“I do not know, but he said you could be ‘frightening’ at times,” Winston said. “Those are his words, not mine.”
“Then I shall have to strive to appear less frightening,” Melody remarked. “How did it go when you called on Mattie? Did she forgive you?”
“She did,” Winston confirmed. But she had done far more than forgive him. She had made him feel understood.
Melody bobbed her head in approval. “I am pleased that you two are getting on rather nicely.”
“I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
“How can I not?” Melody asked.
Now he needed a drink.
Winston leaned forward and picked up his glass. As he brought it to his lips, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Mattie.
“You are smiling,” Melody pointed out.
He wiped it away quickly.
Melody gave him a knowing look. “I suspect I know who brought that smile to your face. Could it be that you havefinally come to recognize that love and hate are separated by a fine line?”
And now he needed another sip of his drink.
“You can say nothing, but your silence just confirms what I already know to be true,” Melody said.
Knowing that he needed to change topics, Winston glanced down at Melody’s hands and saw that she had ink on her fingertips. “Who did you write?”
“My friend, Josephine,” Melody replied.
“You write to her quite often,” Winston said.
Melody nodded. “I do.”
He lifted his brow. “Dare I ask what you find to write about?”
“We always find a wide array of things to write about,” Melody responded, her face lighting up. “It is rather enjoyable to send letters and receive them in return.”
Winston returned the glass to the table. “How is your Russian coming along?”
“It is good,” Melody responded.
The long clock in the corner chimed, alerting them to the time. “It is late. We should retire to bed,” he said as he stood up.
Melody didn’t make an effort to rise. “I think I shall stay here and work on my letter to Josephine.”
The way Melody said Josephine’s name made Winston pause. He had a hunch, but he hoped he was wrong. There was only one way to find out. “Does Mother know Josephine is actually a gentleman?”
Melody’s eyes went wide. “How did you know?”
“I suspected it only because your face lit up when you spoke about what you wrote about,” Winston explained.
“Are you going to tell Mother?” Melody asked.
Winston returned to his seat, regarding his sister with the sternest expression he could muster up. “It depends,” he began. “Do you have an understanding with thisgentleman?”
Melody hesitated, her eyes shifting away. “We have an arrangement of sorts.”
“What does that mean?” Winston pressed.
