Dream a Little Dream (The Silver Trilogy) (F) (16 page)

Ernest joined in her laughter, although he looked slightly confused, like his brother Charles, who at least seemed to be relieved that he wasn’t under attack this time.

“Hear that?” I said to Grayson. “The more dangerous your friends are, the better my mother will like it. Even if they go holding the Black Mass by night in cemeteries.”

I could have been just imagining it, but I thought that Grayson turned a little pale. He tightened his lips, pushed his chair back, and stood up. “I’m going back to moving the furniture.”

“If Grayson doesn’t want to look after Liv, I can do it,” Florence volunteered as Grayson left the room with a last, dark glance at me. “I’m going on to Arthur’s party right after our meeting of the ball committee.”

I had no chance to get indignant about that, because Mom pricked up her ears again the moment she heard the word
ball
. Her interest pleased Florence, who began describing the Autumn Ball and all the party dresses in glowing colors as the most romantic day in the year. An absolute must in the life of anyone at Frognal Academy, although—and at this point a brief and distinctly malicious smile flitted over Florence’s face—although sad, very sad, to say, it was only for upper school students.

Mom looked as if she were going to burst into tears of disappointment right away.

“Younger students can go to the ball only as someone older’s dancing partner.” Florence’s voice was positively dripping with regret. “And the stupid thing is, Grayson’s already taking Emily.”

Mom sighed.

“But with a little luck, I might be able to find Liv a partner…,” added Florence.

Yes, that was exactly what Persephone had predicted. And of course, Mom fell straight into Florence’s trap.

“Really?” she said enthusiastically, and I could see that, in her mind’s eye, she was already choosing my ball dress. “Liv, mousie, wouldn’t that be great?”

“Hmm … Difficult, but I think Emily’s brother Sam is still free.” Florence frowned, as if working that out had really been a great strain. “Maybe I could persuade him to take Liv to the ball.”

Sure, Sam. Or Pimply Sam, as Persephone had called him.

“But of course I can’t promise anything.”

This was getting better and better. Next I supposed we’d have to go on our knees to Pimply Sam and beg him to go to the ball with me. Maybe even bribe him.

“It sounds like a truly horrific occasion,” I said with emphasis. “Let me make one thing clear: I’d sooner have a root canal without anesthetic than go to that ball.”

“Liv!” exclaimed Mom, and Florence, piqued, raised her eyebrows, muttering something about foxes and sour grapes.

“I once had a root canal without anesthetic,” said Lottie, “and believe me, it’s not something you’d ever want to do.”

“Root canal without anesthetic?” repeated Charles incredulously, and Lottie nodded.

“My uncle Kurt is a dentist. A bad dentist, a mean old miser, and a sadist.” With a sideways glance at Florence, Lottie made haste to add, “He’s not a Nazi, all the same.”

“Then I suppose you don’t especially like dentists?” Charles’s tone of voice was distinctly regretful. “I mean, if you’ve had such bad experiences.”

Lottie blushed and launched into a peculiar speech about sadistic dentists, getting her words all mixed up again, until Buttercup nudged her with her nose and prevented the worst from happening. During lunch, she had been lying under the table looking anxiously at the sleeping cat. But now she obviously wanted to help Lottie out of a fix by reminding her that it was long past time for her usual midday walk. Lottie seized the chance to shut her mouth and pick up the dog leash. I felt sure she was in urgent need of some fresh air. A little cold water splashed in her face wouldn’t have been a bad idea either.

Thoughtfully, Florence watched her go. “I think she has a funny accent, even for someone German,” she said, but so quietly that (I hoped) Lottie couldn’t hear her. “What breed is that dog of yours, by the way?”

I was opening my mouth to defend Lottie’s accent (she didn’t have one—she was just getting her words mixed up today) and to enumerate all the dog breeds that had, presumably, featured among Buttercup’s forebears (it was a long list), when Mia interrupted me.

“Buttercup is an Entlebuch Biosphere dog,” she explained, perfectly straight-faced. “It’s a very rare and valuable breed of Swiss herd dogs.”

Buttercup, who had trotted after Lottie, turned back at these words, looking as rare and valuable and cute as she could manage. So did Lottie, who was waiting for her in the doorway.

“Delightful dog,” said Charles enthusiastically.

Mia bent over her plate and muttered, but luckily not at such high volume as Mom, “All the same, we like veterinarians better.”

