“I should tell Charlie you’re awake.” Cordelia took the glass away and stood up to go. “He told me to tell him as soon as there was news.”
As soon as Cordelia mentioned Charlie, Astrid couldn’t help it, her thoughts returned to that man. How blood had gushed out of him, his life leaking into a field at night where no one could help him. How it was Charlie who had finished him there, and how scared he’d looked in his final moments, just like a frightened animal.
“Cord?”
Cordelia was nearly out of the room, but she paused and revolved in the open doorway. “Yes?”
“I think…” Astrid closed her eyes and swallowed. “I think it would be best if I could get away for a while.”
The room was very quiet, and some seconds passed before Cordelia replied, “Let me see what Charlie says,” and then her footsteps grew faint as she moved down the hall.
Astrid turned her head against the pillow and fixed her gaze on Victor. “It’s not the heat,” she said after a while.
“I know,” he replied.
For a while she stared at the expanse of bedding in front of her and imagined that those white peaks and valleys were a snow-covered slope she could ski down. At the bottom there would be a little chalet, with a fire in a pit and hot chocolate, and Victor would be there, in a thick turtleneck sweater. She thought about how in the coldest part of winter everything gets so peaceful and quiet, and all you can hear is your own breath. But she knew she didn’t deserve an escape like that.
“Victor…”
His face twitched as he glanced up at her, the corners of his mouth twisting down. “Yes?”
She extended her hand across the bedspread, working her fingers as though grasping for something just out of reach. “Hold it, just for a few seconds.”
The worry in his face didn’t go away. It just darkened a few shades. His eyes went to the door and out the window and up at the ceiling. But Astrid knew that he would do as she wished. She flipped her palm open, showing him the soft flesh, and let her eyes close. The bed went up when he rose, and back down when he sat, closer to her, and interlaced his fingers through hers. The warmth of his skin relaxed her mind, but this comfort was short-lived. He heard footsteps returning before she did and stood up abruptly when Cordelia burst through the door.
“Enough moping!” Cordelia declared with a clap of her hands. She was smiling broadly and had suddenly acquired a sunny disposition that was not native to her. “Charlie agrees we ought to get out of Dogwood. And I’ve called Letty and told her to be ready to cheer you up. Let’s pack you a bag. We’re going to the St. Regis.”
“It’s Letty Larkspur.” Victor leaned his shoulder against the door frame that separated the big bedroom from the sitting room of the suite that Charlie had rented for the girls, waiting for instructions.
“Yes, Letty’s one of us; let her in right away!”
When Victor had gone, Astrid sank back into the upholstered headboard and smiled at Cordelia, who was sprawled next to her on the bedspread, a half dozen plates of half-eaten sweets strewn between them. As soon as they had arrived they had ordered every item on the room-service dessert menu, which included chocolate fondant cake, macaroons, profiteroles, pear-shaped marzipans, strawberries in cream, and several brightly colored delicacies that they had not yet had the chance to try. It wasn’t Astrid’s usual careless smile, but Cordelia was glad to see her at least attempting a happy expression, which was more than she’d been capable of that morning. “This was a good idea, Cord. I’m feeling much better.”
“Good,” Cordelia replied, putting her fork into a slice of yellow cake with thick vanilla frosting. Ever since her big coming out with Max she had been feeling quite ready for anything, and everything tasted delicious to her, and she knew that whatever it was that was plaguing Astrid couldn’t last long.
“Darling, what’s the matter?”
The girls on the bed turned as Letty rushed in carrying a huge cone of peonies wrapped in brown paper. A little private smile played on Cordelia’s lips. Letty had always been a notch more vivid than those around her—she had charm, and she knew how to move, and her eyes had an extra light in them. But in all the years of their friendship, Cordelia had never seen Letty so brimming with confidence and life. It was as though something had switched on inside of her. She was wearing a smart dress that Cordelia had never seen before—sleeveless navy with white polka dots that swished around her legs—and bright red lipstick. Without meeting Victor’s eye, she handed the flowers off to him—the way one hands something off to a servant—and climbed on the bed next to Astrid. “Tell me everything.”
