and shut the door.
An’gel called good night after her sister. She remained on the sofa, lacking for the moment the energy to get up and go to her own room. Her thoughts focused on the dinner party and its seething undercurrents. There had seemed an unpleasant undertone to the whole evening. From Horace’s occasional vulgarities to Sondra’s rude behavior before and during the meal and the ugliness of the scene with Estelle, the whole occasion had been the fiasco Dickce said it was.
They were due back at Willowbank in the morning for breakfast at seven thirty. An’gel wondered whether she, Dickce, and Benjy would be subjected to further drama. Rather bleakly, she laughed. Probably not a question of “if” but of how much . With that unpleasant thought, she pushed herself up from the sofa, picked up her shoes, and went to her bedroom.
An’gel slept soundly that night and woke to her travel clock alarm at six thirty. She yawned and pushed aside the covers. The bed was comfortable, and she felt reluctant to leave it. Duty called, however. She couldn’t put off getting ready for the day and whatever it entailed.
From the bathroom window she peered outside. The sun wouldn’t rise for about half an hour yet, and she hoped the storm that Estelle forecast would not come through until after the wedding. Bad weather would simply make already worn nerves more ragged.
An’gel admonished herself to shake off morbid thoughts. She focused instead on her bath and toilette. By the time she emerged from her bedroom, dressed in a casual, colorful linen print dress and flats, she felt more sanguine. The smell of hot coffee that wafted toward her cheered her even further. She traced the smell to the tiny kitchenette tucked away in a corner of the cottage near the front door. She found Dickce seated at a small banquette, cup in hand.
“Sister, thank you for making the coffee.” An’gel poured herself a cup, added a little cream and sugar, stirred, and sipped happily.
Dickce grimaced. “I don’t know about you, but I definitely had to have some caffeine before we walk into who-knows-what up at the big house.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” An’gel took the seat opposite. She peered out the small window above the banquette table. The sun should have been visible by now, but everything still looked murky. “Looks like the weather isn’t going to cooperate.”
Dickce shivered. “I got chills last night while RichmondThurston was telling that story. Imagine a gust of wind being able to suck a woman out of a window like that.”
“I’d rather not imagine it,” An’gel said. “There was one detail in what Estelle said that I find puzzling. How did she know the date of that poor girl’s wedding? Was it really the same as Sondra’s? Or was she just making it up to get at Sondra?”
“That is peculiar,” Dickce said. “I didn’t catch on to that.” She shrugged. “I vote for Estelle to be making it up. It’s the kind of thing she would do simply to aggravate Sondra and Jacqueline.”
“Unless she has an unimpeachable source for the truth of that story, I’m sure she did make it up.” An’gel nodded firmly to emphasize her point. “If we’re lucky, Estelle will be gone when we go up for breakfast.”
“Though who’s going to cook if she is gone, I wonder.” Dickce took a sip of coffee. “I don’t think Mireille is much of a cook. Perhaps Jacqueline is, though.”
“If nothing else, we can have a French country breakfast, like the ones we had in that pension in Paris, remember? That lovely, crusty French bread, with butter and jam, and the bowls of milky coffee. I’d never had coffee from a bowl before.”
Dickce laughed. “I remember the look on your face when you realized you had to drink out of a bowl. Priceless.”
“Yes, well, I got used to it,” An’gel muttered. She drained her cup and got up to rinse it out in the sink. “We still have about twenty minutes before we’re due for
An’gel called good night after her sister. She remained on the sofa, lacking for the moment the energy to get up and go to her own room. Her thoughts focused on the dinner party and its seething undercurrents. There had seemed an unpleasant undertone to the whole evening. From Horace’s occasional vulgarities to Sondra’s rude behavior before and during the meal and the ugliness of the scene with Estelle, the whole occasion had been the fiasco Dickce said it was.
They were due back at Willowbank in the morning for breakfast at seven thirty. An’gel wondered whether she, Dickce, and Benjy would be subjected to further drama. Rather bleakly, she laughed. Probably not a question of “if” but of how much . With that unpleasant thought, she pushed herself up from the sofa, picked up her shoes, and went to her bedroom.
An’gel slept soundly that night and woke to her travel clock alarm at six thirty. She yawned and pushed aside the covers. The bed was comfortable, and she felt reluctant to leave it. Duty called, however. She couldn’t put off getting ready for the day and whatever it entailed.
From the bathroom window she peered outside. The sun wouldn’t rise for about half an hour yet, and she hoped the storm that Estelle forecast would not come through until after the wedding. Bad weather would simply make already worn nerves more ragged.
An’gel admonished herself to shake off morbid thoughts. She focused instead on her bath and toilette. By the time she emerged from her bedroom, dressed in a casual, colorful linen print dress and flats, she felt more sanguine. The smell of hot coffee that wafted toward her cheered her even further. She traced the smell to the tiny kitchenette tucked away in a corner of the cottage near the front door. She found Dickce seated at a small banquette, cup in hand.
“Sister, thank you for making the coffee.” An’gel poured herself a cup, added a little cream and sugar, stirred, and sipped happily.
Dickce grimaced. “I don’t know about you, but I definitely had to have some caffeine before we walk into who-knows-what up at the big house.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” An’gel took the seat opposite. She peered out the small window above the banquette table. The sun should have been visible by now, but everything still looked murky. “Looks like the weather isn’t going to cooperate.”
Dickce shivered. “I got chills last night while RichmondThurston was telling that story. Imagine a gust of wind being able to suck a woman out of a window like that.”
“I’d rather not imagine it,” An’gel said. “There was one detail in what Estelle said that I find puzzling. How did she know the date of that poor girl’s wedding? Was it really the same as Sondra’s? Or was she just making it up to get at Sondra?”
“That is peculiar,” Dickce said. “I didn’t catch on to that.” She shrugged. “I vote for Estelle to be making it up. It’s the kind of thing she would do simply to aggravate Sondra and Jacqueline.”
“Unless she has an unimpeachable source for the truth of that story, I’m sure she did make it up.” An’gel nodded firmly to emphasize her point. “If we’re lucky, Estelle will be gone when we go up for breakfast.”
“Though who’s going to cook if she is gone, I wonder.” Dickce took a sip of coffee. “I don’t think Mireille is much of a cook. Perhaps Jacqueline is, though.”
“If nothing else, we can have a French country breakfast, like the ones we had in that pension in Paris, remember? That lovely, crusty French bread, with butter and jam, and the bowls of milky coffee. I’d never had coffee from a bowl before.”
Dickce laughed. “I remember the look on your face when you realized you had to drink out of a bowl. Priceless.”
“Yes, well, I got used to it,” An’gel muttered. She drained her cup and got up to rinse it out in the sink. “We still have about twenty minutes before we’re due for
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