She wanted to help her sister, but she had agreed to Honor’s favor long before that. Was it because of the money she owed or because she didn’t want to say no when Honor smiled at her? Did she love the Nightingale because she felt at home there or because she couldn’t stop fighting against the narrow prison of the life she had been born into?
Florence shook her head, her eyes on her magazine once more. “Those aren’t what worry me, Vivian. And you know it.”
There was nothing to say, so Vivian didn’t try. She thought of the gun, wondered where it had come from and whether it was still there. One of these days, Florence would bend so far that she ended up breaking. Vivian wondered how much of the blame would fall on the world they lived in and how much of it would fall on her.
TWENTY-FOUR
It was too early for the speakeasy to be open when Vivian arrived at the Nightingale, but this time Silence only gave her a quick once-over before he sighed and stood aside.
“Evening, fella,” Vivian said jauntily. She took a deep breath as she stepped inside, the air alive with the memory of smoke and Shalimar and wild joy. She pushed Florence to the back of her mind. “Honor around yet?”
Silence shrugged, and Vivian shrugged in reply, mimicking his stoic scowl until it almost cracked into a smile. “Bandstand,” he grunted at last.
Vivian savored the victory as she blew him a kiss and went in.
Honor was arguing with the band leader over the set list, while Danny and several other employees ferried liquor from the cellar in preparation for the night. Vivian smiled, remembering Mr. Lawrence’s approving assessment of the Nightingale’s bar, as she went to a nearby table and waited for Honor to notice her.
It didn’t take long.
“I’m not objecting to a waltz,” Honor was saying. “I know we needsomething slower after the quickstep unless we want everyone to drop dead before midnight. I’m just not sold on this one. It’s too dreary. I’m running a jazz club, not a funeral parlor.”
“Folks seem to like it, and you’re not the one out there on the floor,” the band leader countered. “Why not try dancing to it and see what you think?”
Honor sighed. “I suppose that’s fair. What do you say, Vivian?” she asked without turning around. “Care for a waltz?”
Vivian jumped at the sound of her name. She hesitated, then, as Honor glanced over her shoulder, nodded. “Sure thing. Though I warn you, I’m not a girl who loves a waltz, so I’m not going to be the best judge.”
“Perfect. We need an unbiased opinion here.” Honor held out her hand. “Hope you don’t mind me leading?”
Vivian shook her head, not trusting her voice to push any words past the knot of excitement in her chest. Honor had asked her to dance more than once, but this was the first time she had said yes. As the first melancholy notes filled the dance hall, she took Honor’s hand and allowed herself to be drawn close.
Like all the best leads, Honor barely used her hands or arms to direct the dance. Instead, she moved them with her whole body. Vivian followed without needing to think about it, their path tracing a slow, beautiful sweep around the dance floor. Honor wore perfume, she discovered, a heady mix of vanilla and spice that hovered around her wrists and collarbone.
She had thought it would be awkward, dancing together for the first time and her unable to hide her thoughts in the darkness of a crowded dance floor. She knew that the entire band and every employee currently hovering around the bar was watching. But when Honor smiled, it wasn’t her normal sultry, taunting expression. Instead, she looked happy, relaxed in a way that she usually couldn’t be. Vivian found herself relaxing too.
“You like to waltz,” she said. It wasn’t a question. No one could move with that kind of easy joy unless they loved it.
Honor nodded. “It’s my favorite dance,” she agreed. Then, pursing her lips in self-mockery, “Don’t tell anyone I’m a sappy romantic.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.”
She had meant it to be teasing, and the serious look that she received in response caught her off guard.
“Are they?” Honor murmured. “I sure hope so.” Changing the subject abruptly, she asked, “How are things with your Mr. Green?”
“You want to talk about Leo while I’m dancing with you?” Vivian asked, flustered enough to lose her footing for a full count of the music before Honor got them back into the rhythm. “He’s not my Mr. Green.”
“Whatever you say,” Honor said, an edge of laughter undercutting her placating tone. “I never mind a little competition, you know. But if you like we can talk about something else. Have you learned anything interesting since we last talked?”
Vivian snorted. “Too much. Seems like he ran around on his wife, made passes at everyone from debutantes to shopgirls, gambled, ran bad liquor, got other people to run his ugly errands, and—” Vivian broke off, stumbling to a halt in Honor’s arms as two men on the stairs caught her eye. “And I think those are his errand boys.”
Honor turned sharply, putting herself between Vivian and the front door in a single smooth movement and motioning the band into silence.
Vivian peered over Honor’s shoulder, then whispered urgently, “Those are the two who attacked Danny. And who…” She swallowed. “Who cornered me. The big one’s called Eddie, the other one is Bruiser George.”
“Good to know. Now head to the back of the room, please,” Honor said, her voice perfectly even as she stepped forward. “I’ve got this handled.”
Vivian shrank back, eyes fixed on the two toughs sauntering down the stairs. Honor didn’t flinch as she planted her feet wide, blocking their way forward.
