Worth

Chapter 3 (cont.)

Her father was impressed yet practical. "If it's a really large amount to spite the family, I hope you know they'll contest it."

Her mother stressed modesty. "It is possible you're only mentioned in the will. He might just want to acknowledge your friendship publicly."

"Like Caesar?"

Olivia was having a field day. "Wear a tight red dress and some sunglasses and when they tell you he left you a million dollars take out a tissue and dab your eyes." Lee helped with a demonstration.

Olivia said yes right away when Violet begged her to come along. Mr. Edmunds had nothing to say because Violet had worked the Switzerland send-off for him. Her under eyes were purple. Her stomach was churning. She was in no way up to the Scarlet Mistress routine. She settled on a little black dress with cap sleeves and a square neckline with stiff white lapels. A thin white scarf made a summery head band. The sunglasses were a necessity. She wanted to be understated, but not to hide. Poor Violet could not have been more conspicuous if she appeared with a limp and a shoulder parrot.

When they entered Philroy Palm's office, the sisters were stared head to toe eleven times over. Eleven somehow seemed hardly an adequate number to produce the amount of hostility Violet felt directed towards them. It felt more like eleventy. For starters, there was the elderly yet stately woman nearly literally bent on scowling Violet to death over her shoulder. Her bitter beak and starchy arrangement hinted at a serious distaste for youth. A shame, too, since she had obviously once been a beautiful woman and could have aged likewise if not for the fixed pinched expression. She was at the top of the family food chain, being at the centre of the pack and securing the most comfortable seat to be had. The others there did not seem the types to offer a poor old woman a seat unless their lives were at stake. Fortunately there were enough chairs for all present.

Seated next to this woman was a couple Violet guessed to be in their early fifties. The woman, also a beauty, had a peaches-and-cream complexion, a perfumed and powdered look and blonde hair whipped up into a vanilla cone. Her round-faced husband looked to their younger daughter, softening his features in a comforting way. It was quickly remedied by a sharp look of annoyance from the missus. The elder of their two girls was the spitting image of the mother. No appearance of solemnity from her either. She was cool and stiff as meringue. The younger girl, an auburn red-head opted to look blank rather than be chastised for looking earnest.

Two more cousins, for Violet assumed the teenage boy and girl on the other side of the room were, had positioned themselves to be the first to see new people coming in for the reading. They rolled their eyes and talked with crooked mouths. Now they would have to wait that much longer to see what their dead unknown relative had left them. They were beige in hair and skin colour like their mother, with their fidgeting father's long limbs. Both parents seemed extremely agitated and concerned with not looking it, which resulted in a lot of leg crossing and imaginary lint picking.

Just before Violet and Olivia took their places, a woman with a firm grip on a wobbly cup of coffee snuck up from behind and introduced herself in a heavy accent as Parvati Visnoo. She explained she was a counter girl at Leo's favourite deli and that only she had been allowed to take his phoned orders. "It isn't always about pickles," she said sagely. Then she added, "They seem to like you less than me." The girls had little time to politely respond. Parvati had made her move for the other side of the office wary of losing her status as third most hated person in the room.

Olivia calmly took her seat, an armless mahogany chair with burgundy brocade. She cleared her throat to keep from laughing hysterically. "Oh, it's always about the pickles," she whispered.

Violet gave nothing away. She let out a long quiet whistle – a dog's whistle. The two blondes turned towards them. To avoid a premature staring contest, Violet let her eyes wander to the office window and the figure standing near it. He was tall and dark as a shadow, staring out on a summer's day like no sunlight could reach him. This was a man in mourning. Not a highlight in his dark curly hair, not a gleam in his charcoal eyes. He fixed his gaze suddenly on Violet before she could look away. He was the handsomest man she'd ever seen in person. She felt her heart speed up and a need to break the intensity with a half smile, unsure as it was.