that reason.” Looking in the hand mirror, she saw Verna rolling her eyes and smirking.
Gabrielle leaned back on her seat, while Verna slowly piled one above the other, a mass of small curls. Verna twisted and teased them into soft waves until the smallest ringlets encircled Gabrielle’s face and hung down the nape of her neck.
“Ouch!” said Gabrielle, stamping her shoe. “You’re not pulling out dandelions from the garden!”
“Sorry, Miss, but if you wasn’t in such a rush to be dressed to the nines . . . there.” Verna stood in front of Gabrielle and looked her up and down as though appraising her work.
Gabrielle brushed off a few specks of lint from her delicate, violet skirt and bodice.
“Well, Miss Caldwell, you do look beautiful in your new lilac skirt. That soft shade really sets off your hair and complexion.”
“Thank you. How do my eyebrows look?”
Verna nodded and smiled. “You look just like one of those ladies in Vogue magazine, Miss Caldwell, but even prettier.”
Gabrielle raised her head and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. And why not? Perhaps this guest imagined her to be a vain woman of drooped and fading beauty with wine red splotches beneath her eyes, prattling on and on about her petty emotional disturbances, but this would never come to be as long as Gabrielle’s reflection in the mirror kept smiling.
The front door bell chimed and Gabrielle regarded herself in the hand mirror with a last quick look of nervous vanity. “Verna, please show our guest in.”
“Would you like me to stay, Miss Caldwell?”
Gabrielle took two deep breaths then exhaled in a single steady stream. “No, thank you, I’ll be fine.” She sat down again on her upholstered reading chair.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Gabrielle turned and saw the person standing in the middle of the sunroom entrance, looking about with a faint, polite smile.
“Hello, Miss Armstrong,” said Gabrielle, rising from her chair and extending her hand to greet her guest. “Your uncle sounded most concerned on the telephone but he didn’t tell me why.”
Rebecca Armstrong’s gaze didn’t move from Gabrielle’s. She shook Gabrielle’s hand in a courteous manner. Withdrawing her hand swiftly, she took a step back from her hostess. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Miss Caldwell. This won’t take long.” She removed a red lace scarf from the hair.
“Please,” Gabrielle motioned toward the guest chair. “Have a seat by the window. It’s a beautiful view of the garden this time of day.”
“I’m fine, thank you. I’ve already admired my own garden this morning.”
“Have you had lunch?” Gabrielle asked, “I can have Verna bring us some—”
“No, I appreciate your offer but I’ve already eaten and I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You look like you’re about to leave for an important engagement.”
For a few moments, Miss Armstrong appeared to be more interested in the intricate design of the Persian carpet than acknowledging that another person was in the room. Gabrielle studied her guest, savoring her small victory in the young woman’s discomfort.
It was apparent why men might have found this brisk young lady to be an alluring siren at Bret’s party, but standing in front of Gabrielle this morning, she looked plain, almost frumpish with her figure pressed flat underneath her austere black dress.
Her long, flowing red hair was tucked in a tight matron’s bun so as to give no indication of its actual length. The dark circles under her unmade eyes gave the impression of little sleep or crying, or both.
Miss Armstrong looked up from the carpet. “You’re an old friend of Bret’s, aren’t you?”
Gabrielle’s pulse rose at the sound of the surprising familiarity in this strange woman’s voice. “Are you speaking of Mr. McGowan?”
The woman nodded once.
“I had no idea that the two of you were on a first name basis, Miss Armstrong.”
The woman smiled for the first time since entering the sunroom. “Yes. You could say we are on more intimate terms since I sang at his party last Friday night.”
Gabrielle swallowed hard. The thought of Bret and this woman—with all the terrible, hidden aspects of his life that had only recently come to light—was pushed into the back of her awareness. Surely her uncle has informed her about the appalling things he discovered about Bret?
Gabrielle smiled, wanting nothing more than to appear unflustered by anything this woman might now say about the unfortunate situation.
She felt her eyelids flutter in the uncomfortable silence. Gabrielle raised a hand to her mouth