down the hall. "You're so grown-up," Bev murmured. She gripped her

hands together to keep herself from reaching out to touch. "It's hard

to believe-but you must be freezing." Steadying, she took Emma's gloved

hand in hers. "Come in, please."

"You have plans."

"A client's party. It's not important. I'd really like you to stay."

Her fingers tightened on Emma's while her eyes searched almost hungrily

over the girl's face. "Please."

"Of course. For a few minutes."

"I'll take your coat."

They settled, like two polite strangers, in Bev's bright, s.p.a.cious

parlor.

"This is beautiful." Emma pasted on a practiced smile. "I'd heard you

were making a splash with decorating. I can see why."

"Thank you." Oh G.o.d, what should she say? What should she not say?

"My roommate and I bought a loft in New York. We're still having it

done." She cleared her throat, glancing toward the fire smoldering in

the stone hearth. "I had no idea it was so complicated. You always

made it look so easy."

"New York," Bev said, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap.

"You're living there now?"

"Yes. I'm going to NYCC. Photography."

"Oh. Do you like it?"

"Very much."

"Will you be in London long?"

"Until just after the first."

The next pause was long and awkward. Both women glanced over in relief

as Alice wheeled in the tea caddy. "Thank you, Alice. I'll pour the

tea." Bev put a hand over Alice's briefly, and squeezed.

"She stayed with you," Emma commented when they were alone again.

"Yes. Or I suppose it's more that we stayed with each other." It helped

to have the tea, the pot, the cups, the pretty little biscuits arranged

on a Shvres platter. She had no thirst, no appet.i.te, but the mechanics,

the simple, civilized mechanics of serving the tea relaxed her. "Do you

still take too much cream and sugar in your tea?"

"No, I've been Americanized." There were fresh flowers in a blue vase.

Tulips. Emma wondered if Bev had bought them from the flower seller in

the square, or if she'd forced them herself "Now it's just too much

sugar."

"Brian and I were always afraid you'd be fat and toothless with your

penchant for sweets," Bev began, then winced and struggled to find an

easy topic of conversation. "So, tell me about your photography. What

sort of pictures do you like to take?"

"I prefer shots of people. Character portraits, I suppose, more than

abstracts or still lifes. I'm hoping to make a career of it."

"That's wonderful. I'd love to see some of your work." She cut herself

off again. "Perhaps the next time I'm in New York."

Emma studied the Christmas tree in front of the window. It was covered

with hundreds of tiny handpainted ornaments and lacy white bows. She

hadn't bought a present for Bev, no shiny wrapped box that could sit