The Favoured, The Fair and Ms. Vérité Claire

13 In The Dark

A gentle rocking motion at her shoulder woke Julia and she opened her eyes to see Orson's face staring down at her, inches away from her own. He spoke in a low, gentle tone just above a whisper.

"I'm taking off with the guys again. Are you going to be okay with Nina all day?"

"Yes. Of course. It'll be fine," she said, hastily pulling the blankets up under her nose to prevent herself from blurting out anything incriminating.

"Don't worry about it," he said with an indifferent headshake. He thought she was concerned with her breath. Julia lowered the covers as slowly as stage curtains following a death after Act I. It was a disappointing beginning to say the least. "Ok then. Have fun."

"You too."

"Sure," he said, a sardonic glint in a pirate's eye. "I'll see what I can do."

Julia watched him leave, her face half dug into her pillow. Her unhappiness at his casual departure meant one thing more than any other. She had to call Vérité. But Vérité would still be sleeping under an eye mask at this hour, or in do not disturb mode with Lance. Poor Julia couldn't even confide in Nina, not that she was sure she would if she could.

If Nina noticed Julia distracted during their spa day, she said nothing. Rather, she took total advantage of the fact by doing all the talking. She was in a more acerbic mood than Julia had come to expect, with people to hate and plenty of massage table time to do it, gossiping incessantly about everyone she'd ever met, including Anita whenever she was out of earshot. It was beginning to grate, but Julia forgave her because she also spent a great deal of that time speculating as to whom her husband might be sleeping with. Julia was relieved when they separated for different services, even though Nina cast her a betrayed look as she and Anita headed for a eucalyptus steam while Julia veered away to be buried under a pile of hot rocks in another room.

While she was meant to be clearing her mind, Julia found herself whispering Orson's name inaudibly over and over, as if by feeling his name pass over her lips she could somehow relive the kiss that had changed so much. Comfortably pinned under therapeutic stones the size of dinner plates, she could not reach her phone to try Vérité, but somehow knew what she would say.

"Rule number eleven: Live a little. It's good for you."

After a swim in the thermal waters, where Anita's ear-piercing hoot at a fountain-head's sudden tickling spout ricocheted off the walls and branded her persona non grata, the ladies dried off hurriedly for a nice late lunch before finally setting off back to the chalet. In their taxi, Nina checked her phone messages and learned that Hal had arrived. Almost instantly Julia witnessed a shift in her demeanor from that of a vessel of scorned, female fury to one of a nervously excited backstage groupie, ready to have her bra autographed. Whether competitive strategy or out of complex love, Nina greeted Hal like a returning king, if not specifically like Elvis, choosing, at least for the moment, to play dumb herself as they headed upstairs to be alone. Anita too excused herself to her room. She was pooped, she said, giggling, and needed a nap. Julia was also tired, but also hungry again. She decided to make herself a sandwich in the kitchen, which is where she found Brom.

"What are you doing back?" she asked, pleasant but cautious. "Where are Don and Orson?"

"I got a call from Hal. He said he wanted an update. Much as we pretend it's not, this is a business trip," Brom grinned sheepishly. His cleft chin struck her as a ridiculous flaw pretending not to be perfection.

"Oh, you don't have to tell me," Julia said. "I think Orson brought more in his briefcase than in his duffel bag."

"And that's not a little conspicuous to you?" he asked, leaning on the island counter, presuming to know something.