Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [146]
Aunt Vespasia was nearly eighty. As a child she had seen the celebrations after the victory of Waterloo; she remembered the Hundred Days and the fall of Napoleon. She had danced with the Duke of Wellington when he was prime minister. She had known the heroes, the victims, and the fools of the Crimea, the empire builders, statesmen, charlatans, artists, and wits of the greatest century in the history of England. She was happy to play with Felix Asherson and kept the smile on her own lips flawlessly unreadable.
The Danvers were shown in ten minutes later. Julian seemed perfectly at ease; he felt no compulsion to show off or to push himself into the conversation. Charlotte decided Veronica might well be fortunate.
Garrard, on the contrary, was quick to speak, his face drawn, his hands moving nervously as though stillness were an unbearable strain. Charlotte instinctively scented the kill, and hating herself for it made no difference at all to her intentions. The choice lay between Garrard Danver and Pitt. It was no choice at all.
Harriet Danver was also far from comfortable. She looked more fragile than she had on previous occasions, although it was possible that was due to her wearing a shade of smoky lavender which echoed the shadows in her pale skin and made her eyes look even larger. Either she was very much in love and finding the pain unendurable, or there was some other knowledge or fear preying on her mind.
Aunt Adeline was dressed in topaz and gold, which suited her very well. There was a slight flush on her cheeks, which robbed them of their usual sallowness. It was several minutes before Charlotte realized Adeline felt vastly complimented to be invited to Aunt Vespasia’s home, and the occasion had excited her greatly. Charlotte felt a sharp spear-thrust of conscience. She would dearly like to have abandoned this, but it was not possible.
Last to come were the Yorks, Veronica ethereal and magnificent in black and silver, sweeping in with her head high and color in her cheeks. She checked herself almost before she was through the door at the sight of Charlotte standing close to Julian Danver. His admiration for her was extremely obvious; and it was equally obvious, just for an instant, that Veronica had never before appreciated what a potential rival Charlotte might be. Little Miss Barnaby from the country was a considerable beauty, when she chose! Veronica’s greeting had lost several degrees of warmth by the time they met in the center of the floor.
For once Loretta also looked less sure of herself; her aplomb was a shadow of her old certainty. As always, she was meticulously groomed, exquisitely feminine in golden peach, but the fluidity had gone, the wound Charlotte had seen in the conservatory was still raw. She did not look at Garrard Danver. Piers York was grave, as if aware of tragedy without knowing its nature or direction; either that, or he chose to ignore it. His face lit when he saw Vespasia, and Charlotte realized with surprise that they had known each other for years.
All the customary greetings were made, petty courtesies exchanged, but already the undercurrents had begun to pull, to tear and distort.
For half an hour they talked of the weather, the theater, figures of fashion and politics. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves except Garrard and Loretta. If Piers had any reservations he was too practiced to reveal them.
Charlotte found her attention wandering. She must not begin yet; she would wait until dinner. Begin too early and she could dissipate the very tension she was seeking to build. They must all be seated, facing each other, with no escape except the violent act of physically leaving a hostess’s presence. Only illness could excuse that.
The moments dragged by, the inane conversation fell word by word as she watched their faces and planned. Felix was enjoying himself, even with Harriet, and gradually she lost her pallor and joined in. Sonia was swapping gossip with Loretta.