Louisa chewed and swallowed. “When you aren’t there, hisattention bounces between us and the door. As soon as you arrive, the bouncing stops. I’ve never seen him do that before.”
The way he looked at her, as if riveted to every word—it was heady. Disconcertingly so. “He’s too charming.”
“Hmm.” Louisa frowned at the sky. “Let me guess, Sebastiaan was charming.”
A chip turned mealy in Aleida’s mouth, and she swallowed. “Quite.”
“Why was he charming? For what purpose?”
“To make people like him. So he could control them. So he could win.”
Nodding joined the frowning. “Why do you think Collie is charming?”
Aleida opened her mouth to say, “The same,” but it didn’t seem right.
“Stumped you?” Louisa gestured to her with a limp chip. “Collie’s charm comes from his utter fascination in people, in their stories, what makes them tick. And he likes them. When someone finds you interesting, you find them interesting too. That is true charm. That’s what people like Sebastiaan fake for their own purposes.”
How could one determine the purpose behind someone’s charm? How could one avoid getting ensnared by a person with cruel motives?
Louisa stared at Aleida’s lap.
She was tapping a chip, tapping it so hard, she’d mashed a hole in it.
“Don’t worry about Collie.” Louisa raised one eyebrow. “He’s seen how you act when Gil asks you out.”
Aleida groaned. “Gil.”
“He isn’t as bad as you think. Decent fellow, just desperate. You’ve seen how he limps, how he never uses his right hand.”
Had she? Aleida hadn’t noticed.
“Cerebral palsy,” Louisa said. “He’s a brilliant young man,works hard, and he’s built a solid career. But he underestimates himself and comes on too strong.”
“I had no idea.” Poor Gil simply faded in Hugh’s bright light.
“He resents Collie’s easy life—high class, money, any job he wants, and everyone likes him. Because he likes everyone, even Gil. Even though Gil can’t stand him. And Gil wants what Collie has. Now Collie is sweet on you, so Gil wants to win you first.”
Aleida’s eyes were drying, and she reminded herself to blink. “You know all this?”
Louisa flipped her hand over her shoulder and raised a beatific smile. “Child, I’m a writer. I know all things. Some say I guess all things. Some say I fabricate. I prefer ‘know.’”
“I... I know nothing.”
“That, my child.” Louisa thrust a chip rather too close to Aleida’s face. “That humility is part of your charm. That and your directness are why all the golden goodness of Hugh Collingwood focuses squarely on you.”
If only it didn’t.
10
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER6, 1940
In Hugh’s study at the townhouse, Lennox batted at the type bars stamping the page.
Hugh untangled theMand theN. “Whatever did I do before you became my editor?”
Since Uncle Elliott’s handwriting was as atrocious as Hugh’s, he was typing up his uncle’s list of institutions that worked with children and adding addresses.
Lennox sat on the open telephone book and wrapped his gray tail around his white-tipped feet.
