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“Friends of mine. I’ve known Georgy for donkey’s years. She’s from the village of Thornhill, just down the way. I met Rani and Jane at King’s. And that’s me, of course.”
In the photograph, Lia sat on a green velvet divan with her friends clustered around her.
“Thick as thieves,” August said. “Same setting? The Pearl?”
“We were out shopping, stopped by the hotel, had the clerk take our photo there. You know, since my great-grandfather used to practically run the place. We were just being silly.”Silly, silly, silly...
She could tell August was about to ask another question, but he was interrupted by Gogo sliding his enormous length out from under her bed and immediately scampering to him. Gogo whimpered to be petted.
“Lia...there’s a horse in your room,” August said as he gazed down.
“Gogo,” Lia chided. “Get back in your bed. You’ll get hair on Mr. Bowman’s suit.”
“Gogo?” August repeated. “Is he a club dancer?”
“Gogo, short for Argos,” Lia said.
August laughed softly and squatted on his haunches to meet Gogo face-to-face.
“Poor lad, named for the most loyal hound in Greek mythology and your mistress calls you Gogo.”
“When I was little, Mum had a cat named for the painter Toulouse-Lautrec. She called him Tou-Tou. Women, right? No respect for the dignity of men and other beasts.”
August only smiled and kept petting Gogo. She liked that, that he was nice to her dog. But she didn’t like liking it.
“Gogo, go-go to your bed now,” Lia said. Gogo hesitated before obeying. She was also impressed that Gogo had warmed to August so quickly. He tended to hide from strangers, especially men, and August was certainly one strange man.
“You wanted to see the kylix, right?” she asked.
“Please,” August said.
Lia returned to her bed and passed him the wooden box.
She watched as he opened it, watched as his lips parted when he looked down at the kylix nestled in the packing straw. His eyes widened as he stared at it without touching. Gray eyes, gray like a mercurial sky that couldn’t decide if it wanted to break into sunlight or let loose a storm. She really needed to stop staring at his eyes.
“Gods...” he said with a long breath. “May I?” He nodded at the kylix.
“Go ahead.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and, with it, carefully eased the kylix from the box, lifting it as if it were a newborn baby sparrow.
“This, Lia, is not an ordinary kylix.”
“It’s 2,500 years old. Is there such a thing as an ordinary kylix?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have dozens of them in my flat. You can buy them at auctions for a few hundred. But this is different. This...is something special.”
“Why so?” she asked, studying the kylix as he turned it in his large hands.
“It’s the Rose Kylix.” August pointed at the three-petal rose motif painted on the lip of the kylix.
“It has a name?”
“A name, a legend and a secret. Your father has his story wrong. The cup wasn’t used in Aphrodite’s temple. It was used in worship by the Cult of Eros.”
“Is it as old as Daddy thought?”
“A great deal older, in fact. Do you know this myth?” He pointed at the woman painted inside the kylix bowl and the rose that grew from her chest.