“You’d better have some cake first.”
Astrid handed one of the plates to Letty, and though Letty dutifully took a bite, she seemed mostly indifferent. After a second bite she pushed it aside and curled into the great heap of pillows at the head of the bed, turning her face up to Astrid expectantly.
“I was on my way to the pool when I fainted…the world just went dark, darling, and the next thing I knew I was in my bed and everyone was fussing over me!”
“Ever since the storm passed, the heat’s back, almost worse than before.” Cordelia propped herself up on her elbow, her temple against her fist, and gave Letty a knowing look. “I told her, where we’re from, people know to stay indoors when the summer gets bad.”
“But it wasn’t just the heat.” Astrid paused, and her round, green eyes sank toward her lap. A moment ago she had been telling her story in that blithe, careless manner she employed at lawn parties and in limousines, but now that tone disappeared, and she seemed again like the stunned girl Victor had carried up the stairs of Dogwood. “Something happened the—the night of the storm.”
“What?” Letty whispered. She was listening with her entire body.
“There was a man…” Astrid’s voice faltered, and her hands shot up to cover her face. A curl of yellow hair fell over her fingers, and her shoulders shook with her silent sobs.
Alarm traveled down Cordelia’s spine, and she sat up straight. She’d seen Astrid angry at times, but she’d never seen her like this—stunned and confused and at a loss for words. Letty’s eyes darted to Cordelia and then back to Astrid.
“We were having such a good time,” she wailed. “And then there was a man. One of Coyle Mink’s men. He didn’t seem to mean us any real harm, but Charlie was so angry. And then we were driving so fast. And then we were off the road and…”
The name Coyle Mink made Cordelia stiffen. Ever since she had successfully negotiated with the Hales, ever since Max had appeared on the horizon and whisked her away, ever since he’d told her, once and for all, that he wanted her to be his girl, she had felt so settled and sure that all the days to come would be wonderful. But now she remembered what Thom had said about Coyle Mink. At the time she thought he had only been saying things were going to be bad to get her to go away with him, but she couldn’t help the sense of foreboding his name stirred in her now. “And what happened?” she demanded, not quite so gently as she meant to.
“It was awful! The blood. The way the blood smelled. Those pathetic eyes when he looked at me right before he—right before Charlie—” The sobs were audible now, and Letty began to stroke Astrid’s shoulder, although it was hard to tell whether she registered the touch. “And then there was the way Charlie’s face got, right before he shot him. It was so stony and mean, and though he looked at me, he didn’t seem to see me at all. He was kicking that man, and I just wanted him to stop.” She paused to gulp air, pulling her hands off her face and nervously spreading them over her knees. When she went on, her words were slow and faraway. “I said, ‘Charlie, don’t kill him,’ and he said, ‘You want me to kill him?’ and before I could reply the gun had gone off and he made that terrible sound and there was blood everywhere.” She pressed her eyelids closed, the black lashes fanning against her wet cheeks. “Oh, God, do you think it’s my fault?” she whispered.
“No.” Giving a firm shake o
f her head, Cordelia reached out and rubbed her friend’s ankle. She wanted to say more, but she couldn’t think of what. She was too stunned, and too angry. Now it made sense why Charlie had so readily agreed to let them go into the city—he had agreed because it wasn’t safe for them to be at Dogwood. Anger burbled inside her to think that just when she had secured an element of tranquility for her family, he had put them in danger again. And she was furious that, after everything, he would keep the whole story from her. “No, it’s Charlie’s fault” was all she could say.
“What a horrible, awful, no-good thing for you to see,” Letty was saying in a gentle way.
But Cordelia’s thoughts were full of Coyle Mink and what was coming to the Greys now that they had stolen his business and killed one of his men. Her teeth were set hard against each other, and she wished that she was alone so she could pace the room. Her gaze drifted away from her two best friends, and that was when she caught sight of something else to worry about.
