The Keeper of Happy Endings(42)

“Oh, no. This is just a hobby.”

Soline frowned. “Don’t you want your work to be seen, your name to be known?”

The question made Rory uncomfortable. Instead of answering, she countered with one of her own. “Is that what you wanted? For people to know your name?”

Soline stepped away, studying the fabric swatches littering the worktable. “Once,” she said finally. “When I was a girl. I used to dream of having my own label. I was going to turn heads all over Paris. But then the war happened, and Anson . . .”

“But you did it. You have an entire wall of magazine articles and newspaper clippings to prove it. You have a gift, and you used it to make people happy. You’ll always have that to be proud of.”

“And you have this, Rory. Don’t ever say it’s nothing. It’s the very opposite of nothing. Adding beauty to the world isn’t vanity, chérie. It’s a calling.”

A calling.

The word stayed with Rory as she pulled the door closed and led Soline back to the living room. Soline checked her watch, then collected her handbag and gloves from the coffee table. “Thank you for sharing your work with me, and please think about what I said. You have a gift, Rory, and gifts are meant to be shared.”

“You don’t need to go. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee and we can talk some more.”

Soline smiled indulgently. “Don’t be silly. You don’t want to listen to an old woman prattle all afternoon. Besides, I asked the driver to come back and collect me. He’s probably out there waiting. I wanted to see that you were all right, and I have.” Her smile deepened as she crooked a finger under Rory’s chin. “Une gentille fille. Such a sweet girl. Remember what I said—about keeping Matthew in your heart. Until you know for sure, there is still hope. And hope costs us nothing.”





SEVENTEEN


RORY

Rory looked around the apartment, admiring her handiwork. After Soline left, she’d decided to put on some music, roll up her sleeves, and get the apartment in order. She’d made a good job of it too, even managing to haul several boxes of giveaway books to her car. Not bad for someone who was supposed to be coming down with a cold.

In the kitchen, she poked around in the pantry. Pasta, but no sauce. Cheerios, but no milk. Peanut butter, but no bread. Which left takeout—again. Soline was right. It was time to stop eating out of cartons. She’d make a list tomorrow and hit the market, but for now, Gerardo’s would have to do. She placed a delivery order for eggplant Parm and an antipasto, then decided she had time to start a load of whites and grab a quick shower before dinner arrived.

She was surprised to hear the doorbell ring just fifteen minutes later. Apparently it was a slow night at Gerardo’s. She grabbed a twenty from her purse, then clicked off the stereo, abruptly silencing the primal thump of Duran Duran’s “The Wild Boys.”

“That was fast,” she said, pulling back the door. “Sundays must—”

The words died in Rory’s throat. Instead of the delivery boy from Gerardo’s, Camilla stood blinking back at her, a CVS bag dangling from her wrist and a large orange Tupperware container tucked into the crook of one arm. She swept Rory with narrowed eyes, lingering on the twenty-dollar bill in her hand.

“Are you having a party?”

Rory stuffed the twenty into her pocket with a sigh. “No, I’m not having a party. I was just playing some music while I cleaned up a little.”

“I made soup with the little stars, like I used to when you were little. Sick soup, you used to call it. But I see you’ve made a miraculous recovery.”

Rory sighed. Camilla swept past her, charm bracelet jangling in her wake. Rory had no choice but to follow her to the kitchen.

“I told you I had soup.”

“You told me you thought you had soup,” Camilla replied sullenly. “And I didn’t want you having to fuss if you weren’t feeling well.” She ran an eye over her daughter as she began emptying the contents of the CVS bag. Cough drops. Vicks. NyQuil. A thermometer. “I don’t suppose you actually need any of this.”

Rory dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Why, Aurora? Why tell me you’re sick when you’re not? Is spending time with me so terrible?”

Rory swallowed another sigh. What was she supposed to say? Admitting she’d blown off brunch because her landlady showed up with a box from Sugar Kisses wasn’t likely to sit well. Best to leave Soline out of it.

“I felt bad about getting sidetracked, so when you mentioned that I sounded sick, I just . . . went with it.”

“Went with it,” Camilla repeated dryly. “Are you hungry, at least?”

“I actually just ordered takeout.”

“Right.”

Camilla grabbed the soup container and opened the refrigerator. For a moment, she stood staring at the contents. A package of onion bagels, two sticks of butter, a single can of Sunkist, and a nearly empty jar of olives. She turned finally, a pale brow crooked in disapproval. “You haven’t any food.”

“I know. That’s why the takeout. I was planning on hitting the market tomorrow.”

“Don’t you cook anymore?” She pulled open the pantry door, running her eyes over the thinly stocked shelves. “Look at this. Cheerios and canned soup. It’s a wonder you’re not sick eating like this.” Her gaze settled on the pastry box. She lifted the lid, peering inside. “Pain au chocolat. Very nice. I see you weren’t too distracted to go to the bakery this morning.”