17

ARTHUR’S FATHER’S VILLA
was exactly what I’d originally expected Ernest’s house to be like—roller garage door on the street with a CCV camera over it, garden like a park, porch with pillars that might have played a leading part in
Gone with the Wind
, and—honestly!—a fountain in the front hall. It was hard to imagine anyone simply living here.

“Looks like a private clinic for the drug-addicted kids of millionaires,” I whispered to Grayson.

“That’s not so far from the truth,” said Grayson. “Except that you can get plenty of drugs and alcohol around here.”

“My mother would be really glad of that,” I said.

“I’m sure she would.” Grayson rubbed his forehead. “She’s rather different from most mothers, right?”

“You noticed? I’m glad you’re speaking to me again, incidentally.” On the way here he’d simply stared grumpily ahead of him. When I got into the car, he managed a “hello,” but apart from that, not a word had passed his lips.

He shrugged. “One way or another, I can’t change it now. You’re here, although I did warn you against it.”

“Yes,” I said, satisfied. In the car I’d been so tired, I’d been afraid I might simply fall asleep beside the silent Grayson. My empirical studies at night and the furniture moving had drained me. But now I was more or less awake and ready to solve a few mysteries.

A young man who looked badly stressed out had opened the door and sent us off down a side corridor with the words, “The young people’s party is in the pool house.” According to Grayson, the young man was the private secretary of Arthur’s father, who was also throwing a little party tonight. (Arthur’s father, I mean, not the secretary.) Although the word
little
was presumably to be taken relatively among the Hamiltons.

The pool, for instance, was at least fifteen yards long, and the pool house around it larger than anywhere I’d ever lived. All that glass was rather alarming. This would be no place to start throwing stones. At the near end of the room there was a bar so well equipped that it might have been in a pub. The lighting in the pool was beautiful, but although the water looked really inviting, no one was swimming. Maybe that would be for later. It was rather full in here, and several people were dancing so close to the edge of the pool that they’d probably fall in sooner or later, and then they’d
have
to swim.

Anyway, the mood was cheerful. At the sight of several girls in slinky dresses and high heels I wondered whether I ought to feel underdressed and develop a little inferiority complex, but then, thank goodness, I saw several others in jeans and T-shirts, and breathed a sigh of relief. My dark-blue shirt had a low neckline, and the new jeans that I’d bought in Zurich on one of Papa’s generous days fitted perfectly. I was also wearing lip gloss, mascara, Mom’s concealer, and a little silver butterfly barrette in my hair that Mia had given me because it was too kitschy for her.

“There’s Arthur and Jasper,” I said. I almost had to shout—the mixture of party music and all those voices talking at once was an acoustic disaster in a building with so much glass. “Why is Jasper doing a thumbs-up sign and grinning in that weird way?”

“Because he thinks I’ve worked a miracle and brought you here in spite of your mother’s opposition,” replied Grayson, while Arthur and Jasper made their way toward us through the dancers. “You can simply say no.” He took hold of my arms and looked pleadingly at me. “Listen, Liv, do please simply say no.”

“No to what?” I asked, but Arthur and Jasper had already reached us.

“Hey, it’s little Liz! With her hair down and no glasses. Wow!” Jasper was beaming at me. “Good work, Grayson,” he said, raising his hand for high fives with Grayson. Grayson, however, just grinned rather awkwardly. And his hand was still firmly around my forearm.

“I’m so glad it worked, Liv,” said Arthur. He looked even better than usual, if possible, without his school uniform. A classical Michelangelo statue, except that he wasn’t naked but in jeans and a close-fitting black polo shirt.

“But I…,” I began. However, Grayson interrupted me.

“It wasn’t easy to convince her mother,” he said, holding my arm a little more firmly. “I had to promise to drop her off home again at eleven.”

“Oh…” I tried not to look at Grayson in consternation.

“Well, better than nothing,” was all Arthur said. “Are you hungry? My father’s having a party of his own this evening, celebrating some kind of business deal. I made sure catering would keep something for us. Sushi, dumplings, and raspberry tarts.”

“And we almost winkled a redheaded waitress away from the main party,” said Jasper. “But unfortunately Arthur’s dad wanted to keep her for himself—hey, is that Henry over there?”

I took a deep breath, preparing to arm myself against whatever might happen. Even the mention of Henry’s name made my heart miss half a beat. It didn’t help that he looked as if he’d had his hair blow-dried in a tropical storm, wind force twelve. The way we’d held hands in a dream made me feel awkward, although his behavior gave me no reason at all to suppose he could have dreamed anything like the same thing. We’d studiously ignored each other in school. That’s to say, he had ignored me and I’d pretended to ignore him.

