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“Have you been to Sultan Hammam here in London?” David asked.
Clara couldn’t hide her smile in time. Sirena happened to be looking at her and sent her a curious glance.
“Yes, though it’s not a true hammam,” replied Vassilis.
Clara heard only half his explanation about the difference between the authentic steam baths and the hot air used in Sultan Hammam. It was at just that moment that the dessert platter was placed in front of her, piled high with pastel squares of Turkish sweets from Constantinople.
Ordinarily, Clara would have adored trying the delights dusted in icing sugar, but her stomach roiled at the competing, intense scents. Rosewater, lemon, bergamot, and pistachio cloyed with the richness of chopped dates and nuts.
Citing the rich meal, she declined dessert, earning her a suspicious look from David. She was saved again by Adrian, who bid his farewell to the table. Sirena accompanied him out, returning with a long face.
Soon after, Clara joined her and Pen in the drawing room while Vassilis, Nick, and David remained in the dining room for a digestif.
Sirena usually invited Clara to perform at their piano, but tonight she sat down next to Clara and took her hand. “Lady Sarah is very ill,” she said quietly, referring to Adrian’s wife.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” Clara offered, looking from Sirena to Pen.
Judging by their mood, the situation was grave. After the huge wedding a few years ago, she’d only met Lady Sarah once, and the woman’s wit impressed her as much as her frailty. Since then, she’d heard little but rumor about her absence and failure to produce children.
“God has punished our family for our greed,” declared Sirena, her head held high but her eyes closed as if in pain.
“Mama!” Pen chastised.
“It’s true,” Sirena insisted tiredly.
“Mama, come now. It’s Lady Sarah who’s in poor health. We mustn’t think of ourselves.”
Sirena nodded, tears seeping from her eyes. “Yes, yes, of course.”
“I’ll add Lady Sarah to my prayers,” Clara murmured.
“It’s a disease of the heart and lungs. She was ill even before the marriage, though we weren’t told. It’s so severe now that she doesn’t rise from her bed.”
Clara closed her eyes, imagining a woman younger than herself ailing so. Poor Adrian—married only a few years, yet both of them suffering like this.
“You know that Mama’s sister Violet was under the care of various physicians. Perhaps there’s a way I could be of assistance.”
“So like your Mama. I’m afraid Adrian has tried everything. He’s brought physicians from France and Italy, even. But…” She shook her head, indicating that it was for naught. “There’s nothing we can do. Nothing at all.”
“You’re painting her portrait for Adrian,” Pen reminded her quietly.
“I’m trying. Come. I’d like your opinion, both of you, about the eyes.”
Clara and Pen followed her upstairs to her atelier, housed in a corner room with large, bare windows that allowed maximum sunlight. The room was strikingly functional compared with the rest of the home, its only furniture a large, simple table covered with supplies, and surrounded by easels.
Without speaking, Sirena held the candlestick close to the partially finished painting. Struck by the faithfulness to Lady Sarah—including the glint of humor in her eyes and diaphanous skin—Clara inhaled sharply.
The odor of turpentine and oil paints caused her to stagger. Bracing her hand on the table, she breathed slowly, but had to flee the room as her mouth filled with a sickening taste. She weaved down the hallway until she made it to a bench covered with velvet cushions.
“I’m sorry, I’m unaccustomed to…” Her eyes fluttered.
Sirena gave quiet orders in Greek to Pen, but Clara heard her brother’s name.
“No, no. We shan’t interrupt. I only need a moment, and perhaps a cool cloth.”
She refused Sirena’s offer to lie down, knowing that it was best for the nausea if her feet were firmly on the floor. Besides, if she were to recline now, she was unlikely to rise before morning.
Pen returned a moment later, followed by a maid who carried a basin and cloth. After some quiet and the refreshing cold cloth, she turned to the women, who watched her worriedly. “I’m restored.”
