Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [62]
“How destructive,” Olga murmured uncomfortably.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But the new growth afterward is marvelous. There are some plants whose seeds only germinate in the extreme heat.” He looked very quickly at Elsa, his eyes soft for an instant, then away again. Or did she imagine it?
Minnie was temporarily confused, aware she had been bettered, but not certain how it had happened. She smiled dazzlingly at Simnel. “I think storms can be rather fun, don’t you?”
He was uncomfortable, as if somehow guilty, but he could not drag his gaze from her.
Olga moved even farther away from him, her face almost colorless. Her body was all angles, as if she might be clumsy enough to knock over ornaments balanced on the side tables. Had she any idea how naked her feelings were?
Elsa looked at Julius and saw the pity in his face. For an instant it was the most beautiful thing she knew. He was utterly different from Cahoon. Cahoon had no patience with the weak. Mercy was an impediment to the march of progress. She had heard him say so many times, and inside herself she had longed to protest. What about the beautiful, the funny, the kind, which might also be vulnerable?
She was afraid of Cahoon. She knew it with a sort of sickness that made the thought of eating repulsive. How could she get through the evening without fumbling, dropping knives and spoons, making stupid remarks because her mind was on the woman in the cupboard, and the knowledge that one of these men had killed her? Was it Simnel, because he lusted after Minnie and loathed himself because he could not control it? Did he imagine that killing some poor woman who awoke the same in him would make anything better? Or Hamilton Quase, for God knew what reason? Because he was drunk and frightened and suddenly lost all sense? Perhaps the woman had laughed at him. Elsa tried to imagine it. It was pathetic and disgusting. She hoped profoundly that that was not true. She refused to think it could be Julius. That was unbearable. What a pity it could not have been Cahoon.
What a terrible thought! How could she have allowed it into her mind? She had lain in his arms. Once she had even thought she loved him, imagined awakening in him a tenderness toward her he had felt for no other person in his life.
How naïve! The only person he had ever loved was Minnie, and even that was equivocal. She was too like him, too strong to be controlled, and he resented that.
The footman announced that dinner was about to be served. They all trooped after him from the guest wing to the magnificent state dining room hung with portraits of past members of the royal family, framed in ornate gold. It was far too big for such a gathering and Elsa wondered why the Prince of Wales had chosen it. The red curtains and carpet warmed the almost cathedral-like vault of the pale golden walls and domed and fretted ceiling. Still it dwarfed them, and the table seemed lost in its enormity. The chandeliers glittered; the light on the silver and crystal was blinding. The white mantel and white tablecloth were as virgin as snow. The scent of lilies on the table reminded her of a hothouse. Everywhere there were more footmen in livery, gold buttons gleaming, white gloves immaculate.
The Prince and Princess of Wales welcomed them. She looked magnificent in cream and gold and blue, blazing with diamonds. She was a beautiful woman, with classic features; calm, remote, and slightly bemused.
Elsa curtsied and smiled, and wondered how much the Princess was aware of anything going on around her. It must be a purgatory to be deaf, never knowing quite what was happening, like seeing everything through thick glass. See but never hear, know but don’t touch, never quite understand. How often do people get frustrated and simply not bother trying to communicate anymore?
Did she even know that there had been a murder? Probably not. Perhaps she always lived on the edge of everything.
Lord Taunton and Lady Parr were shown in and