The Ghostly Past

Chapter 19

It was busy everywhere, as Clara weaved her way through the throngs of people and out into the hallway. She paused, her hand on the table. At least she wasn't seeing Amelia's memories again. It was marginally less crowded there and then she spotted Max across the way, coming out of a door, clicking it shut behind him.

He was dressed in black trousers and the grey chef's uniform with the Grey Gardens name embroidered on it, his hair slightly messy, face damp probably from the steam of the kitchens. He looked tired, surveying the ball with only the tiniest glimpse of resentment in his eyes.

She started towards him, only to be beaten to it by a girl in her late teens, dressed in a skimpy scarlet dress with spaghetti straps, her black hair curved around her face, a pretty but hard face with its vampish lipstick and dark glittering eyes.

"What are you doing up here, Max Henderson?" The girl said to him, laying a hand with long talon like nails upon his arm.

"Just having a look." He said, shifting back from her grip.

"Shouldn't the help be downstairs?" She said snidely. "You should know your place, unless you're here to serve me a drink."

"Oh I know my place." His green eyes, like chunks of jade, seemed to gleam dangerously. She'd not really seen him angry before, but tonight there seemed something different about him, even from a distance. His face had the same strained expression as the others. "Seems like you and your sister have no idea of your own."

"Leave Kim alone, you snake!" The girl practically hissed at him. "Don't you screw things up for her."

Max burst into a harsh laughter, leaving the girl seething. "You're talking to the wrong person there, Claire."

"Everyone is watching you." Claire goaded him, "Everybody knows what you are, who you are."

Clara had had enough, pushing in beside him, "Wow," she said sarcastically, "Where did you go to charm school?" Both Max and the girl's faces dropped. Her heart was hammering. She'd never been good at confrontation, but she'd be damned if she let someone speak to Max like that.

"Excuse me!" Claire spluttered. "Who are you?" Her eyes travelled up and down Clara's diminutive frame in that judgemental way perfected by women.

"Clara Fitzroy."

"Oh." Realisation crossed the girl's face. "You're her. The nosy bitch always pushing her face where it doesn't belong."

It stung but Clara kept her face calm, looking up at her. "That's right. I think you should leave now."

Claire looked furious, glancing between Clara's carefully impassive face, despite the nauseous feeling in her stomach and adrenaline in her veins, and Max's cold one. "Fine. But my sister will hear about how rude you were to me, both of you. I'm surprised they let you through the door." She sneered at Clara as she walked away.

"What was that all about?" She wondered, turning to Max.

He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "You tell me." His voice was soft, slightly amused but also angry with her, his eyes still shining with that strange look. "What did you think you were doing?"

"She had no right to talk to you like that." Clara said hotly. "It made me angry."

"I can fight my own battles, Clara." He replied, his voice damning. "I didn't need your help."

Rebuked, she turned away. She was too tired for this, too tired to fight with him, with that girl. She'd just wanted to help. There was a long silence, him standing behind her. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she tried to get a handle on the sudden wave of anxiety.