“This is my sister, Minnie Harper,” Delia replied. “The one I was telling you about.”
His eyes lit up in recognition and I could see that he possessed a kind of magnetism that was hard to miss. “Oh yes! The one who’s been living in Greece. Wonderful to put aface to a name. I’m Charles Pearson,” he said, then took my hand and kissed the back of my fingers.
“Well,” I replied, suddenly feeling bashful at his attention. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He grinned at my awkwardness and released my hand. “You ladies look in need of some libations.”
“Yes. Greatly,” Delia replied.
“I’ll be right back,” Charles said before disappearing into the crowd.
“He seems … charming,” I offered.
Delia, who had kept her gaze on his retreating form, snapped to attention. “Charlie is the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”
I raised an eyebrow at her sudden intensity, and my father’s words surfaced:No man is friends with awoman.
While I didn’t agree with the sentiment, it seemed fairly obvious that whatever was between Charles and my sister, it was not limited merely to friendship. He then returned with two glasses of champagne, which saved me from having to respond to my sister’s comment. I took a sip and winced, as it was both flat and tepid. Then again, it was highly unlikely I would find anything better at the moment. So I took another.
“Where is your painting?” I asked.
Charles had been whispering something in Delia’s ear, and they broke apart at my question, like a pair of naughty children caught red-handed. “Oh! It’s in the next room, I think,” Delia replied, her cheeks flushed with something that could not be blamed on the untouched glass in her hand.
“Let’s go,” Charles said, pointedly avoiding my questioning gaze as he led us towards a connecting room.
This one was much less crowded than the main reception room and seemed to house most of the work on display. My eye was immediately drawn to a large, vibrant painting prominently displayed in the center of the wall. A small circle of people were admiring it, and I joined them. It featured thesilhouette of a woman wearing only a strip of cloth unraveling all around her against a backdrop of luminous colors that called to mind a particularly eye-catching sunset.
“Extraordinary,” I murmured.
As a couple moved on, I stepped closer to read the exhibition label:
A Woman Unbound
Oil on canvas. D. Everly.
I straightened in shock and turned around. Delia stood just behind me.
“Do you like it?” she asked with a surprisingly shy smile.
“I … I had no idea,” I began, struggling to find the right words. “You’re so talented.”
Delia glanced away, her smile fading a little. “Thank you.”
Now I understood why my parents had let her go to art school. And why they looked the other way at her antics. They must have seen her potential or, at the very least, been told about it by someone they respected.
“Henshaw says it has already generated an immense amount of interest. He’s the gallery owner,” Charles explained to me before addressing Delia. “He expects it to sell before the end of the evening. Congratulations, my dear.”
“That is wonderful news,” I added and happily raised my glass in a toast.
She dipped her head in a rare display of bashfulness. “Thank you. And thank you for coming tonight,” she added, glancing up at me.
“Thank you for inviting me. I’m having a nice time,” I admitted.
“Then you won’t object if we go somewhere else?” Delia asked cautiously.
“I have a friend who throws the most wonderful themed parties. Tonight’s is based in the supernatural on account of the season,” Charles added with an eyebrow waggle.
I very much did not like the idea of going to a second location, and my instinct was to play the part of the disapproving older sister. But as Delia looked at me with such an eager, hopeful expression, I couldn’t find the will to deny her. At least, not this soon after our reunion. And besides, I strongly suspected she intended to go to this party with or without me.
