This time he didn’t even look at her. “Brothers.”
“Brothers?” Vivian tried not to frown. One-word answers weren’t going to get her anywhere. “You two don’t look much alike. Well, aside from both being twice my size and very handsome,” she teased, relieved to see him crack a small smile. It was barely there, just a slight lift at one corner of his mouth, but it was progress.
“Different mothers.” He said it simply, but Vivian could guess that there was a whole story there.
That was usually the case with people who found their way to places like the Nightingale. No one was ever as simple or straightforward as they seemed. Part of her itched to find out more, but just then the bartender slid two glasses her way, each a pretty, fizzy mix of champagne and gin. Vivian caught them both, blowing him a kiss as he returned to work, before turning and handing one to Silence.
It was comically small in his bear-paw of a hand, and Vivian had to bite her lip to hold back a smile. “Well, cheers, pal,” she said, raising her glass. “Shall we drink a toast to Pearlie, who will be missed?”
Silence had been lifting his own glass as she spoke. But when she mentioned Pearlie, his expression darkened, and he put the glass back down so sharply that the drink sloshed over the edge and spattered across the wood of the bar. “Shouldn’t drink on the job,” he said, turning back to his narrow-eyed study of the dance floor.
Stunned, Vivian lowered her own glass, her mind sifting rapidly through all the possible things she could say in response without setting his back up. She finally settled on “Guess you didn’t like him, then?”
Silence’s jaw tightened. “Loyalty matters.”
“Loyalty to who?”
“To here.” Silence scowled. “To Honor.”
Vivian took a sip of her drink while she thought through that statement. “And you thought Pearlie wasn’t loyal? What did he do?” When Silence’s scowl deepened, she dropped her voice. “You know Bea’s my friend, Silence. If there’s something she should know…”
He didn’t reply for a moment, and Vivian had the sense that he was gathering his words together. “Tried to get me on board for another job,” he said at last.
“Well, lots of us have other jobs,” Vivian said practically. “I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t care about folks here. Or about everything Honor does to keep us safe.”
Silence shook his head. “Dressmaking’s got nothing to do with this work.”
Vivian took another sip. She didn’t want to seem too interested or press too fast. Silence was exactly the type of fella who would clam up and refuse to talk to her again if she rubbed him the wrong way. “And he tried to get you working for someone in a similar line of work? Someone who was Honor’s competition?”
“Mighta been. Shady, at least.”
She lowered her voice. “What did he ask you to do?”
“Said they needed a driver.”
Vivian put down her drink so she could take a step closer to him. “And do you know who they were?”
“No.” He crossed his arms, the gesture straining the fabric of his coat across the width of his shoulders. “Didn’t ask. I don’t drive.” He glanced down at her, his expression as closed off as she had ever seen it. “I got work to do.”
“Of course.” Vivian picked up her drink and smiled brightly, not wanting him to guess that the conversation had been at all deliberate. She didn’t need him watching her or telling anyone else what they’d been talking about. “See you around, pal.”
He grunted, not looking in her direction as she moved back down the bar. Her thoughts tumbled and tripped over each other. What had Pearlie been mixed up in, and who was running the show?
“Vivi!” Florence was back on a barstool waiting for her, her cheeks flushed with the heat and her hair starting to escape its carefully pinned curls. “Where have you been?”
“Sorry, got caught up in a conversation.” Vivian looked her sister over, relieved to see that Florence was smiling. “You having fun, then?”
“I guess I am,” Florence said, a little shyly. “I didn’t have the nerve to dance with anyone else, but Mr. Chin kept me company.” She glanced at the bandstand. “Gosh, Bea’s a wonderful singer, isn’t she?”
“Sure is,” Vivian agreed, but her eyes were on Danny. He was back behind the bar, pouring drinks and chatting up customers, but whenever his eyes didn’t have somewhere to go, they were on Florence. Vivian turned away, just in time to see Florence covering a yawn and looking embarrassed. “Are you getting too tired?”
“I think I am,” Florence admitted. “I’m not used to this the way you are. Will you hate me if I want to go home?”
“Of course not,” Vivian said firmly. “I could never hate you. And it’s too crowded for me here anyway.”
Florence eyed her, a small smile on her lips. “Liar,” she said, but she sounded grateful for it. “Just let me say goodbye to Mr. Chin.”
“You can call him Danny, you know.”
