The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [20]
By seven he still hadn’t showed. Joss was never on time, but he was by now very late and no word had been sent. And his telephone was off.
Poor Joss! Had something awful happened?
Just to be sure she went down to the reception to ask if he had arrived. It would be an awful shame to get all worked up about a simple misunderstanding. But no, Herr Carey had yet to show. And es tut mir leid, Fräulein, so sorry, but he could confirm there had been no disastrous plane crashes or derailed mountain trains that day.
Stevie spun through the revolving doors and into the freezing night, her worry building bricks in her stomach. She tried his number again.
Still no answer.
The concierge came running out. ‘Fräulein Duveen, a message for you.’ He handed her a card:
Herr Carey called with apologies. A pressing engagement kept him in London. He will call you later.
‘Joss called here? Why didn’t you come and get me?’
‘I suggested this possibility to him but . . .’
The pity in Hans-Peterli Fruhl’s eyes—Stevie automatically read his name tag—said it all.
Stevie was confused. Joss didn’t have pressing engagements . . .
Dignity. Maintain at all costs. Turn, heel, lift is behind you, up to the fourth floor. Smile at the chambermaid—Guten Abend—no crying, what a funny day, lalala—and I like what they’ve done with the new carpet— Safely inside her room Stevie trembled but shed no tears. The evidence for abandonment was accumulating as fast as the snow outside.
She thought about leaving, running away, making an excuse. But then she decided no, that she would stay and enjoy her weekend in the Alps to its fullest. She would not let Joss, or anyone, know she was upset. She would carry on exactly as she was.
Unfortunately, this brave new resolution meant that the fifteen-course dinner in the Panoramahalle would have to be attended. She refused to hide in her room as if she had done something shameful. She phoned down: Fräulein Duveen would be dining alone, danke.
Of course, she dressed in black from head to toe: a black cashmere rollneck, her pearls worn on the outside, Chanel ballet slippers. Her hair had been longer then, and she had piled it up to show off her jaw, her large pearl earrings. Most important thing was to line the lower eyelids thickly in kohl, ensuring that she wouldn’t be able to shed a tear without making the most terrible mess.
At her table, she sat composed and still. She brought no novel, no newspaper, no magazine, no notebook and pencil to distract herself from the feeling that eyes were on her. They were.
Older couples wondered where her husband was and had she disgraced herself; the maitre d’ was more merciful and wondered what tragedy had befallen her, what darkness. He offered a few words of conversation with each course. Stevie appreciated his kindness but wished he wouldn’t.
Concentration was required.
She practised stoicism and elegance and impenetrability. She would not even allow herself to become invisible. It was good training, she thought, only she was not sure what for. She had mastered the glass of wine alone in a bar a long time ago—not easy but there was a certain masochistic satisfaction in it. But a glass of wine was one thing; a fifteen-course formal dinner in a silent ballroom, quite another.
‘The trick to it,’ her grandmother had explained in one of her many sessions revealing the magic arts of existence to young Stevie, ‘is to not appear as if you are waiting for someone. You must look as if you had always intended to find yourself in exactly this situation.’
A tall man got up from his table and strode in her direction. He was wearing navy woollen trousers and a cashmere jumper covered in a cream fleur de lys pattern.
Stevie had noticed him notice her. Possibly, if there had been room in her tormented mind for such thoughts, she would have found him attractive. But tonight, she hoped very much that he would not think it necessary to stop and talk to her. He was very tall.
She concentrated on the untouched quail on her plate. She felt too much kinship with tiny birds to eat anything smaller