady Hutton in . . .” Her voice faded. “I’m fine right here.”
“Don’t you want to—”
“Corina,” Mama said with a sharp sigh and warning glance.Don’t push.
“I’m going up to my room. I need my passport and the Diamatia. I want to wear it to the premier.”
Mama swept imaginary lint from her skirt. “Ida Mae, Corina came for her passport.”
