The Splendour Falls by Unknown, Rosemary Clement-Moore Page A

occupied the space once used to stage fancy-dress dinners.
    â€˜Have a seat,’ she’d said. At least she seemed abenevolent despot. ‘I know cold pizza is no way to welcome you to Alabama, but I figured you might like to get to know the kids your age.’
    Separating me from my dog was no welcome either, but since that wasn’t Clara’s fault, I didn’t unload on her. ‘Where is everyone?’ I tried to keep the wari?ness out of my voice, since by ‘everyone’ I meant her witch of a daughter. But there was also no trace of Rhys, or Shawn, and I had mixed feelings about that – disappointment, annoyance at myself for being disappointed, relief that I didn’t have to deal with the confused dynamic I felt with Mr Enigmatic or the tug of attraction I felt for Sir Teen Town Council.
    Clara had her back to me while she fussed at the counter, so if she reacted to anything in my tone, I didn’t see it. ‘The gang all had their dessert and went home. You were outside a good while.’
    â€˜My stepbrother called to make sure I’d arrived in one piece.’ It made a decent explanation, at least. Changing the subject, I ran a hand over the table, which was dark with age and scarred with use. ‘This would cost a fortune in an antique store.’ Amazing how many reruns of Antiques Roadshow you could watch when you were stuck in bed for weeks at a time.
    â€˜It’s just about the only thing from the original kitchen,’ Clara said, setting a china bowl and a spoon in front of me. I’d noticed all the appliances were shiny and new. ‘I told Paula if I was going to take charge of the cooking in this little endeavour, no way was I using a cookstove from my grandmother’s day.’
    I picked up the spoon. The ice cream on top of the cobbler was already melting into a thick white lakearound the buttery crumble and glistening purple fruit. This was more calories than I normally ate in an entire day.
    Across the table, Clara folded her arms, looking dangerous. ‘If you say one word about carbohydrates, Miss Ballerina, I’m going to pinch your head. Now eat.’
    Obediently, I lifted a dripping spoonful to my mouth. I expected it to be heavy, cloyingly rich. Instead, I got magic on my tongue. Fresh berries burst against my palate, the tartness sweetened by light, crisp pastry, all bound together with the cream.
    â€˜Oh. My. God.’ I didn’t even care what it did to my thighs, it was that good.
    Clara smiled in satisfaction. ‘Now, that’s a proper welcome to your family home.’
    My family home. In the dark kitchen, hours later, I let the scene replay, tracing a hand over the old table. My father had eaten at this table, maybe sharing a meal with his cousins while the adults dined in the formal room, with china and linens. The image was so vivid, it was as though I were standing on one side of a window, looking through to someone else’s memory.
    If I glanced out of the unfocused corner of my eye, I could almost see the servants moving about, preparing dinner. A woman walked past me, laden with a groaning tray, her forearms muscled from the accustomed weight.Details sang in my mind – the black hair curling out from under her cap, the crisply starched ruffles of the apron covering her long calico dress.
    The breeze of her passing brushed my skin, and my half-closed eyes flew open. I whirled, and glimpsed the swish of a skirt, the trailing ribbons of an apron,disappearing round the corner, towards the dining room down the hall.
    Clara? That didn’t make sense. Or maybe it was Paula, but I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t stop to berate me for being out of bed. Plus, the clothes had been so distinct, and I couldn’t picture either of them wearing linen and calico.
    I took a single step after the woman, then stopped, as a dizzying wave of horror grabbed my insides and twisted. There was no one there. There