“Hey, you were going to be here two hours ago,” said Jasper.

“Yes, I know.” Henry looked at Grayson’s hand, which was still grasping my forearm. Grayson jumped and let go of my arm, as if he’d only just noticed that he’d been cutting off my blood supply all this time.

“Sorry,” said Henry. There were dark shadows under his eyes. “I couldn’t get away from home—the usual little family weekend crisis.” He and Grayson performed their funny kindergarten ritual again, hooking fingers together, clapping hands, and for a moment Grayson’s face relaxed slightly.

“Is everything okay now?” Arthur sympathetically asked Henry.

Henry nodded but seemed not to want to answer at any length. “Hi, cheese girl,” he said instead, smiling at me. “Here after all?”

“Yes, my terribly strict mother said I could go out this evening for once,” I said, with a surreptitious glance at Grayson.

“But only until eleven,” he said, unmoved.

“Oh, shit!” Jasper pointed to a redheaded girl in a blue, off-the-shoulder dress so short that it could have passed as a swimsuit. “Who invited Madison?”

So that was Jasper’s ex. She was standing very close to a boy on one of the long sides of the shining, turquoise pool, laughing very loudly.

“Madison is here with Nathan,” said Arthur. “You have to be strong now, Jasper. I’ll just go over and say hi, okay? But I’ll be right back.”

“Huh,” said Jasper, watching as Arthur joined the two beside the pool. “It’s all the same to me. The way she acts as if
she
were the one who dumped
me
is annoying, that’s all. When all the time it was the other way around, of course.”

“Of course,” murmured Grayson.

“I mean …
Nathan
! I ask you! Imagine Madison trying to make me jealous of that garden gnome, of all people! Me, Jasper Grant! When his nose … Just look at that huge nose of his, and then compare it with his tiny little—”

“Yes, calm down, Jasper. We’re on your side,” Henry interrupted.

Jasper, surprisingly, changed his tone of voice from injured to sweet as honey. “Wouldn’t anyone feel sorry for Madison? Wouldn’t
you
, little Lizzie?” Without taking his eyes off his ex-girlfriend, he put an arm around my shoulders. “First she chases me for months on end, writing me high-flown love letters, then as soon as I dump her, she throws herself at the next comer. Out of sheer desperation.” He had come a little closer to me with every word he said, and now his lips were almost touching my ear. “Wow, you smell good, by the way.”

“Leave her alone, Jasper,” said Grayson, but Jasper ignored him.

“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” he whispered in my ear. “It’s driving me crazy!”

“Obviously. Particularly as I’m not wearing any perfume at all.” I freed myself from his grasp, although much more gently than I’d normally have done, because Madison was still looking at us.

“Would you like something to drink?” Jasper asked me, and when I nodded, he beamed. “I’m going to create a new drink this evening just for you. I’ll call it Sweet Liz in honor of the sweetest girl in the room.”

Henry snorted, amused.

“Her name is Liv,” said Grayson, irritated. “
L-I-V
. And she’s only fifteen, Jas, so you’re not going to fill her up with alcohol or use her to make Madison jealous. And what’s more—”

Jasper interrupted him. “Go away, spoilsport. Talk to your Emily.” He pointed to two girls who were just coming in through the wide-open doors at the near end of the pool building, Florence and a slender girl with shoulder-length brown hair. Emily Clark, editor in chief of the students’ magazine.

Feeling curious, I stood on tiptoe to get a better view. Florence was looking lovely. Her shining hair fell to her casual leather jacket, which she’d combined with a short skirt and boots. Emily was at least a head taller, and with her severe haircut, black blazer, and black pants she looked like Florence’s elder sister—or a college student who took her studies very seriously. Or like someone who wants to sell you insurance. Mia and I suspected that Emily was behind Secrecy and the Tittle-Tattle blog—a suspicion based largely on the fact that over the three years of its existence, the blog had never said anything mean about Emily, apart from a comment on the unattractive appearance of horse-riding helmets, and some minor digs at the good marks Emily always got in school. However, the term
pushy
used about her could be taken as a cleverly disguised compliment—or as talking herself up—and the photo of Emily in horse-riding gear was not at all unattractive. In fact, she was probably the only person in the world who didn’t look silly with a hard hat on.