‘It hasn’t changed much,’ Mr Vega commented.
‘Some things have,’ the Countess said softly. ‘You see that vase?’ She turned back to the hall and pointed to a simple, tall piece of green ceramic shaped like a V on its own little table. ‘I never used to like modern pieces, but this one I could not resist.’
‘Very nice,’ Mr Vega commented. Ivy should have guessed that her grandparents would appreciate the artistic as much as her dad.
Ivy reached out to stroke the varnish – only noticing too late that her dad was bending over to peer more closely. Her elbow connected with his nose and, with a yelp of pain, he staggered forwards, right into the vase’s table.
‘Oh no!’ gasped their grandmother as Olivia shrieked.
The vase wobbled then toppled, but Ivy managed to twist her body to the left and catch it before it hit the floor.
‘It’s OK!’ Ivy called. ‘All fine.’ Her heart was racing. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t worry.’ The Countess gingerly took the vase and placed it back on the table. ‘There we are,’ she said. ‘No damage done.’
Ivy smiled weakly. Stake me now, she thought.
‘Your house is so beautiful,’ Olivia said, trying to distract everyone, as they followed their grandmother further down the hall. ‘What’s wrong?’ she mouthed to Ivy when no one was watching.
Ivy shrugged. How could she tell her sister how awkward she was feeling, when Olivia was clearly having the time of her life?
‘Thank you, my dear,’ their grandmother said, ‘but you must remember that this is your house, too.’
Ivy saw Olivia beam, but couldn’t feel the same. Not while she was walking around as gracefully as Frankenstein’s monster wearing a blindfold.
‘Here is the kitchen,’ the Countess said. She pushed through a wooden swing door to an enormous room with a low ceiling that was humming with preparations – people were chopping, slicing and dicing. Ivy counted five pots bubbling away on two stoves. A large woman with a smudge of flour on her cheek bustled over. ‘Madam,’ she said.
‘Greta, these are my grandchildren,’ said the Countess.
The woman peered at them. ‘Such skinny girls!’
‘Greta is our head chef,’ the Countess said.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Olivia and Ivy said at the same time.
‘And she makes the best beef stroganoff in Romania,’ said Mr Vega from the back of the group.
Greta gasped. ‘My mititei!’
The Count chuckled. ‘She’s always called him that,’ he said to the twins. ‘It means “little sausage”.’
Ivy couldn’t help laughing with her sister.
Greta pushed past everyone to squish Mr Vega in a hug. ‘Are you hungry? What can I make for you?’
Mr Vega laughed. ‘Nothing, Greta. Thank you. I am saving room for dinner.’
Greta clapped her big hands and hurried back to the kitchen table. She picked up a rolling pin and waved it in the air. ‘Yes, tonight! Everything is prepared for your formal dinner this evening, Madam, including the vegetarian meal.’
‘F-formal?’ Ivy stuttered.
‘Of course, my darling,’ the Countess replied. ‘We are keen to introduce Ka– Charles back into society, and present his gorgeous daughters. Tonight is just a little dinner for thirty.’
‘Thirty!’ Ivy said. As the Countess continued to direct the staff, Ivy whispered to Olivia, ‘I didn’t know! I didn’t bring anything.’
Olivia’s eyes widened. ‘Your dad did say . . .’
Ivy closed her eyes, picturing the sniggers if she came to dinner in one of her Goth outfits. She’d brought some nice clothes, but nothing formal. The word made her cringe.