Page 47 of The Treasure House

Mr. de Marche wasn’t pleased to find his son had guests. “I’d planned to relax this weekend,” he’d growled at Freddie, not caring that Marly was standing right there. “Not entertain total strangers.”

“So don’t entertain them. Go drink a fifth and take a nap,” Freddie said in a flat voice.

“And who is this Priscilla girl anyway? What happened to Birdie?”

Marly joined in. “Yes, what happened to Birdie?” What kind of girl was called Birdie? And what would Priscilla think about this!

“Birdie’s in Capri for the summer with her parents,” Freddie said tightly, ignoring Marly. “And Pris is a friend.”

Pris? A friend?

“Wow,” Marly said, once the terse little conversation was over. “You’re such a gentleman.”

“Oh, hush up,” Freddy said, still glaring at his father’s retreating back. “Birdie and I aren’t serious, and neither are Pris and I.”

“Cilla,” Marly corrected. “She hates being called Pris.”

“She never complains when I do it.”

“No, well, she wouldn’t, would she?” Marly griped. “But trust me, she secretly hates it.”

Freddie de Marche of course made a point of calling Priscilla Pris all day after that. And Priscilla, the idiot, let him, even though Marly could have sworn she saw her eye twitch every time he did.

Mr. de Marche seemed to put everyone off as much as he put Freddie off, Marly noticed—even his own wife. Mrs. de Marche was elegant and very, very thin and looked like she’d just licked a lemon, especially when Mr. de Marche was around. They all had a rather stilted luncheon together in the dining room. Marly’s lucky brothers missed the whole thing, still out on the bay in their yacht while Marly had to sit, bored as hell, at the end of the table next to a potted palm.

“He’s a bit much, isn’t he?” Mom murmured about Freddie’s father to Aunt Betty as they got ready to leave.

“Almost as much as she is,” Aunt Bet murmured back.

Cilla wasn’t pleased when she learned Freddie planned to take Marly out on the water. “You don’t have to,” she said, a frown forming.

“I know, but the kid was pretty heartbroken when her brothers left her behind this morning.”

Marly tried to look heartbroken.

“Maybe I’m heartbroken at not going out too,” Cilla said, looking sulky but trying to do it prettily.

“Don’t you need to curl your eyelash—” Freddie cleared his throat. “I mean, don’t you need to get ready for the dance?”

“There’s plenty of time,” Cilla lied. “And we haven’t been alone all day.”

“That’s settled, then,” Mom said cheerily. “Priscilla and Freddie will go for a sail while we go home and get ready. Come on, Marly.” She clicked her fingers at Marly like she was a dog.

“Sorry, kid, I tried,” Freddie murmured as they waited for the valet to bring the car.

“You better dance with me tonight,” she hissed at him under her breath. “Or the m-word is coming back out and I don’t care who hears it.”

Marly had never been to a dance before and she only had one dress that was at all appropriate: a yellow cotton sundress with tucks down the front. It was missing a couple of buttons and her mother made her fish around in the button dish for replacements. She stood in her robe waiting while Mom took forever to sew them on. Sylvie lent her a poufy net petticoat to go underneath her sundress, but only after Aunt Betty intervened. The bouffed-out skirt looked more grown-up, but not by much, and Marly only had her patent Mary Janes to wear. Talk about little kid shoes. She looked like she was going to church.

Mom let her borrow a pair of white gloves with little floral eyelets all over the backs, and she tied a yellow ribbon in Marly’s loose hair.

“Lovely,” Mom said absently. But Marly knew she looked her fourteen years and no more.

Sylvie and Priscilla, on the other hand, looked like full-grown women. Cilla’s blue tulle made her bust look bigger than it really was, and Sylvie was pert as heck in her pink chiffon with the big buckle at the waist. Marly’s brothers were in their sport coats, their hair Brylcreemed and their shoes shined to a high gloss (courtesy of Mom). They had a flask hidden and kept passing it back and forth when Mom wasn’t looking. On the way out to the car, Marly picked some seaside daisies and tucked them into the ribbon in her hair.

Although she wasn’t exactly sure what a dance should be like, she thought they were meant to be fun. And this one wasn’t. A dance floor had been cleared in the middle of the same dining room where they’d had luncheon earlier but there weren’t any decorations or anything. A band played watered-down standards, while old people shuffled around, stepping on each other’s toes. There were sandwiches and a little tray of cream cakes but otherwise it was slim pickings. Marly’s brothers disappeared into the billiards room, which was no girls allowed, and Mom and Aunt Betty joined Mrs. de Marche and a bunch of squares sitting in the far corner.

Sylvie had a string of partners all night and no inclination for a pity dance with Marly, while Priscilla hogged Freddie. Which left Marly where she always was—nowhere. She bet if her dad had been here, he would have asked her to dance. But he was never here. Dad did nothing but work.