The Keeper of Happy Endings(58)

“Soline,” Rory supplied. “Her name is Soline Roussel. And she didn’t die. In fact, she’s my landlady.”

“Your landlady! Well, what do you know about that?”

“The building wasn’t really for lease—it had been vacant for years—but when she heard I wanted to open a gallery for new artists, she agreed to let me rent it.”

Vicky turned to Camilla, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. “You’ve been holding out on us, Camilla, dear. You never said a word about Ms. Roussel. And it sounds as if she has an interest in the arts. Perhaps we should invite her to join the council.”

Camilla continued to stir her coffee, her expression carefully blank. “I’m afraid it’s Aurora who’s been holding out. I’ve never met Ms. Roussel, though I understand she’s something of a recluse. Perhaps we could invite her to make a contribution instead.”

Hilly turned to Rory. “Could you talk to her about joining our little group? Just, you know, feel her out?”

Camilla set her spoon down with a clatter. “Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves? Five minutes ago, you couldn’t remember the woman’s name. Now you’re ready to invite her to join the council. Don’t you think we should find out if she’s our sort of person first?”

Hilly rolled her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Camilla. It’s the 1980s, not the 1880s. No one thinks like that anymore.”

Vicky sighed and laid down her napkin. “Personally, I’m bored to death with our sort of person. And in case you haven’t noticed, Camilla, our membership numbers are in the loo, which means we can’t afford to be snooty. Perhaps it’s time to shake things up. She must know scads of people. Think of the buzz it would create.”

Camilla looked genuinely astonished. She wasn’t used to being countermanded, and certainly not at her own table. “I just meant it might be better to stick with people we know.”

Vicky was undaunted. “Why don’t you drop a few hints the next time you speak with her, Aurora, and see if she’d be interested in joining forces.”

Rory reached for her coffee, uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “I really don’t know when I’ll speak to her again. I usually deal with her attorney on anything to do with the building. Which reminds me,” she said, emptying her cup and pushing back from the table. “I’m due to meet my contractor at four. It was nice seeing you both again.”

Camilla’s face fell. “You’re going already?”

“I told you I couldn’t stay.”

“But I hoped you’d help us brainstorm for the fundraiser. We seem to repeat the same old themes, and you always have such creative ideas.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Rory said, turning to go. “You always do.”

She was nearly to the door when Camilla caught her. “Aurora. You’re not really going to talk to that woman about joining the council, are you?”

“Her name is Soline. But you know that, because we’ve talked about her. And why would it be so terrible for her to join your precious council?”

“For starters, we know nothing about her.”

“Correction. You know nothing about her. I know quite a lot about her, and I like her.”

“That much is obvious. Honestly, the way you went on in there. Like she’s the patron saint of unknown artists or something.”

“I didn’t go on about her. I was asked about her—by your friends. I didn’t come here to talk about her or to have cake. I came . . . Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter? What were you going to say?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’m just having a bad day. I didn’t expect anyone to be here. I thought . . . we could talk.”

“We can. I’ll get rid of them, and we’ll talk all you want. You can stay for dinner. We’ll cook like we used to. Or we can go out. You name the place.”

But it was too late for talk. Somewhere between kicking off her shoes and sitting down for cake, the need to pour out her troubles to her mother had evaporated. “I’m all right now.”

“But something’s wrong. I can tell.”

“Something was wrong when I got here. I told you that, but I had to have cake with your friends and smile and make polite conversation, so you could play hostess.”

“It isn’t Matthew, is it? You haven’t had news.”

She shook her head wearily. “No. No news.”

“Then what?”

“Go back to your guests, Mother. With any luck, they’ll forget about Soline.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. I saw your face. You hated that her name even came up. I don’t know why, but you did. Or maybe it was me talking about the gallery that set you off. You twist my arm until you get me to stay. Then, when I commit the unpardonable sin of going off script, you get all huffy. You expect everyone to dance to your tune. Even me.”

“That isn’t true.”

“But it is. It was true when I was eight, and it’s true now.”

“When you were . . . Aurora, what are you talking about?”

“Forget it. And don’t worry—I won’t mention your precious council to Soline. I don’t see her fitting in, though not for the reasons you think.”