LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Nine

      The dining room was impressive, both in its dimensions and its decoration. Tonight the room was dimly lit, but attractively so. Tall white candles flickered in the heavy, chased-silver candelabra placed at each end of the sideboard and in the centre of the dining table. In this warm and golden light the mahogany table gleamed with dark, ripe colour, and its highly polished surface had the glassy sheen of mirror. Reflected against it was the glitter of Georgian silver and hand-cut lead crystal wine goblets, the sparkle of white bone china plates, rimmed in gold and bearing the Langley family crest, also in gold.

      The fir green walls, as cool and dark as a bosky forest, gave the room its restful tranquillity, made a superb muted backdrop for the incomparable oil paintings. Each one was mounted in an ornately carved and gilded-wood frame, and effectively illuminated by a small picture light attached to the top of the frame. The fluttering candles and the picture lights, the only illumination in the room, infused the ambience with a mellowness that was quite lovely, gave it an intimacy that was at once both charming and inviting.

      Francesca showed Katharine and Victor to their places, and then went to the sideboard to serve the turtle soup, spooning it into green-and-gold Royal Worcester bowls from a large silver tureen. Victor observed her closely, struck by her elegance. His eyes roved around the room, and with interest. He admired its beauty and style. Background was the message it telegraphed to him, and that, he thought, is something no amount of money can buy. As he absorbed his surroundings his attention was caught by the painting on the end wall. It was a full-length, life-size portrait of a woman in an elaborate blue taffeta gown. Her pale blonde hair was piled high in an intricate pompadour surmounted by several plumes of blue feathers. Topaz earrings gleamed at her ears, and a topaz necklace fell down from her slender neck to fill out the décolletage. Of course, it was Francesca, and it was an exquisite portrait, beautifully executed and with explicit attention to every minute detail. Victor had the feeling that if he reached out and touched the dress his fingers would encounter silk, so realistically was the texture of the fabric depicted by the peerless brush-strokes.

      After distributing the bowls of soup, Francesca sat down at the foot of the table, opposite Kim, who was seated at the head. Victor turned to her immediately, and said with some admiration, ‘That’s a remarkable portrait of you. And it’s very beautiful.’

      She stared at him uncomprehending for a second, and then followed his gaze. ‘Oh, that one. But it’s not of me,’ she said, and picked up her soup spoon. ‘It’s of my great-great-great-great-grandmother, the Sixth Countess of Langley. Traditional and classical portraits of that nature are not in vogue any more. Furthermore, they are rarely painted these days, except by Annigoni occasionally. He did the Queen, you know.’

      ‘Oh,’ Victor said. Rebuffed, he dropped his eyes. She’s certainly put you in your place, he thought. Only the English have the knack of making everyone else look stupid and ignorant in an insidious way, and without really appearing to be rude. As he reached for his spoon he repressed a smile. It was a long time since he had been slapped in the face, figuratively speaking, by a woman. If it was a bit demeaning, it was also something of a novelty.

      Katharine, who missed nothing, was dismayed at Francesca’s tone and nonplussed by the snub to Victor. She exclaimed swiftly, ‘Well, Francesca, it does bear a striking resemblance to you. It would have fooled me. Who painted it?’

      ‘Thomas Gainsborough,’ Kim volunteered. ‘Around 1770. And I agree with both of you. It does look like Francesca. There is another portrait of the Sixth, as we call her, at Langley. By George Romney. The likeness is most apparent in that one, too.’ He paused, and on the spur of the moment, said, ‘I hope you will both come to Langley soon, for a weekend, and then you’ll see it for yourselves. We must make plans for a visit. I know Father would enjoy having you. Wouldn’t he, Francesca?’

      Stiffening, Francesca straightened up in the chair. ‘Yes,’ she said, her tone low, and she did not elaborate. She was flabbergasted. Kim was incorrigible, issuing an invitation like that. He presumed too much. If their father didn’t like Katharine, the invitation would have to be rescinded. Then Katharine would be hurt, and with good reason.

      ‘Kim, that would be wonderful!’ Katharine cried with genuine delight. Her face fell. ‘But, gosh, I don’t know how I could manage it, with the two Saturday performances. Unless –’ Her face lit up again, and she looked across the table at Victor. ‘Unless Gus drove us to Yorkshire late one Saturday night, after the play, and brought us back on Monday afternoon. That would work. Could we do it one weekend, Victor? Please.’

      Victor nodded, and concentrated on his soup, not wishing to make another faux pas. Although Francesca’s disdainful attitude had amused him somewhat, he was experiencing a sense of discomfort. Since these feelings were unparalleled in him they were therefore all the more confusing and troubling. He tried to shake them off, and then he thought: But I’ve got to hand it to Katharine. She’s got guts, and a cool assurance, that is enviable. And she certainly seems in her natural element whenever she mixes in this upper echelon of English society. He wondered again about her background, as he had so often in the three months he had known her. Funny how she never mentioned it. The only facts he had been able to pry out of her told him virtually nothing. She had been born in Chicago. She had lived in England for almost six years. And she was an orphan. Well, she acquired her inimitable style somewhere, he commented dryly to himself. She’s to the manner born, to be sure.

      It was true that Katharine was perfectly at ease. Victor’s presence had alleviated her anxiety; and his ready acceptance of her suggestion about dinner on Monday had further dispelled the notion that he was untrustworthy. There was a

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