‘Mama,’ Ursa says. ‘Why are you so cross?’
Mama pinches the bridge of her nose and Uncle Thomas leans over to whisper something in her ear.
What’s got into your dad?Marquis mouths.
Two bottles of wine,I want to say. The flame of excitement I felt has been doused and is replaced by a simmering rage. I glare at my father. My one chance to show Dr Hollingsworth my translations is lost.
‘CanIgo to the smoking room?’ Ursa pipes up.
Marquis and I look at each other. We don’t have a smoking room.
So where has Rita Hollingsworth gone?
Dad tries to pull Mama into his lap, but she pushes him away.
‘I’m sorry, Helina …’ he begins.
I snatch up my portfolio and slip out of the door.
The foyer is silent except for the ticking of the grandfatherclock. Down the hallway is a small sitting room and my parents’ study. Could either of those count as a smoking room? I move quietly towards them, my mind still reeling. What possessed Dad to speak in a way that almost made him sound like he’sagainstthe Class System? The door to the study is ajar and faint lamplight shines through the gap. I rearrange my features into another smile and push the door open.
‘I’m sorry for my father’s loose tongue, Doctor Hollingsworth.’
She is sitting at Dad’s desk, a cigarette smoking in the ashtray. Two of the drawers are open. She looks up without so much as flinching.
‘Wine makes the best of us argumentative, Vivien,’ she says indulgently. She waves a small silver box at me. ‘Cigarette?’
‘I don’t smoke,’ I say.
‘You will one day if you ever have a career like mine.’
I seize my chance. ‘Doctor Hollingsworth, would you consider me for your summer apprenticeship programme?’ I slide my portfolio across the desk. ‘Here’s all my best work, as well as a letter of recommendation from one of my professors.’
She looks at me thoughtfully, smoke escaping from her mouth and nose.
‘Do you wish to become an academic like your parents?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I want to be a translator. I want to discover new dragon languages. Like you.’
The brilliant light in Rita Hollingsworth’s eyes shines brighter.
‘I’ve heard positive things about you,’ she says. ‘You’re exactly the type of student I’m looking to recruit.’
My heart skips a beat. ‘It would be an honour—’
There’s a loud crash, followed by the sound of breaking glass. I spin round. Has Dad knocked something over? I move towards the door, but Hollingsworth catches me by the sleeve.
‘I see a bright future for you, Vivien. But to reach it you may have to look in unexpected places.’
I search her face, trying to understand what she means. Among the powdered wrinkles and red lipstick is a look of knowing. My eyes fall on the telephone. It’s off the hook.
Mama screams.
‘Guardians of Peace!’ bellows a voice. ‘You’re under arrest!’
The world slows. I stare at Rita Hollingsworth and at the piece of paper she has just pulled from Dad’s desk drawer. Realisation drops into my mind with a clunk.
‘You didn’t come to hear my mother’s theories, did you?’
