Page 45 of The Treasure House

Freddie pulled Cilla’s chair out for her, and then did the same for Mom and Aunt Betty. Sylvie stayed standing until he pulled hers out too. Marly pointedly sat herself. Their waiter appeared in another one of those jackets with half-dollar buttons, and everyone ordered coffee and orange juice and not a single person let Marly get a word in edgewise. Freddie de Marche noticed, his stupid lips twitching with amusement.

“What about you, kid?” he drawled, right when the waiter went to walk off. “You fancy some waffles or something?”

“Marly’s had her shredded wheat. She’s fine,” Mom said with a fake little laugh.

“No, she’s hungry,” Marly retorted. Marly hadn’t eaten anything that morning, determined to make the most of her day out and to eat as much resort food as she could stomach.

“I recommend those waffles then,” Freddie de Marche said, leaning back in his chair. “Get the Canadian bacon and syrup too. Trust me, it’s a winner.”

They all acted like he was a goddamn saint for letting her order waffles. Mom and Aunt Betty didn’t order anything but coffee, and Sylvie and Cilla ordered grapefruit, for Pete’s sake.

“Is your mother here?” Priscilla was asking Freddie when the food arrived. Her half grapefruit was topped with a shiny red cherry.

“I thought we could have tea with her later,” Freddie said, acting as though he’d like nothing more in the world than to sit around with his mother and Cilla’s folks on this sparkling June day. “She’s excited to meet you all,” he said, but Marly could tell he was lying, even if no one else could. “And boys,” he said, giving Marly’s brothers a polished grin, “I took the liberty of penciling in a sailing lesson for you, if you’re interested.” He checked his watch. “Starts in about fifteen minutes. I thought you might take your sister?”

“No,” Mom said firmly. “Last time they took Marly out on the water, they almost drowned her.”

“Mom, I was eight!” Marly couldn’t believe her mom was screwing up sailing for her. She’d hoped for canoeing, but sailing was a million times better.

“To be fair, we’d probably still drown her,” Bobby volunteered.

“She’s very drownable,” Virge agreed.

And that’s how Marly found herself stuck at the table with the simpering women while her brothers went off sailing on this linen-fresh June morning. The bay was an outrageously beautiful shimmer at the end of the lawns, and yet here she was in front of an empty waffle plate, listening to Mom and Aunt Bet pump Freddie de Marche for information on his career plans. Freddie himself didn’t look too thrilled about it either—that was something at least.

“Can we play tennis?” Marly blurted eventually, bored to death with all the talk of law and Harvard and blah blah blah. “Cilla, you and Freddie can play me and Sylvie.”

“I didn’t bring my tennis shoes,” Priscilla said, the spoilsport. “And we can’t just invite ourselves to play, sweetie.” The “sweetie” was pointy and sharp.

“I didn’t bring my shoes either.” Sylvie sounded more regretful, but not regretful enough in Marly’s opinion. “Didn’t think tennis was in the cards. Shame, because I love tennis.” She actually fluttered her eyelashes a little, which Priscilla noticed and didn’t like.

“Tennis isn’t in the cards,” Cilla said tightly.

“Well, it can be,” Freddie said, draining the last of his coffee and giving Marly a resigned look.

“Great.” Marly was on her feet already. “You four can sit here and drink seltzer and watch the yachts while Freddie and I play tennis.”

“Freddie doesn’t want to play tennis with you, Marly dear,” Cilla said in that same cloyingly sweet voice, which carried a lethal undercurrent.

“He’s wearing tennis shoes,” Marly observed. “I think that shows he’s keen to play tennis.” Honestly. Who wanted to just sit around all day?

“Marly,” Mom said warningly.

“It’s quite all right, Mrs. Orcutt. I’m nothing if not a gallant host,” Freddie de Marche said in his lazy way. “And I’m awful fond of little kids.”

Marly glared at him.

“You’re most welcome to order more coffee or take a wander around the grounds. I’ll give Marly here a game or two and we’ll be back before you know it.”

Cilla’s face fell like he’d just said he was off to hike the Himalayas for a year. But Mom and Aunt Bet were melting at his graciousness.

“Isn’t he just the most perfect gentleman!” Mom was saying as Freddie led Marly away.

“She’s only saying that because she doesn’t know about your tendency toward molestation.”

“Drop it, short stuff, or I won’t play with you.”

Marly trotted to keep up with his long strides. “I should warn you that I’m better at tennis than I look. And you look like a guy who had tennis lessons growing up but lacks the killer instinct needed to win.”