All The Dark Places

2. The Birds Don't Like The Air Anymore

Everything seemed to come from nowhere. The serving staff was discreet and barely noticeable until someone needed them, and then they appeared without hovering, ready to please. They did their tasks and then quietly, like a breath of air, vanished. They wore black slacks or tea length skirts with white button up shirts and prim lace collars. Some wore aprons edged in neat eyelet lace with their hair tied back in neatly braided buns. Silver tea trays were set out with triple-tiered serving dishes laden with delectable treats too prettily prepared to eat without feeling guilty.

The parlor that Valerie called The Florentine Room, was named for the fifteenth-century fireplace, daringly rescued during the second world war from a crumbling abbey just outside of Florence. It was an elaborate thing in indigo blue, cream and red and depicted cherubs and angels. Pairing with the dark richness of the rest of the room, it gave an air of eccentricity to the decor. A rare model of Bosendorfer grand piano, "one of only fourteen of its kind remaining in the world" was situated by the grand window overlooking the lake. Rich oak tables dotted the room where guests casually sipped tea and nibbled scones off of Lenox china. Rosalind felt a tinge of nerves creep over her skin. I don't fit in here, she thought, nervously twirling the beaded rope of her necklace in her fingertips.

"Roz!" Martin's voice cut through the nerves and offered an oasis of comfort. "There you are. My wife can't wait to finally meet you." He took her hand and led her to a table where a handsome blond woman waited with their daughter, Felicia. "Rosalind Pyrne, this is my wife, Thessaly."

"He is too formal." The woman stood up, and Rosalind admired her height at almost six feet tall, towering over her husband by a half a foot. Martin was a short man, though his lack of height did not seem to make him any less confident. She was an effortlessly posh woman, dressed in a pure white dress suit with a hint of gold jewelry. It was the kind of look that Rosalind thought belonged on soap opera mavens who dominate powerful families. "Please, call me Tess. Everyone does. Martin told me so much about you. In fact, he rarely shuts up about you. My daughter has read all three of your books and kept telling me how good they are. I like to know what she is reading."

"It's amazing that Felicia read those books. Felicia, aren't you only eight?"

"I will be nine in a month," Felicia informed them with a wide mouthed grin.

"Ah well then. So much more grown up."

Martin was staring at her, moony-eyed and fascinated. Rosalind tried to ignore it, but clearly Tess could see the effect she had on her husband and her posture stiffened. An icy look passed over the table, and Rosalind decided she would never want to be in a dark alley with Mrs. Yearling. She would likely have her eyes gouged out.

"Felicia is a gifted child. She reads well above her age range with full comprehension. She reads Shakespeare on her own."

"Is that so? That is very advanced."

"Yes. Well, your books weren't that much of a challenge for her, as I expect they aren't that much of a challenge for anyone. Books for the masses, you know." Tess shifted in her seat. "Of course, there is nothing wrong with that. There is plenty of demand for that sort of thing."

Rosalind suddenly remembered that Martin had held her hand on the way to the table. The gesture seemed simply friendly, something an excited person does without thinking. Still, it was inappropriate. She felt guilty that she had not noticed. Tess had the wrong idea, and it was likely the reason for the icy welcome.

"I had girls in their late teens in mind when I wrote them, but I suppose they are for everyone." Rosalind bit at her lip in an effort to stop herself from telling Thessaly Yearling exactly what she thought. Martin cut in, pulling a chair out for her which made it worse. She sat and smiled dutifully when one of the ghostly serving staff instantly arrived to present her with a teacup and began to pour.