“Cleo’s boyfriend is bringing my bags up,” said Donna. “What a dear.”
“Oh, great,” said Sylvie. “Is everything OK with Danny?”
“I doubt it,” said Donna, dropping her voice conspiratorially. Donna loved to insult one daughter to another. “A man like Danny isn’t going to settle down with a career gal, believe me. Beauty only goes so far. I should know.”
And with that cryptic but sinister comment, Donna sauntered off toward the castle, straightening her hat. Sylvie sighed, feeling as if she’d just been beaten up. She touched her grandmother’s diamond-chip earrings, wishing for the strength it was going to take to hope for a fairy-tale ending.
5
Cleo
Cleo sat in a lawn chair for a while, feeling maudlin. She watched Angus bring one bird after another out of the aviary to show Penelope, Guinness, and Jameson: an owl, a hawk, a vulture, something Cleo didn’t even know how to identify. Angus was so appealing in his British cap. What would it be like to take care of birds as yourjob? Unimaginable. Cleo lit another cigarette. She’d slipped a few from Danny’s pack when he went off with Donna to help her with her bags.
“Hey, Cleo,” said Rich, coming to sit beside her. As he lowered himself, he made a weirdoooof-ahsound that was exactly like a noise Cleo’s father had once made. It was true that they were all getting old.
“Hey,” said Cleo. She’d always been fond of Emma’s husband. Emma and Rich’s solid—if stolid—relationship was just right for Cleo’s crazy sister, even if it would have bored Cleo senseless. Emma had survived enough wild years to last her a lifetime. She’d named her sons after beer and whiskey, for Christ’s sake.
“I hear your mother has arrived. Has she met Danny?” said Rich.
“Donna has arrived and Danny and I had a fight,” said Cleo.
“Oh boy,” said Rich.
“I don’t know how you guys do it, to be honest, Rich.”
“Do what?”
“Stay in love. Turn into parents.”
Rich blinked, looking surprised. Maybe there was trouble in paradise, after all. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “I don’t know how we did it either, Cleo. How we do it.”
Cleo smiled. “Have I ever told you I love you?”
“No,” said Rich. “I don’t think you have. I love you, too, Cleo.”
“What if I never get married?” said Cleo.
Rich put his hand on hers. His palm was warm on her skin: a kindness.
6
Emma
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Emma lumbered up her dark, circular staircase. She shivered in her summer dress, her shoes making a sucking sound with each step. Up and up she went, clutching the metal rail. Finally, she reached the arched doorway of the Indigo Suite, opened the door, and eased herself into her big, big four-poster bed. Her boys had followed Angus back to work in the aviary, and Emma felt wonderfully woozy. She was about to succumb to a deep nap when she heard someone banging at her door.
As if she were in a dream of her awful childhood, she heard her mother’s voice wailing, “Emmmaaaaa! Emma!” Donna knocked and knocked at the door.
A martyr through and through, Emma fought back her sleepiness and rose.
“Emma, my darling,” cried Donna, engulfing Emma in a woody, floral scent, which (Emma couldn’t help herself from analyzing) opened with sparkling aldehydes and fruity notes and used amber as its base.
“You made it! You smell good, Mom,” said Emma.
“Van Cleef and Arpels,” said Donna. “Prince Harry said it was his mother’s favorite. At least IsmellOK.”
“Oh, Mom,” said Emma. This was where she was supposed to say her mother looked beautiful and young and sexy. Yes: Emma was supposed to comment on her mother’s sexiness. But for the first time, she could not bring herself to do it.
