Page 8 of The Muse
“Great, so you’ll do it?”
“Of course. It was my idea to go after that little weasel. Neve?”
We all look around, but she’s gone.
“Persephone, I think you should reconsider. I’m more than happy to handle this,” big brother cuts in.
“And I am a grown woman who can fight her battles. Don’t you have business to talk over with Daddy or something?” I cross my arms and see if he’ll take the hint.
He downs his drink before he rolls his eyes at me and leaves.
“Text me his address when you get it.” I wiggle my toes back into the crippling shoes and breathe through the pain as I stand. It’s just for a few seconds, and then my feet will acclimatise so I can hold off the screaming for a few more hours.
As I leave the reading room, I snag a glass of champagne as it’s whisked past me by a waiter balancing a silver tray.
“Ahh, Persephone. Come with me.” Daddy swoops in and puts his arm around my shoulder, steering me from the direction I was heading in—retreating to my rooms—back into the drawing room. “A friend of your grandfather’s is here, and has been asking about you,” he says in a hushed tone. “Here she is.”
The old gentleman is perched on one of the Klismos chairs, wearing an impeccable suit that would have fit him like a glove if he was a little younger. His skin looks too big for his bones, and as he holds out his hand for me, he shakes terribly.
“Daniel Davis,” he introduces.
“A pleasure, Mr Davis.” I take a seat in the chair next to him.
“I saw you in your first ballet, you know. Your grandfather was so proud of you.” His voice wobbles in tone as he speaks. “Of course, he wished his Lizzy could have seen you. She was such a gentle soul.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Davis. Are you talking about Grandma Elizabeth?”
“Yes. Of course, she had the shadow of Lady Broderick to contend with. That woman was quite a tyrant.”
“You knew my Great-Great-Grandmother?”
“She was a shrewd woman. There was no doubt as to who was in charge when she was around.”
I think back to any memories I have of Grandma Elizabeth and I’m warmed by the feeling of happiness she conjures. She was sweet and kind, and I remember going to the ballet with her and my mother when I was small. I always wanted to be one of the dancers up on the stage. The memory stings as I realise what I’ve walked away from, but I also can’t find the joy that I felt when watching those ballerinas on stage.
Great-Great-Grandmother, or rather, Lady Broderick, died long before I was born, but I do remember Great-Grandma. She was the old lady who used to sit in the wing-backed chair in the corner of the drawing room at Tallington Hall. She always had a shawl over her shoulder and a frown on her face. Father said it was because she was lonely, but I was too young to really understand. She lived with us for a few years before she died. I imagine she could have been a tyrant, too, as Mr Davis described, especially if she had a role model in Lady Broderick.
“Is Neve here as well?” he enquires.
“I think she is. Would you like me to find her?” I have to wonder how an old friend of grandfather’s knows Neve.
“Oh, no. No bother. Would you fetch me a cup of tea? My grandson seems to be lost.”
“Of course.” I stand and go off to find someone who can do the honours, tipping half the glass of champagne I’ve been nursing down my throat at the same time. I need to escape, and fast, before I'm introduced to some other old friend who seems to know more about my elderly relatives than I do.
The back stairs are deserted, but none of the guests would be back here. So, I use them as my escape up to my rooms. As soon as I’m behind closed doors, I take my feet out of my shoes, collapse onto my bed, and take a deep sigh.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and scroll through my social feed. Seems the little article from Scott Foxton has really done the rounds. What a jerk. Checking my messages, I find two. Both with the same information. His London address. Thank you, Neve and Ivy.
Who said having big sisters was a bad thing?
Chapter Five
SCOTT
The thundering sounds keep drumming into my ears, giving me a rhythm to keep up with. I bank left, then right, down onto The Embankment, and keep going regardless of the distance I’ve already covered. It’s the only thing that’s worked for the last few years, and it’s the only thing continuing to make me feel something like a human most days. Sweat, pain, muscles pulling and reminding me I am not getting any bloody younger, but I keep running nonetheless, to keep me sane if nothing else.
As I swing back out towards The Globe Theatre, a dog wanders into my path and is quickly yanked back to the guy towing it before I kick the bloody thing. Good job, too, because I would have kicked it. Nothing interferes with this. At least not usually. Today, though, for reasons that are probably absurd, something is—she is. Actually, it’s just her body that is, or the way it seems to have caused a need in me to paint again. I don’t know. Either way, it’s both pissing me off and making me feel like smiling for once in my miserable life.
