Just Like Heaven (Smythe-Smith Quartet #1)(66)

“My mother does,” Daisy said again.

“Dear God,” Iris moaned.

“It’s not as if Mr. Mozart wrote only one piece,” Daisy said pertly. “We have loads from which to choose. I think we should play Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. It is my absolute favorite. It’s so sprightly and gay.”

“It has no piano part,” Honoria reminded her.

“I have no objection,” Sarah said quickly. From behind the piano.

“If I have to do it, you have to do it,” Iris practically hissed.

Sarah actually pulled back in her seat. “I had no idea you could look so venomous, Iris.”

“It’s because she doesn’t have eyelashes,” Daisy said.

Iris turned to her with complete calm and said, “I hate you.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Daisy,” Honoria said, turning on her with a stern expression. It was true that Iris was extraordinarily pale, with the kind of strawberry blond hair that seemed to render her lashes and brows almost invisible. But she’d always thought Iris was absolutely gorgeous, almost ethereal-looking.

“If she didn’t have eyelashes, she’d be dead,” Sarah said.

Honoria turned to her, unable to believe the direction of the conversation. Well, no, that was not completely accurate. She believed it (unfortunately). She just didn’t understand it.

“Well, it’s true,” Sarah said defensively. “Or at the very least, blind. Lashes keep all the dust from our eyes.”

“Why are we having this conversation?” Honoria wondered aloud.

Daisy immediately answered, “It’s because Sarah said she didn’t think Iris could look venomous, and then I said—”

“I know,” Honoria cut in, and then, when she realized Daisy still had her mouth open, looking as if she was only waiting for the right moment to complete her sentence, she said it again. “I know. It was a hypothetical question.”

“It still had a perfectly valid answer,” Daisy said with a sniff.

Honoria turned to Iris. At twenty-one, they were the exact same age, but Iris had not had to take part in the quartet until this year. Her sister Marigold had kept the cello part in a death grip until she’d married last autumn. “Do you have any suggestions, Iris?” Honoria asked brightly.

Iris crossed her arms and hunched over herself in her seat. To Honoria, it looked as if she were trying to fold herself into nothingness. “Something without the cello,” she muttered.

“If I have to do it, you have to do it,” Sarah said with a smirk.

Iris glared at her with all the fury of a misunderstood artist. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, believe me, I do,” Sarah said with great feeling. “I played last year, if you recall. I’ve had an entire year to understand.”

“Why is everyone complaining?” Daisy asked impatiently. “This is exciting! We get to perform. Do you know how long I have been waiting for this day?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sarah said flatly.

“About as long as I have been dreading it,” Iris muttered.

“It is really quite remarkable,” Sarah said, “that the two of you are sisters.”

“I marvel at it every day,” Iris said flatly.

“It should be a piano quartet,” Honoria said quickly, before Daisy figured out she was being insulted. “Unfortunately, there aren’t many from which to choose.”

No one offered an opinion.

Honoria fought off a groan. It was clear she was going to have to take the reins, lest they fall into musical anarchy. Although she supposed that anarchy might actually be an improvement over the usual Smythe-Smith state of affairs.

It was a sad statement, that.

“Mozart’s Piano Quartet no. 1 or Mozart’s Piano Quartet no. 2,” she announced, holding up the two different scores. “Does anyone have an opinion?”

“Whichever one we didn’t do last year,” Sarah sighed. She let her head rest against the piano. Then she actually let her head drop to the keys.

“That sounded good,” Daisy said with surprise.

“It sounded like a fish vomiting,” Sarah said into the piano.

“A charming image,” Honoria remarked.

“I don’t think fish do vomit,” Daisy remarked, “and if they did, I don’t think it would sound like—”

“Can’t we be the first set of cousins to mutiny?” Sarah cut in, lifting her head. “Can’t we simply just say no?”

“No!” Daisy howled.

“No,” Honoria agreed.

“Yes?” Iris said weakly.

“I can’t believe you want to do this again,” Sarah said to Honoria.

“It’s tradition.”

“It’s a wretched tradition, and it will take me six months to recover.”

“I shall never recover,” Iris lamented.

Daisy looked as if she might stomp her foot. She probably would have done if Honoria had not quelled her with a sharp glare.

Honoria thought of Marcus, then forced herself not to think of Marcus. “It’s tradition,” she said again, “and we are fortunate to belong to a family that prizes tradition.”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah asked, shaking her head.