“You don’t have to apologize,” Leo said, brushing her hair off her face with gentle fingers. “It’s been a hell of a week. Sometimes, I guess, that’s just how it goes.”
There was an edge to his voice, something quiet and resigned, and she saw it in his eyes, too, when she looked up at him. He gave her a sad smile as he shrugged. They both knew he wasn’t just talking about her tears.
“You should probably go talk to her, right?” he suggested, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket. “She owes you an explanation.”
“Yeah,” Vivian agreed. “One hell of an explanation. Do you…” She bit her lip, then carefully asked, “Do you want to come?”
“Do you want me to?”
Vivian wanted to say yes, for his sake. But she shook her head. “That’s probably a talk we should have alone.”
Leo let out a slow breath and nodded. “Seems fair. Why don’t you go see if there’s any hot water in the washroom? And when you’re done, I’ll head downstairs and whistle up a cab?”
“Thanks,” Vivian said quietly. “I’d appreciate that.”
He shrugged. “Feels like the least I can do.”
She caught his hand when he would have stepped past her, holding it tightly until he turned to look at her. “You okay, Leo?”
“Yeah,” he said at last. “Like I said, it’s been a hell of a week. But I’ll be fine.” For a moment, she thought he would kiss her. But he only squeezed her hand in return. “You will be too, Viv. I promise.”
The Nightingale’s front door was locked when she finally made it there. It was a long time until business hours, but Vivian knew that this was when Danny was usually taking deliveries and doing inventory. She headed down to the cellar door.
But the newest bartender was the one there unloading crates, helped—or, more likely, supervised—by Benny. “Where’s Danny?” she demanded from the doorway, suddenly worried.
Benny had clearly heard her coming; he nodded but kept his focus on his work, shoulders straining against his shirt as he hefted two crates at the same time. But the bartender jumped, knocking one of the shelves and nearly sending several bottles toppling to the floor.
“Careful,” Vivian said, grabbing his arm. “Everything okay?”
“Everything except you nearly giving me a heart attack,” he grumbled. “Danny’s at home, far as I know. Why?”
Of course. Of course Danny would be home with Florence today. Vivian swallowed. She needed to go see her sister. But first, Honor.
“Just curious, is all,” she said. “I’m looking for Honor, is she around?”
“Haven’t seen her,” the bartender grumbled.
Benny, though, frowned as he set down his crates. He rubbed his palms together as he straightened up. “Saw her going upstairs when I arrived. She didn’t…” He picked up a crowbar and began to lever the crate open so the bartender could unload bottles of gin. When he spoke again, it sounded as though he was choosing his words carefully. “She looked like she had something on her mind. Dunno if she wants to be interrupted.”
“Thanks, Benny.” Vivian didn’t much care what Honor wanted just then, but she wasn’t dumb enough to say that out loud. “I’ll take my chances.” About to head upstairs, she paused, glancing into the crate of gin. “There’s only twelve bottles in there.”
That earned her another scowl from the bartender. “So?”
“Usually they send fifteen,” she said a little impatiently. “You should check it with Honor.”
He shrugged. “They might’ve just changed their shipment size. Happens all the time.”
“Sure. But if they did it without telling her, and she still paid for fifteen, she’ll want to have words with the fella.”
“I thought I was the one doing inventory here,” he grumbled, but Vivian was already gone. She didn’t have time to stick around and soothe his ego.
She paused at the top of the steps, closing the door behind her and taking in the quiet dance hall. Most of the lights were off, and the rooms were silent and empty, as though they were holding their breath.
The stairs were dark, and Honor’s office was locked. But the second door on the landing was open. Vivian closed it behind her and climbed slowly to the third floor, taking in the transformation from the Nightingale to Honor’s home. There were new prints on the wall since the last time she’d been there. A pair of shoes, still wet from the rain, left by the closed door.
Vivian took a deep breath and knocked. “It’s me,” she called softly.
The Honor that opened the door wasn’t one she had ever seen before. She was used to Honor in control, white shirts starched and trousers pressed. She had seen Honor hinting at seduction, barefoot and taunting, wrapped in a silk robe and likely nothing else. Makeup and hair always perfect, lips curving in a scarlet smile that was her defense against the world.
