Chapter 3 #3
“That’s because not everyone maintains the expected pace,” said Orchel in his most diplomatic tone. He did not, however, resist the urge to wink at Florrie and nod in a certain individual’s direction.
“For the last time, Orchel!” exclaimed Chary, who – uncharacteristically – had said nothing before this moment.
She tossed her ruby-tipped brown plait behind her shoulder as she pointed across the table with a gracefully muscled arm.
“It’s rude to ignore questions when asked, but it’s ruder to answer a question only briefly for purposes of time management. ”
“How is that ruder?”
“Besides,” Chary continued, pushing past Orchel to give Florrie an unsolicited embrace, “you may as well leave me out and divide the group into thirds. Instead of joining you, I shall stay here and converse with my dear cousin, the royal conservator.”
“That would be grand, wouldn’t it, Flor?” Lady Hyverfell said with exaggerated cheer. “And what an honour for Chary to pass the time with the newest guardian of Prince Ardant’s collections!”
“We are forever in your debt, Florrie,” Dr Hyverfell whispered.
Orchel gave Florrie a pleading glance.
“Enjoy the tour,” Florrie said, relenting.
As the others departed, Chary smirked and pulled up a chair.
“Florrie, whyever did you choose that dress? It’s more than a little dated, don’t you think?
People will think you’re from the wrong century!
I thought you gave that up years ago,” Chary began.
“You won’t believe what torments I’ve endured.
I had a terrible row with Orchel the other day.
He insisted that the abstract painting in Gallery Three was better than average. A categorically foolish thing to say…”
As usual, Florrie felt slightly guilty for letting herself drift as Chary prated on.
There was nothing wrong with a tendency to chatter – Florrie certainly could not cast aspersions, given her own proclivities.
Unlike Florrie, however, Chary did not have any special interests that set her endlessly talking.
Yet she possessed passion aplenty for identifying the worst aspects of others’ lives and lecturing about them. At length. Without pausing.
Thus, Florrie remained only vaguely conscious of Chary’s current diatribes about irritating museum guests, the offensive prettiness of Orchel’s handwriting and her lifelong distrust of Folk who eschewed reliable birds-of-burden in favour of riding horses.
(“When pressed, they will always save the horse over you, won’t they?
”) Instead, Florrie found herself considering her conversation with Vern – again.
As of yesterday, Florrie had met a Fairy.
A Fairy! Few Folk of her generation would experience such an acquaintance.
If that wasn’t remarkable enough, there was also the fact that she had rather enjoyed their meeting.
Vern was agreeable and energetic, enquired about her life and appeared genuinely interested in her replies.
In theory, those were exceptionally elementary qualities for a conversation partner to possess.
In practice, however, she was not accustomed to such behaviour.
Florrie tended to attract Folk with substantial personalities who were eager to take the lead – under the guise of “looking out for her” given her “situation”.
“Florrie, I’ve asked you a question five times now,” bristled Chary.
Florrie racked her brain to guess the likely topic. “… About the potentially perilous flaws in Orchel’s signature?” she tried, meekly.
“That was ages ago. We’re onto the canvas mill’s tragic serpent infestation. Do keep up. What’s driven you to such distraction?”
“Oh, you know…,” Florrie began, wondering if she might escape Chary’s scrutiny by attributing her distant behaviour to ill-defined work matters.
But it was too late. Chary’s face already featured that sly smile – the one she flashed in their childhood whenever she was about to commence a rascally interrogation about romance.
“Don’t tell me there’s someone new,” Chary said.
“Had I mentioned that I intend to pair you with Lilla from my wretched sewing group? Now, Lilla says Fairy art is duller than dirt, but I suspect a little disagreement is precisely what you need to feel that spark with someone. You’ve done so miserably with courtships lately, and I hate to say it, but it doesn’t reflect well on the family, does it? ”
Florrie glared at the charmless fourteenth-century slab table between them.
If she confessed she was merely recalling a perfectly innocent conversation with a Fairy in a painting, Chary would no doubt proceed with her matchmaking schemes.
Though Chary was decidedly not a Fairy, Florrie suddenly realised the concept of a protective lie might have useful applications in Folk interactions as well.
She knew she wouldn’t get away with saying something especially unbelievable to Chary – like her lie to Vern about being married to the prince – so she had to be at least vaguely truthful.
“The truth is that I only just met him,” Florrie said, hesitantly.