The Art of Inheriting Secrets(35)

“I didn’t know you were coming by tonight,” Pavi said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. He had to bend down, and in a flash I saw how close they were.

“I thought I’d see how you’d got on with the famous editor.” He grinned, encompassing both of us, and easily slid into the booth beside me. He smelled of night and dew, and his shoulders seemed a mile across. “I knew you would cook this.”

So he had known I would be here. A slight shimmer of possibility edged along my arms, down my thighs.

She slapped his hand. “Guests first.”

“I’m not sure I can take another bite!”

“Of course you can. Taste the rose syrup at least.” She dished out a brown dumpling into a small white bowl and drizzled syrup over it, then topped it with a few rose petals. She did the same for Samir and then for herself. I pulled out my phone and shot an Instagram photo of the dessert, three rose petals cascading down the river of syrup, light shining on the curve of the dumpling.

The siblings dug in, and I watched them for a moment before I picked up my spoon and tasted mine. Like everything else we’d eaten tonight, it took the ordinary to an extraordinary place—I tasted a thousand fluttering roses and a rain of sugar and the soft, spongy texture of the dumpling itself. “It’s sublime, Pavi. You’ll have to show me how to make it.”

“I’d be happy to. We should have an afternoon of cooking—that would be so much fun.”

“Where’s Dad?” Samir asked. He smoothed his goatee with thumb and forefinger, but I noticed that his hair was still a riot of big curls, untamable.

“We talked about Sanvi and Olivia’s mother and that whole mess.”

He nodded, gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. “Sad stories.”

“They are,” I agreed and wondered if I might need to take my leave now that Samir had arrived.

But Pavi said, “Now that you’ve had your dessert, Samir, you can go. We are going to talk about food, and you’re getting in the way.”

“Am I?” His smile was definitely meant to be slow and flirtatious this time. “Olivia?”

“It is my practice to never have an opinion between two siblings.”

“All right.” He slapped a hand on the table and made a move to go. “See you around, Countess.”

I raised a hand, aware that my face was not behaving, that I was trying to avoid smiling, as if I were fourteen and this was summer camp. And when he met my eyes, I saw that he knew it too. He winked. “Careful with that scarf.”

“Are you twelve?” Pavi asked. “Go.” As he ambled out, she shook her head. “Don’t mind him.”

I took a breath. “No. No, I won’t.”

And finally, we leaned our heads together and began to talk about the industry. Food and restaurants and magazines and recipes and writers. I felt like myself for the first time in months.





Chapter Nine

Sunday afternoon, a black car rolled up in front of the hotel, and a driver in a crisp black suit stepped out. I was waiting, nervous and a little overwrought from a lack of sleep. The lobby smelled of beer and cigarettes that had been consumed just outside the door while laughter and music had spilled out of the club Friday night and Saturday night till very, very late. My room, though it was down the corridor a long way, thrummed with the noise.

I hadn’t slept much either night, and it showed on my face today, showed in my nerves. I’d changed clothes three times, finally settling on pair of camel wool slacks and a simple green blouse. I didn’t have a coat other than the same one I’d been wearing since I arrived, a lined raincoat that saw me through the winter in San Francisco and had seen me through more than a few. Still, it was a Burberry and would do.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning, my lady. I’m Robert, and I’ll be driving you to the Earl of Marswick’s garden party today.” He tipped his cap and opened the door. “It’s going to be a fine day, innit?”

In surprise, I looked up. Not only was it not raining, but actual sunlight was leaking through the clouds. In a couple of spots, blue sky peeked through. Where the sun touched the hills around the village, the grass shone gold. “Oh, my. Is it going to clear up?”

“So they say. Sunshine all week.” He saw me settled and closed the door. From the front seat, he added, “Right welcome. Rainiest March I can remember. But now it’s spring, and those lambs’ll be frolicking.”

I smiled. “I hope so. It’s rained nearly every day since I arrived.”

He pulled out, and I remembered I was supposed to notice for Sarah that it was a Bentley. I ran my hand over the leather seat and took notice of the wood appointments. Luxurious, but as I wasn’t a big car person, it was hard to know how it differed from other luxury cars. I’d take the description of the leather and wood back to Sarah.

“Is it far?” I asked. “To the estate?”

“An hour, I expect, given that it’s Sunday. I brought you a bottle of water there. Anythin’ else you need?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Music?”

“Yes. That would be great.” To my own ear, that sounded obscenely American. That’d be great. But I was American, and I didn’t have to become anyone else. Just be who you are, my mother had drilled into me. Be who you are.