wanted to kiss her, but she dropped her head to discourage him.
“Well, then. I hope to see you very soon.”
“Send a telegram to my mother’s if they say yes. I’ll be on the next train.”
He straightened his hat and headed for the train. Violet did the right thing and waited until it pulled away from the platform, waving to Clive and even blowing a kiss to him, though he was turning away from the window and didn’t see it. Perhaps it was for the best.
* * *
Flora stood in the corridor, bags on the thick rug at her feet, and waited.
Tony tapped his foot impatiently. “Is he coming?”
“He says he is.”
She knocked on the door again. “Sam? Do hurry up. We’ll miss the train.”
“I should have arranged a car to come for us,” Tony said.
“Then he’d make the car wait. He knows the train won’t wait. It will make him hurry up.”
She waited. The silence stretched out. Farther down the corridor, another of the hotel room doors opened and a chambermaid emerged with a ball of dirty sheets. She gave them a curious glance. Flora put her hand to her fair hair, pinned in an elaborate knot at the back of her head, covering her face with her forearm. How she hated people looking at her.
“Sam?” she said again.
“Not coming.”
The muffled answer made Tony’s eyes roll and his hands fly up in the air, a characteristic gesture. “I give up. Sort him out. I’ll tell the others we’re probably staying.”
Flora helplessly watched him go. She knocked on the door again, dropping her voice. “Sam, let me in. Tony’s gone.”
She heard movement as he rose from the bed. Then the door opened and he peered out, checking for Tony.
“I told you. He’s gone.”
“You’ve lied to me before, sister.” His dark, dark eyes were glazed and a familiar sweet, organic smell filled the room. Syrup and geranium.
Flora pushed the door in and Sam let her by, then returned to the bed and his tray of precious things. A lamp. Awls and scissors and tweezers. And, of course, the long, elaborate pipe. She indicated the equipment accusingly. “You promised me.”
“It was too hard a promise to keep.”
“Then we must go home. We must get back to the farm, where you have family who can help.” They had been sent to the Evergreen Spa Hotel by their father in the hope that the fresh air and the spa water—imported from Germany—would improve Sam’s health. Flora, five years older, had been put in charge of making her brother better. But it was a task at which she was doomed to fail: the opium had him so strongly in its grip, and she was fairly certain he had found a regular supplier up here. This was the reason he didn’t want to leave.
Tony’s father, a good friend of her own father, had suggested he join them. They had been engaged for six months now, and were no closer to a wedding date. Both families hoped that an extended holiday together would throw a little fuel on a fire that hadn’t kindled as readily as they had expected.
“I think we should stay a little longer,” Sam said. “I saw a poster. Christmas in June. Let’s just stay for that. It’s only five weeks away.”
“Five more weeks?”
“Come on, Sissy.” He lit another pipe, sitting cross-legged on his bed. “Don’t be a grump.”
She clamped her teeth tightly to stop herself from screaming. “I’m meant to look after you. I’m not making your life hard because I enjoy doing so.”
“The Iti does.”
“Don’t call Tony that. Besides, he’s not Italian. He’s American.”
“American Italian, though. Oily as a—”
“He’s my fiancé,” she interjected hotly. “He’ll be your brother-in-law soon.”
“Where is he now? Making a deal with the mob?”
“Sam, stop.”
“Brown eyes and bullets. That’s what you’re marrying.”
“Our father has approved. Your opinion of Tony is irrelevant.” Their father had more than approved the marriage. He had arranged it. “Anyway, I love Tony,” she added,
“Well, then. I hope to see you very soon.”
“Send a telegram to my mother’s if they say yes. I’ll be on the next train.”
He straightened his hat and headed for the train. Violet did the right thing and waited until it pulled away from the platform, waving to Clive and even blowing a kiss to him, though he was turning away from the window and didn’t see it. Perhaps it was for the best.
* * *
Flora stood in the corridor, bags on the thick rug at her feet, and waited.
Tony tapped his foot impatiently. “Is he coming?”
“He says he is.”
She knocked on the door again. “Sam? Do hurry up. We’ll miss the train.”
“I should have arranged a car to come for us,” Tony said.
“Then he’d make the car wait. He knows the train won’t wait. It will make him hurry up.”
She waited. The silence stretched out. Farther down the corridor, another of the hotel room doors opened and a chambermaid emerged with a ball of dirty sheets. She gave them a curious glance. Flora put her hand to her fair hair, pinned in an elaborate knot at the back of her head, covering her face with her forearm. How she hated people looking at her.
“Sam?” she said again.
“Not coming.”
The muffled answer made Tony’s eyes roll and his hands fly up in the air, a characteristic gesture. “I give up. Sort him out. I’ll tell the others we’re probably staying.”
Flora helplessly watched him go. She knocked on the door again, dropping her voice. “Sam, let me in. Tony’s gone.”
She heard movement as he rose from the bed. Then the door opened and he peered out, checking for Tony.
“I told you. He’s gone.”
“You’ve lied to me before, sister.” His dark, dark eyes were glazed and a familiar sweet, organic smell filled the room. Syrup and geranium.
Flora pushed the door in and Sam let her by, then returned to the bed and his tray of precious things. A lamp. Awls and scissors and tweezers. And, of course, the long, elaborate pipe. She indicated the equipment accusingly. “You promised me.”
“It was too hard a promise to keep.”
“Then we must go home. We must get back to the farm, where you have family who can help.” They had been sent to the Evergreen Spa Hotel by their father in the hope that the fresh air and the spa water—imported from Germany—would improve Sam’s health. Flora, five years older, had been put in charge of making her brother better. But it was a task at which she was doomed to fail: the opium had him so strongly in its grip, and she was fairly certain he had found a regular supplier up here. This was the reason he didn’t want to leave.
Tony’s father, a good friend of her own father, had suggested he join them. They had been engaged for six months now, and were no closer to a wedding date. Both families hoped that an extended holiday together would throw a little fuel on a fire that hadn’t kindled as readily as they had expected.
“I think we should stay a little longer,” Sam said. “I saw a poster. Christmas in June. Let’s just stay for that. It’s only five weeks away.”
“Five more weeks?”
“Come on, Sissy.” He lit another pipe, sitting cross-legged on his bed. “Don’t be a grump.”
She clamped her teeth tightly to stop herself from screaming. “I’m meant to look after you. I’m not making your life hard because I enjoy doing so.”
“The Iti does.”
“Don’t call Tony that. Besides, he’s not Italian. He’s American.”
“American Italian, though. Oily as a—”
“He’s my fiancé,” she interjected hotly. “He’ll be your brother-in-law soon.”
“Where is he now? Making a deal with the mob?”
“Sam, stop.”
“Brown eyes and bullets. That’s what you’re marrying.”
“Our father has approved. Your opinion of Tony is irrelevant.” Their father had more than approved the marriage. He had arranged it. “Anyway, I love Tony,” she added,
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