Helena would say only that the gentleman in question was “an old friend; a very old and dear friend.”
“Very old, or a friend for a very long time?” said Mary.
“Yes,” said Helena inscrutably, continuing, “and a widower.”
Lisa smiled encouragingly. “You’re glowing.”
“I think that is because I am allergic to champagne,” said Mary, feeling dizzy.
“You haven’t had any champagne,” said Lisa. “Now stop stalling, he’ll be here any minute.”
“Vincent,” said Helena suddenly, reaching for him beside her chair. Lisa hadn’t been aware that he’d returned to Helena’s room, and wondered how long he’d been there, quietly taking them all in.
“Yes, mother,” said Vincent. “I am here.“
“A man’s opinion, please,” said Helena.
Three women stared at him expectantly. Vincent studied Mary for a moment.
“A goddess,” he said finally.
“Oh surely not,” said Mary, laughing. She turned again to study herself in the long mirror.
“‘Venus Rising From the Sea’ was what we were going for,” explained Lisa.
“You succeeded,”said Vincent softly.
Mary cleared her throat. “But with clothes on.”
“You could not be more lovely, Mary.”
Mary blushed.
“They made me wear my hair down. I don’t usually…” her voice trailed. “I mean, thank you. It’s just, it’s just been a very long time, since I…”
She didn’t finish.
The three of them studied her for another long moment.
“Hmmm,” said Lisa. “It needs something.”
“What?” said Mary, anxiously turning back to the mirror.
“This,” said Helena, and she took off one of her necklaces, a long rope of baroque pearls braided with coral and gold coins. Straining forward from the depths of her velvet chair, she held the glimmering treasure out to Lisa.
“It looks like something from a pirate shipwreck,” said Mary.
“It is,” said Helena. “Hold your hair out of the way.”
At full length the pearls fell nearly to Mary’s hips against the shimmering silk of her gown. Lisa deftly gathered up the necklace and looped it twice again around Mary’s neck, carefully smoothing back the thick waves of her hair.
“I wore this gown in a shoot for Italian Vogue in… 1974?” mused Helena. “Around that time I think, yes. Quality endures.”
“Indeed it does,” said Vincent, looking at Mary. Then, offering her his arm, “shall we?”
“Wait. How do I address him?” said Mary. “I’ve never met a Count before.”
“You may call him Ottavio,” answered Helena, “And we should not keep him waiting much longer.”
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