“Yes. She has a dreadful headache and she told me if I was intent on going to the museum, then you should escort me.”
“You and I out and about, and no chaperone,” he mused.
At a public gathering of this sort in the daytime, and with him sanctioned as a proper suitor, this was not a concern, although they would not be able to sup together.
“Don’t seem surprised. She knows you are a gentleman. Besides, I can show you that coin trick you taught me the other day. I’ve spent hours working on it.”
“I warn you, I know nothing of entomology.”
“It is no matter. Your one duty can be to look absolutely dashing by my side and nod your head charmingly,” she told him.
Hector chuckled and gave her his arm, both moving toward his carriage, which was waiting for them.
He came by each week to see her with his lovely bouquets of lilies under his arm and that vague melancholic air of his. His eyes looked dented and wearied, but when he smiled, she thought it magnificent, and his laughter—though scarce certain days—was marvelous.
She sat in front of him as the carriage rolled down the avenue and took out from her purse a coin, holding it up for him to see.
Hector gave her a nod of encouragement and she tossed the coin in the air. It rose but never fell, Nina holding it in place with a movement of her hand, making it float between them.
“See?” she said, triumphant. “I’ve done it.”
“Not quite. Make it be still.”
“It is still.”
“No.”
The coin was not absolutely still—it trembled ever so slightly, it dipped and rose a tad—but it was the lightest movement.
“That does not count,” she said.
“It does.”
“It can’t remain absolutely still, Hector.”
“It can,” he said. “Allow me.”
She released the coin and he extended his hand. It floated between them, but this time it was absolutely still. Then he moved but two fingers, and the coin flew to his waiting palm.
“If you are going to perform a task, perform it properly, Nina. Do not cut corners or give it a halfhearted try,” he said.
“I did try to do it properly. I spent hours practicing last night. I told you.”
“It does not show.”
Nina crossed her arms. She did not like him when he was like this, and truth be told, he was a rather exacting teacher. She thought he did it to scare her off and dissuade her from telekinetic tricks, but sometimes she thought he did it for another reason altogether, one she did not comprehend.
She tilted her chin up and looked out the window. It was a sunnyspring day, and when they reached a wide avenue decorated with the bronze statues of notable citizens of Loisail, she looked at the beautiful flowers bordering the pavement, jasmines and tulips in darling colors.
They went by the fountain with its nymphs, all three holding their hands in the air, and stopped at the main entrance of the Natural History Museum, which she’d visited but once with Valérie, who had not liked it at all because it was an older building, rather cluttered. Nina thought it a fabulous place, a treasure trove. Most people marveled at the large animals: the impressive tiger about to attack or the bear frozen in its tracks, both wonders of taxidermy set against a painted backdrop. Nina preferred the smaller specimens. The insects like jewels upon black velvet.
They did not have time to pause and look at the pretty beetles or the delicate butterflies on this occasion, because the lecture was about to begin. They made their way to a room filled with many chairs and sat in the back.
The lecturer was Lise van Reenen, a naturalist who was noted as a butterfly collector. The talk that day was on the caddisfly, which lived near bodies of water and spun a cocoon of silk. Nina was impressed by Lise’s delivery and the way she commanded the room.
When the lecture was over and they walked outside the museum, she remarked on this point.
“Some people, I think, are born to speak in public and know how to manage every word and gesture. As she did, as you do when you perform,” she told Hector.