In the door frame stood Victor, holding a tall vase of peonies. His dark eyes were soft with concern, and he was watching Astrid as though he had been watching a long time already. For a moment Cordelia thought that he must be preoccupied with the same thing she was—that he was thinking about Coyle Mink, and how he would surely seek revenge. But then she recognized a special agony in his gaze—she’d seen it in John Field’s eyes—and knew that he was consumed with something else entirely.
As though we don’t have enough problems without the men falling in love with Astrid, she thought, and pushed herself off the bed. With brisk movements she made her way across the room and took the vase out of Victor’s hands.
“We can’t stay in here all day.”
Letty and Astrid glanced up from their huddle and blinked at her, and she realized how heartless and perfunctory she had sounded.
“I only meant that the best thing is to forget about it until there’s something we can do,” she went on, more softly, lowering the peonies to her waist.
“Right you are, darling.” Astrid smiled bravely and wiped both cheeks dry. “There’s nothing to be done about that man now, and we’re in the best city in the world, and together, and the only thing the living can do is have a little fun, don’t you think?”
“Yes, that’s just what I meant.”
“Yes.” Astrid nodded, as though she might thus convince herself out of her bleak mood. “I’m going to put on my dancing shoes and have a little fun. Victor,” she called out flirtatiously. “You don’t think I’m so old and sad and married that no one will want to dance with me, do you?”
The way Astrid pronounced Victor’s name sent realization like a hard winter gale through Cordelia’s mind. However she wished she could be rid of this knowledge, it was coming at her from every direction. There was something between Astrid and Victor, something more than a one-sided crush, and whatever it was meant yet more trouble for her family.
Shooting Victor a warning look, Cordelia stepped forward, planting herself between the bed and the door frame and blocking Astrid’s view of the bodyguard. “I’ll dance with you, darling,” she said. “But let’s get pretty first.”
17
IN THE WEEKS THAT ASTRID HAD SPENT AWAY FROM Manhattan, the glittery world had moved on without her. At the St. Regis roof she saw that new couples had formed while she was off honeymooning, and they were doing dances that she didn’t recognize. The hole-in-the-wall places that people used to go to after midnight were no longer mentioned, and while new places were mentioned in their place, she wouldn’t know the passwords necessary to get into them. Of course she was still a person of interest, but the glances she got were somewhat askance, although Cordelia assured her that in fact those glances were for her—they didn’t like that a boy from a very different part of the city had passed himself off as a hoity-toity flyboy, she said, and they weren’t sure what to think now that the papers were reporting that she and Max really were an item. But none of this mattered particularly. Astrid was in no mood to put on any kind of show. She was simply glad to be in her favorite company, and far from Dogwood and Charlie and men with guns.
“There’s really nothing a good dress can’t fix,” Astrid said, draping a slender arm over the back of her chair and leaning away from the round table. A bowl full of orchids sat at the center, and next to it a gold bucket filled with ice was chilling a bottle of champagne. “This one is awfully good on you, Letty darling.”
“Valentine bought it for me,” she replied, in a voice dusted with sugar.
“You know, before you two darlings came into my life—and this is not a brag—I was the most talked-about girl this side of the Mississippi. Well, one girl can only hold the torch so long without getting burned. Cordelia came along and carried it for a while, but now I think it’s Letty.” Astrid sipped her champagne and enjoyed watching a touch of the old blush come into Letty’s cheeks. “Cord, don’t you think so?”
The band was at a high swagger just then, and Cordelia had to turn away from the saxophone player to reply. A subtle smile came over her face. “Yes, I think it’s Letty’s turn.”
“To Letty,” Astrid said, and they all clinked glasses and nodded in satisfaction at everything the petite girl from Ohio had become.
