Page 32 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Oh, rrreally?” Robert drawls, clearly very pleased with himself.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t get too carried away.” I throw a chilly look at him across the table. “I only meant that it was an improvement on the scowl you usually wear.”

“I do not scowl,” Robert says.

I snort into my tea. Then, because it is sitting untouched in front of him and I am still hungry, I reach out and pinch a piece of Robert’s toast.

It is at this point that Caitlin drifts in, and I am happy to see her.

“Good grief.” Robert’s voice is dry. “Do my eyes deceive me or can that be my sister gracing the breakfast table before noon?”

Right on cue the clock begins to strike twelve.

Caitlin sprawls into one of the dining chairs and slumps down, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Ha ha,” she mutters, her eyes half closed. “Very funny, I’m sure. Doesn’t it bother you that your sister is actually, definitely dying?” She groans. “Oh! Perkins,” she exclaims as the man himself appears like a silent and dour-faced genie. “Be a darling and fetch me a Bloody Mary, will you? Very bloody, if you get my meaning … the sort of thing Dracula would take a liking to. And … thinking about it, make a pitcher, will you?”

“Of course, madam,” Perkins intones gloomily.

Caitlin lets out a whimpering noise and rests her head against the tabletop.

“Are you OK?” I ask, looking at her limp figure.

She lifts a hand weakly in response, then lets it fall to her side.

I look at Robert. “What does that mean?” I ask.

“It means I was right about the Mary Pickford cocktails,” he says, and I can detect just a hint of big brotherly self-satisfaction in his words.

Judging by the hand gestures Caitlin is making, so can she.

“Why are you both looking so disgustingly cheerful?” Caitlin asks finally, after downing half of the bright red drink that Perkins brings out for her.

“We didn’t drink as much as you,” Robert says matter-of-factly. “I’m not sure anyone did.”

“Hmm.” Caitlin sniffs at this, but the colour is coming back into her cheeks now, and she looks a lot more alive. I inform her of this fact and she shakes her almost-empty drink at me. “Dear old Perkins could wake the dead with a couple of these,” she says.

“And he’s had to do so on more than a couple of occasions,” Robert puts in.

Caitlin ignores this. “So, Lou,” she says, suddenly awake, her eyes boring into mine, “I trust you found your room all right last night?” She is smirking, and I realize then that she thinks Charlie saw me back to my room. For some reason I don’t want to mention that in Robert’s presence. Thankfully, he has returned his attention to his newspaper.

“Yes, thank you,” I answer.

“And that your escort didn’t behave in an … untoward fashion?” She giggles.

“Of course not,” I hiss, mortification running through my veins.

“Shame.” Caitlin pouts.

Robert rustles his paper. “What are you talking about, Cait?”

“Nothing, just that Charlie seemed very keen to see Lou to her room last night.”

“Hmmph.” Robert makes a sort of grunting noise and doesn’t say any more.

I glare daggers at his sister, trying to communicate that I would rather talk to her about last night when we are alone. She rolls her eyes at me, but seems to get the message.

“Fine, fine,” she says. “I believe you … millions wouldn’t, but I do.” She pours herself another glass of the vibrant red drink. “Has my brother been keeping you entertained?” she asks.

“I’ve been delightful company,” Robert answers before I can say anything.