“It is,” Lorenz agreed. “This whole deck is beautiful. I was given it when I was in England, before I sailed to Manhattan.”
“England, how swell,” Frances breathed. Emboldened by the act of rebellion, and probably the almost empty glass of brandy, she leaned across the table. “Mama would pitch a fit if she saw me doing this.” She giggled. “God-fearing girls aren’t supposed to cavort with strange men and have their fortunes told.”
“But, Frances, this tells me youarea God-fearing woman,” Lorenz said as he tapped the card. She swallowed at the look he gave her as he said the last word. He thought her awoman? “This tells me you are confident in God, that you have found strength and refuge in Him.” He nodded. “This card is just perfect.”
“Perfect,” Frances echoed. She leaned back more quickly than intended, her limbs heavier than usual as she squinted at Lorenz. “Excuse me. I feel tired all of a sudden.”
“Yes, the brandy works quickly.” Lorenz pushed his chair back, the wooden legs scraping along the floor. “May I accompany you to the drawing class?”
“Now?” Frances blinked. The room was swimming in and out of focus.
“Yes, it is but a block from here. I will walk you back to your lodgings when you are done.” He gathered the deck into a pile, leaving the Strength card face up on the top. “You will sleep well knowing you have some money in your pocket.”
“Yes.” Frances nodded and reached for her pocketbook beforeremembering it had been stolen. She slipped an arm through Lorenz’s outstretched one as he helped her to her feet, and she linked with him as they left the tavern. She reallydidneed money. “Thank you, Lorenz. You are a fine gentleman. I hope you shall one day be rewarded.”
“Oh, do not worry,” he said as he guided her out onto the street. Night had not quite fallen, but the streets were already full of shadows, and Frances shivered. “You have no idea how rewarding this will be.”
TWENTY-TWO
“Do you need to goover the rules one more time?” I ask as Izzy puts the finishing touches on her Friday-night outfit.
She’s wearing a gauzy pink-and-orange top tonight, ruffles spilling down the front, with a matching pair of shorts. Paired with her blood orange lips, wedge heels and chunky gold bangle, she looks like she should be at an expensive beach bar in St.Tropez, not at a house party in Blackwood.
“Both bedrooms are off-limits, anyone who looks spewy has to vomit outside and no admittance to anyone we haven’t invited,” Izzy reels off as she examines herself in the mirror.
“And no mixing drinks,” I warn her. “We all remember what happened last time.”
“I don’t,” Izzy says brightly, clipping large gold hoops onto her ears.
“Which was precisely the problem,” I remind her.
She smirks but then turns round to me and forces her face into something that almost passes as a serious expression. “It won’t be wild, I promise. There aren’t even ten people coming.”
“You’re sure?”
She starts ticking names off her fingers. “You, me, Noah, Fordand Scarlett, that’s five. Noah said he was bringing two mates, so that’s seven. I invited Bob too, but he had a life-drawing class.”
“Izzy!” I squeal, but she laughs and holds her hands up.
“Joking! Honestly, Fliss, it’ll be fine. Trust m—”
“Don’t,” I warn her, taking my turn in front of the mirror. “Just don’t.”
“Okay, I won’t. Your hair looks nice like that,” she offers, fluffing her own curls. “I’m glad you let me straighten it for you.”
“I look like my mom,” I mumble, though she’s right, it is a nice change, and it’s made the natural blond highlights at the front of my hair more obvious.
I straighten my navy linen trousers as she traipses off to the kitchen. They skim over my flip-flops and are paired with a striped white-and-navy bandeau that I borrowed from Izzy. I’m already regretting this decision, because one, I look like a sailor, and two, it feels like it’s going to fall down every three seconds. As a last thought, I snag a cropped white cardigan from my wardrobe and throw it over the top, satisfied that it will disguise any mishaps.
I join Izzy, and we give the flat a final tidy. Dad and Kim haven’t been living here long, so thankfully there aren’t many breakable objects, but I gather up a couple of vases and some of the nicer-looking wineglasses and stow them away in Dad’s room. You can tell he shares the space with a woman now—the room smells of lavender, and the duvet cover is made from soft pinksatin.
There’s a stack of gift bags and unwrapped wedding presents in the corner, and Kim’s knee-length white dress hangs on the door of her wardrobe, as if it’s still waiting to be worn. I touchthe edge of the fifties-style skirt. It’s a lovely dress, and she looked very pretty in it. I should have told her that, really. I place the items on Kim’s dressing table and close the bedroom door, turning the old-fashioned brass key to lock it. I do the same to my room, dropping both keys into the little pocket on the front of my cardigan. Perfect. Now the bedrooms really are off-limits.
“All set?” Izzy asks me as I go back to the kitchen. She’s chopping an alarming amount of fruit with a huge silver-handled knife.
“I think so,” I say, glancing at the clock. Ten to eight. Will people be early? On time? Really, really late? “What are you making? Fruit salad?” She screws the top off a glass bottle and pours it into a big plastic picnic jug, red liquid spilling over the side.
“Sangria,” she says, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of the wine. “I’ve never had it before, but I saw a recipe and thought it would provide the summer vibes.” She reaches for a tea towel to mop up the leakage, then grabs a bottle of Cointreau, which knocks an orange to the floor. It almost bounces before it rolls in my direction.