The song ended with a gleeful eruption of horns, and the couples on the dance floor stopped to clap. They were the boys and girls Astrid had grown up with—the children of the best families, home from boarding school for the summer to play and spend money and get in minor scrapes before returning, unscathed by their bad behavior, for tranquil seasons of football games and midnight picnics in the quad and sneaking in and out of dormitories. It wasn’t very long ago that she had been as careless and reckless as any of them. Ordinarily, the habits of her peers charmed her, but for some reason she couldn’t grasp, the sight of them laughing away up high above the city made her stomach tight.
The last song had ended, and the applause died down. Astrid turned away from the scene, toward her friends, grateful that she was here with them and not at the center of activity. That was when she heard the sound.
A pop like a gun.
She wheeled around in time to hear a shriek of hilarity and saw Beau Ridley at the next table over, wielding a champagne bottle. Pale liquid flowed from its narrow mouth. The cork had flown across the room, to a table whose occupants were bemusedly fishing it out of the flower arrangement. But knowing where the sound had come from did nothing to quiet the ringing in her ears. Her eyes darted across the room, over chiffon party dresses and tables littered with drinks and flower arrangements and discarded bow ties.
They settled on Victor, who had been standing against the wall. He was watching her, with that same steady gaze, and she remembered that if there was danger, he would protect her. Her shoulders relaxed, but she knew she was no longer going to be able to sit still while the party reached a fever pitch. She searched for a distraction and found one.
Had it always been there? She’d spent so many nights at the St. Regis roof. Coming-out parties and wedding celebrations, fetes for spring and fetes for fall. Never on any of those nights had she noticed the small, arched door frame on the far side of the room, nor the hand-painted sign above it. She murmured an excuse to her friends and glided through the shaking bodies. As she left the circle of chandelier light, she began to make out the letters. PHILOMENA, the sign read, CLAIRVOYANT. PARTICULARLY PROPHETIC IN MATTERS OF THE HEART & STOCK MARKET.
“You probably weren’t expecting anybody tonight,” Astrid said as she pushed through the thick purple curtain and into a dimly lit room that smelled of incense and cigarettes. “Not with things so fizzy out there.”
“On the contrary—I was expecting you.” The accent was vaguely European but impossible to place. Slowly Astrid’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and she made out a woman sitting cross-legged amid many tasseled pillows. Her body was wrapped in layers of Oriental-patterned fabrics, and her hair was done up impressively, a winding structure of braids an
d beads. With a mercurial smile she announced, “I am Philomena,” and gestured for Astrid to sit. Then she quickly added: “Four dollars for the reading.”
“Oh, yes, right, of course…” Astrid plucked a bill from her garter and handed the clairvoyant a five.
“Thank you.” Having tucked the bill away, Philomena returned to her lyrical manner. “Close your eyes, dear, and take a breath.”
Astrid did as she was told.
“I want you to forget your troubles and open yourself to the mysteries.”
“All right.” Though Astrid wasn’t quite sure what this meant, she tried to sound cheerfully obedient.
“Give me your hand.”
When she offered up her palm, Astrid cracked one eye and saw the furious concentration with which Philomena immediately began attending to the lines of her flesh.
“Ah,” she began. “I see you are already a lucky one. You have traveled far. You have been much admired. You have married a wealthy man.”
“Yes.” Astrid couldn’t help but slump a little at this reference to Charlie.
“It is a great love…” Philomena traced a line along Astrid’s palm. “But also a rocky one, no?”
“Yes.”
“He is brash and ambitious but sometimes seems incapable of correctly handling a delicate flower like yourself.”
“Yes.” This time it sounded almost like a whimper.
“It is never easy to love a powerful man.” Philomena chuckled. “Believe me, child, I know.”
“No.” Astrid swallowed. “It isn’t.”
Now the clairvoyant’s tone changed. “But what’s this?”
“What’s what?” Astrid’s eyes got big. “What is it?”
“You will have two great loves.”
The Lucky Ones (Bright Young Things 3) Page 16