“There’s nothing to tell,” whispered Emma.
“I believe you,” said Rich. He looked at Emma steadily.
“Good,” said Emma.
“What choice do I have?” said Rich.
PART SIX
PLUM GIN
1
Sylvie
Sylvie and Simon walked across the lawn to the castle. Sylvie was happy but nervous. The power of their connection was overwhelming. Sylvie wasn’t sure why she felt filled with butterflies—emotional leftovers from childhood? Guilt over betraying Alexander? General cynicism and comfort with being alone? Sylvie was a wounded animal who wanted both to take refuge and to run. And she knew Simon, too, had complicated emotions. Could the two of them possibly make it?
She grabbed his hand and he squeezed back. “I love you,” she said quietly.
“I love you, too,” said Simon.
The welcome reception was set up on the Great Lawn, with a full bar manned by Simon’s friend Angus. The two men hugged and Simon introduced Angus to Sylvie, telling her he was the head falconer.
“And bartender, gardener, jack-of-all-trades,” said Angus. He had an angular face, slight stubble, and a mullet hairdo that Sylvie was pretty sure was not ironic. (Somehow it worked on him.) Angus wore an old man’s outfit: green wool vest over a white shirt;a navy silken fringed scarf tied at his throat like an ascot; a tweed flat cap. Canvas work pants and boots belied his elegant upper half.
“Nice scarf on you, mate,” said Simon.
“Miss Louisa made me wear it, you arse,” said Angus. “You’re the one in a straitjacket.”
Simon thumbed the lapels of his elegant suit and laughed.
“I’m so glad this one’s finally got himself a bird,” said Angus. “I can have one of the sisters, innit?”
“Both taken, my friend,” said Simon.
“We’ll see about that,” said Angus.
“Aunt Sylvie! Aunt Sylvie!” cried Emma’s boys, racing toward her. Sylvie admired her nephews’ finery: Emma had somehow wrangled them into button-down shirts and ill-fitting pants. “I’ve never seen you so dressed up,” said Sylvie.
“It’s theworst,” said Jameson, pulling at a wrinkled tie.
Penelope came running and encircled Sylvie’s waist tightly. “Sweetie, you’re here!” said Sylvie, moved by Penelope’s vulnerable adoration. Penelope wore a smocked dress but her hair was wild. “Can you help with my braids?” she whispered to Sylvie.
“Of course,” said Sylvie. She knew Penelope could do her own hair and was felled by the fact that Penelope preferred Sylvie to do it for her. “Go get your brush and barrettes,” said Sylvie.
“Syl,” said Rich, approaching. He, too, looked uncomfortable in a button-down shirt. At his wedding to Emma, Rich had worn a rental tuxedo with a paint-spattered cummerbund that had matched Emma’s paint-spattered shoes. Now, Rich looked tired. He pulled Sylvie close and she breathed him in.
Sylvie loved Rich—he was like a brother, the only man in their family who’d known Alexander at Sylvie’s wedding and known him in a closed coffin. Sylvie had once thought he was too lowbrow for her sister, who she’d imagined trapped in theMissoula valley. But Rich and Emma had built a full life. Sylvie had been wrong.
“Boys!” cried Penelope. “Wait here and when Sylvie’s done my braids I’ll show you the ghosts.”
“She’s very bossy,” said Guinness.
“But I do want to see ghosts,” said Jameson.
“Bet,” said Guinness.
Cleo swept toward Sylvie and Simon, decked out in a tight, bright dress that showed off her toned body. Her makeup was expertly applied, and she narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to do your face?” she said.
