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“Wonderful to meet you Kiranna. Reginald Letterman at your service.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, sir. Alexander has told me so much about you.” I think I’ve pulled off the lie quite well, but then there’s a pregnant pause. I wonder if I’ve said something wrong.
“She’s blind,” Dacre says, taking my hand in his and guiding it forward. “Mr. Letterman wants to shake your hand, Kiranna.”
A huge meaty hand takes mine. Instead of shaking it, he pulls it up and kisses the back of it. I have to hold myself straight to not squirm as he slobbers over the back of my hand. Plastering a fake smile on my lips, I hold my breath until he finally lets go. Dacre’s mom’s shawl comes in handy as I surreptitiously wipe Letterman’s spit onto it.
“I was hoping to talk to you about some ideas I have, sir.”
Letterman laughs again, showering me with even more spittle. “Monday is for work. I invited you here to have fun, but I do admire your spirit. Come find me later after the canapés and we can talk shop.”
“Thank you sir.” Dacre’s hand gently guides me away from Letterman and toward the music. I latch onto the melody and let it fill my mind as I struggle to keep up with Dacre’s pace. The noise is confusing. Dacre hurries me past so many people having discussions about business, but the music is something I understand. I don’t care about Dacre’s friends and I don’t care about Dacre, but if I have to be here and play a part, I’m going to do what I can to enjoy it.
“Sit here,” Dacre grunts, almost forcing me into a chair. “I’m going to network. Don’t even think about moving. I expect to see you here when I get back.”
I grip the chair to control my fear of being left alone. I can’t expect Dacre to understand how terrifying this is. I don’t know where I am and I’ve not been given a chance to scope the venue out. Thoughts of fires or other emergencies fill me with panic, so I breathe in and out slowly to calm my nerves. Once again, I fixate on the music, holding the tune in my head like a life raft in a sea of business talk.
Next to me is a table, but there are no plates, nor anything else on it, at least not within reach.
“Can I help you with something, my dear?” A friendly older woman’s voice sounds out, but I don’t know if she’s talking to me. It’s hard to hear anything with all the inane chatter.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, because what can I tell her? That I’m here against my will? That I’m terrified out of my wits and that the person that’s supposed to be looking after me dropped me at the first convenience?
“It’s all rather dull, isn’t it?” she continues. She’s closer now, in the seat next to me?
“I don’t have the first clue what’s going on,” I admit, feeling a little easier.
“Don’t worry,” she replies. I like her voice. No nonsense, but with a sweet edge. “I’ve been coming to these things for years and I still don’t care one jot about what they all talk about. You don’t work for my husband, do you?”
I shake my head slightly. “I don’t work for anyone. I’m here with Alexander Dacre. He’s my cousin.” I let the lie slip out easily.
“Dacre? I don’t know him. Has he worked for the company for long?”
I feel the panic rising. Dacre told me not to touch anything, but he hasn’t schooled me in all the lies he wants me to tell. I’m afraid that anything I say will backfire on him and then he’ll take it out on me.
“I don’t believe so,” I reply, keeping my answer vague.
She lets out a long sigh. “He’s not related to Jonathan and Mary Dacre by any chance, is he?”
“They’re his parents.”
She lets out a small laugh. “Well, that explains it. Reginald does like to keep his friends close and his enemies closer.”
I don’t know how to take this. Does she mean the Dacres’ are his friends or his enemies? I give a small smile, deciding the less I speak on the matter of Dacre or his family, the better. The way he clutched onto me when Reg Letterman talked about them was enough to tell me that the topic of them wasn’t a welcome one.
I wonder what it is they’ve done to him to make him hate them so much, but then I remember my own father and the seeds of hatred prick at me. I understand Dacre more than I understand the other two.
“Here, have a canapé. They are rather delicious and make up for the droning business talk that always seems to fill these god-awful functions.” She takes my hand and carefully places a canapé into it. “Salmon and dill.”
She knows I’m blind. I guess, no matter how much I try to hide it, I stand out. “Thank you,” I say, genuinely taken by how thoughtful she is. It’s such a small gesture, but in a world where such gestures are hard to come by, I’m genuinely moved.
“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll get us both a glass of champagne. I’ll be right back.”
Her leaving makes me feel cold and the familiar pangs of fear begin to return, but less than a minute later, she’s back and I have a glass of champagne in my hand.
“I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Tina Letterman.”
“Kiranna,” I say, taking a sip of the champagne. The bubbles tickle my throat, making me cough.
