"Content?"
"For her social media channels, apparently. She's some sort of… influencer? Is that the right word? She has very strongopinions about our 'aesthetic' and has been photographing everything since she arrived."
Victoria's childhood bedroom was exactly as she'd left it at Christmas: perfectly pressed linens, her favorite books arranged on the bedside table, and the windows thrown open in a futile attempt to create a cross-breeze. She set her laptop bag on the dressing table and began unpacking with methodical efficiency.
"And how is everyone else?" she asked, hanging her dresses in the wardrobe.
"Your father disappeared into his greenhouse the moment we arrived and has been communing with his orchids ever since. Sophie's being mysterious, as usual. Disappearing for hours and being evasive when I ask what she's been up to. I suspect she's found some project to occupy herself with." Her mother perched on the edge of the bed, watching Victoria arrange her toiletries. "Your grandmother is in fine form, making observations about everything from modern manners to the decline of proper conversation."
"And Ambrose? You mentioned he was bringing someone?"
"So he says." Lady Charlotte sighed.
Victoria paused in her unpacking. A girlfriend. Ambrose was up to something. She wondered just what it was.
"How are things at work, darling?" her mother asked, and Victoria felt the familiar clench of anxiety in her stomach. "You have been sounding rather stressed."
"Just busy. You know how it is in banking. Always some crisis or other to manage." The lie came easily, polished smooth from repetition. "Nothing I can't handle."
"I do worry that you work too hard. When was the last time you took a proper holiday? Or went on a date, for that matter?"
Victoria made noncommittal sounds while folding her clothes.
A crash from somewhere downstairs interrupted her mother's gentle interrogation, followed by what sounded like someone apologizing profusely about "the lighting being all wrong."
"I'd better go and see what's happened," Lady Charlotte said with a sigh. "Tiffany wanted to take some photos in the morning room, and I suspect she may have rearranged the furniture. Again."
Victoria was left alone with her unpacking and her rapidly spiraling thoughts. Through her open window, she could see her father's greenhouse in the distance, a small beacon of sanity in what was clearly shaping up to be a chaotic family gathering. She envied him his retreat, his ability to disappear into his plants and ignore the rest of the world.
Her phone buzzed: her mother, calling from downstairs.
"Darling, I'm afraid there's been a slight change of plans. Ambrose has just called, he and his friend have been delayed. Train trouble, apparently. They won't arrive until quite late, possibly not until after ten."
Victoria felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. She was rather curious about what her brother might be up to. "Is everything alright?"
"Oh, you know what the trains are like in this heat. I'm sure they'll sort it out. But it does mean we'll have dinner without them. Are you ready to come down? Your grandmother is particularly eager to hear about your promotion."
Victoria's stomach dropped. "My what?"
"The promotion you mentioned when we spoke last month? Senior Vice President, wasn't it?"
Victoria closed her eyes, remembering the conversation. She'd been so confident then, so sure that her career trajectory was safely upward. The promotion had seemed inevitable, a natural next step in her carefully planned ascent.
"Right. Yes, of course."
Victoria ended the call and sat on the edge of her bed.
She'd been performing the role of perfect daughter for thirty-one years. She could manage another few hours.
Through her window, she could hear Archie's voice drifting up from the terrace, along with higher-pitched laughter that must belong to the infamous Tiffany. The evening air was still thick with heat, heavy with the promise of another scorching day tomorrow.
She sighed. Tomorrow, when Ambrose arrived with his mysterious girlfriend, things would probably get even more complicated. But tonight, she just had to get through dinner, and then she could retreat to her room and pretend, for a few hours, that she was still the successful daughter everyone expected her to be.
The sound of her grandmother's voice carried up the stairs, holding forth on something with the sort of crisp authority that had been intimidating people for decades, and Victoria took a deep breath and went down to play her part.
Chapter Four
The taxi that finally delivered them to the Sullivan estate smelled of stale cigarettes and regret, which seemed fitting given that they were arriving at nearly half past eleven after what Sasha was now thinking of as The Great Train Disaster. The heat had barely lessened with the evening, hanging in the air like a wet blanket, and she could feel her carefully chosen "meet the posh family" outfit clinging to her uncomfortably.
