Page 15 of The Seven Sisters
‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘I think I do. And please, Star, if you ever need someone else to talk to, I’m always here. Remember that, won’t you?’
‘I will.’
‘There you are!’
Both of us jumped instinctively and turned round to see CeCe striding along the jetty towards us. Perhaps I imagined it, but I’m sure that I saw the tiniest hint of irritation pass fleetingly across Star’s opalescent blue eyes.
‘I came to get some fresh air because you were asleep,’ Star said as she stood up.
‘Well, I’m awake now. And so is Tiggy. Did Electra arrive last night? I just looked into her bedroom and there were no signs of anyone having slept in there.’
‘Yes, she stayed at the Pavilion with me. I’ll go see if she’s woken up,’ I said, standing up and following my two sisters back across the lawns.
‘Presumably, you had a tough night last night, Maia, dealing with Electra’s usual histrionics?’ said CeCe.
‘As a matter of fact, for Electra, she was relatively calm,’ I answered, knowing there was little love lost between my fourth and sixth sisters. Each was the antithesis of the other: CeCe so practical and loath to show any emotion, and Electra so volatile.
‘Well, I’m sure it won’t be for long,’ CeCe sniffed. ‘See you later.’
I headed back to the Pavilion, pondering Star’s distress. Although she hadn’t actually voiced it, it was the first time I’d ever had an inkling that CeCe’s domination of her was a problem. Entering the Pavilion, I heard sounds of movement from the kitchen.
Electra, looking astonishing in an emerald silk robe, was filling the kettle.
‘How did you sleep?’ I asked her.
‘Like a baby. You know me, I always do. Would you like some tea?’
I eyed the teabag warily. ‘What is it?’
‘Virgin green. Everyone’s drinking it in California. Mitch says it’s meant to be very good for you.’
‘Well, you know me, I’m addicted to good old caffeine-fuelled English Breakfast tea,’ I smiled as I sat down, ‘so I think I’ll pass.’
‘We’re all addicted to something, Maia. I wouldn’t worry too much about tea. So, any news of Ally?’
I related to her exactly what Marina had told me up at the house.
‘I know patience isn’t one of the virtues that I possess, as my therapist never ceases to remind me, but are we all simply meant to hang around here until Ally turns up? If she’s out at sea, it could be weeks.’
‘I really hope not,’ I said as I watched her sashaying gracefully around the kitchen. Even though I was considered the beauty of the family, I’d always thought that the title should have gone to Electra. Just out of bed, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders in a tangled, tightly curled mane, her face needed not a hint of make-up to highlight her incredible cheekbones and full lips. Coupled with her athletic yet feminine body, she reminded me of an Amazonian queen.
‘Have you anything in here that isn’t full of additives?’ she queried, pulling open the fridge and studying its contents.
‘Sorry. Ordinary mortals like me don’t scrutinize the fine print on labels,’ I retorted, hoping she’d take the joke.
‘Well, let’s face it, Maia, it hardly matters what you look like, when you barely see another human from one day to the next, does it?’
‘No, you’re right, it doesn’t,’ I replied equably. After all, it was quite true.
Electra finally decided on a banana for her breakfast, opened it and bit into it disconsolately. ‘I have a big shoot forVoguein three days’ time, which I hope I don’t have to cancel.’
‘I hope not either, but who knows when Ally will appear? Last night, I googled sailing regattas taking place at the moment, but I couldn’t find any. So we can’t even send out a message to the maritime authorities to contact her. Anyway,’ I suggested, ‘the others are awake up at the house so, when you’re dressed, why don’t we go across and see them?’
‘If we must,’ said Electra nonchalantly.
‘Listen, I’ll see you in a bit,’ I said, rising from the table, knowing that in a mood like this, Electra was best left alone. I went into the room I used as my study, sat down behind the desk and turned my computer on. I saw I had a sweet email from a Brazilian author, Floriano Quintelas, whose beautiful novel,The Silent Waterfall, I’d translated from Portuguese a few months ago. I’d corresponded with him during the translation process when I’d been struggling over a particular phrase – I had wanted to convey as authentically as I could the poetic, ethereal quality of his writing – and we’d periodically exchanged emails ever since.
He was emailing to tell me that he’d be flying over for publication of his book in Paris in July and he’d love me to attend the launch party. He’d also attached the first chapters of his new book, asking me to read them if I had time.
