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“Really great,” Lucy said. “It looks like Tristan was right to tell us to let you live here.”
“I heard he did that,” Jecca said. “Has he been here this morning?”
“If he were, he’d be at the table,” Lucy said. “The man does so love to eat. On movie night he sometimes has three pieces of pie.”
“That’s because you look like you might cry if he doesn’t take them,” Mrs. Wingate said.
“I just feel sorry for him over there all alone,” Lucy said. “You know, Jecca, Tristan is a very eligible bachelor.”
Jecca put a stack of pancakes on the table as the women took their seats. “Interesting thought, but how would I make a living here in Edilean?”
“In my family,” Mrs. Wingate said, “a woman’s husband supported her.”
“In mine too,” Lucy said, but there was a tone of bitterness in her voice. “Jecca dear, take my advice and earn your own living.”
As Jecca took her seat, she looked from one woman to the other. Lucy’s mouth was in a tight little line, while Mrs. Wingate’s eyes were downcast. Whatever has made Lucy so bitter, Jecca thought, Mrs. Wingate knows what it is.
“So what do you have planned today?” Mrs. Wingate asked, and the somber mood lifted.
As
they ate, Jecca told them of Kim’s ad campaign. “I haven’t yet decided what I’ll paint. The logical thing would be Tris’s orchids. I thought I might do them in the form of eighteenth-century botanical prints, as though a new species had been discovered. Those flowers under the benches are weird enough for a horror movie.”
“Paphiopedilums,” Mrs. Wingate said.
“That’s what—” She caught herself. “What I heard.”
“Like the CAY paintings,” Lucy said, referring to the eighteenth-century paintings that had been found in Edilean the year before.
“Exactly,” Jecca replied. “But then, last night’s dancing gave me the idea of something more exotic, say genies. Or Tinkerbells flitting about.” She paused. “Kim thought of some beautiful man offering the jew ceriar, takelry to an unseen woman.”
“You’ll have to get Tristan to pose for you,” Mrs. Wingate said.
“Any woman would like to have anything he offered,” Lucy said.
Jecca couldn’t help laughing. “I keep hearing about this man, but I never see him.”
Abruptly, Mrs. Wingate left the table.
“Did I say something to offend her?” Jecca asked.
“Oh no,” Lucy said. “I would imagine she went to get the books. There are six of them, and we often go through them together.”
“Books?” Jecca asked.
Before Lucy could reply, Mrs. Wingate returned with half a dozen leather-bound photo albums and put them on the table by Jecca.
“I’ve been photographing Tristan and Addy since they were children.”
“Ten percent Addy, ninety percent Dr. Tris,” Lucy said.
“That’s because he was here so often. Addy and her mother were a great pair, but Tristan’s father was usually working so . . .” She shrugged.
“So he came over here,” Jecca finished. She wiped her mouth with her napkin, then opened the top album. It was the earliest, dated 1979. The pictures were of a very cute toddler with dark hair and thick black lashes. “I heard that his niece has eyelashes like feathers,” Jecca said.
“Nell is nearly as pretty as Tristan was at that age,” Mrs. Wingate said. “She’s an extraordinarily bright young lady. I haven’t seen her in about three weeks, so she’ll be here soon. Tristan and she can’t bear to be apart for too long. Those two are real scamps together.” There was a great deal of love in Mrs. Wingate’s voice.
Jecca was turning the pages of the oldest album. Photos of Tristan had been taken in every room of the Wingate house. He was often dressed in little sailor suits or what looked to be hand-smocked playsuits.
