Dream a Little Dream (The Silver Trilogy) (F) by Kerstin Gier

what I’d have done in her place. However, up to this point she’d been nibbling a quail peacefully, and she’d even taken part in the conversation, if not at any length. Or maybe she’d simply been afraid of leaving her dad alone with Mom. Ernest and Mom themselves had been doing their level best to pretend they’d forgotten all about the last hour. They’d talked about anything and everything except the changes that were going to take place. And I’d been concentrating on Grayson’s sleeve, hoping it would ride up again and show those mysterious words. But although Grayson had consumed no fewer than four poor little mini-birds in a pretty brutal way, eating them with his hands (every time a bone cracked, Mia jumped—I think she was on the point of becoming a vegetarian for real), his wrist had been covered the whole time.
    “Florence!” said Ernest reproachfully.
    “Dad!” replied Florence in exactly the same tone of voice.
    “It’s okay,” I said. “It will dry again.” By the day after tomorrow or thereabouts.
    “Nonsense. You’re wet through. Florence will now go upstairs and find you a sweater.”
    “Florence has no intention of doing any such thing,” said Florence, looking him in the eye.
    “ Florence Cecilia Elizabeth Spencer! ”
    “What are you going to do about it, Dad? Send me to bed without any dessert?”
    “It’s okay.” Grayson put down the quail leg he’d just been gnawing and stood up. “She can have one of my sweaters.”
    “Wow, how chivalrous,” said Florence.
    “There’s really no need,” I said, my teeth still chattering, but Grayson was already out of the room.
    “He has this terrible urge to keep everything on an even keel and avoid conflict,” said Florence, to no one in particular.
    “I like your middle names.” Mia was looking at Florence, wide-eyed. “You’re really lucky, you know? Mom gave Liv and me the names of her favorite aunts as middle names. Well, she forced them on us. Gertrude and Virginia .”
    For a split second Florence’s face cleared.
    “My aunts are named after Gertrude Stein and Virginia Woolf,” said Mom. “Two great women writers.”
    “With shitty names,” added Mia.
    Mom sighed. “I think it’s about time we left. It’s been a wonderfu—” She stopped short and cleared her throat. That seemed to be overdoing it, even to Mom herself. “Thank you for the delicious meal, Ernest.”
    “Yes, thanks a lot,” said Mia. “Now we’ll appreciate Lottie’s cooking more than ever.”
    I could have sworn that the corners of Ernest’s mouth twitched as he stood up and gave Mom his hand. “Mrs. Dimbleby did make a dessert, but I’ll quite understand if you’d rather get home. It’s later than I expected, and the children have school tomorrow. I’ll call you a taxi. It’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”
    “Here.” Grayson was back. “Freshly washed.” He handed me a gray hooded sweater, and while Ernest was phoning for a taxi, I went into the guest toilet and changed out of my blouse. The sweater did smell of soap, but also a bit of crisply broiled quails. Delicious, really.
    When I came out again, everyone else was standing in the corridor waiting for me. Everyone but Florence, who was nowhere to be seen. She was probably already packing her things.
    Grayson grinned at me wearily. “Really suits you. At least six sizes too large.”
    “I like oversize,” I said, crumpling up my blouse in my hands. “Thanks. I’ll give it back to you when … well, sometime.”
    He sighed. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other quite often.”
    “I guess there’ll be no avoiding it.” Oops. I hoped that hadn’t sounded full of happy anticipation. I cast a last glance at his wrist, but too bad: the mysterious words were still hidden by his sleeve.

 
    7
    THIS TIME MOM abandoned Hansel and Gretel (otherwise known as Mia and me) not in the forest, as I dreamed our first night in London, but in the corridor of Ernest’s house