Free A Fine Imitation by Amber Brock Page A

is excellent, thank you.”
    Arthur took a sip from his highball glass. “When do you plan to begin work?”
    “Very soon. Haven’t made it down to the pool yet. I’ll need to get a sense of the size of it, do some sketches, that sort of thing.” Hallan turned to Vera. “I was hoping you could take me down there tomorrow morning. Would you?”
    Vera gave a pinched smile. “So sorry, I have an engagement in the morning. I’m sure Ida would be delighted to show you, though. She is head of the Mural Board, after all.” She beckoned to a waiter with a tray of drinks. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Hallan?”
    He took a drink from the tray. Arthur returned to his group, and Vera stepped to the side to allow others to approach the artist. But Hallan, instead of circulating, stayed close to her.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, allowing a hint of irritation into her voice. “Would you like me to introduce you to anyone?”
    “I’ve met a good number already, actually. In the halls and the like.” He lifted a hand to the crowd. “These people certainly aren’t shy.”
    Vera studied her drink to avoid his gaze. Something about the focus and energy in his eyes, the candidness in his manner, made her unsteady. He was too comfortable with her, as though they were old friends. “No, I suppose they aren’t,” she finally managed.
    “It’s a bit strange, isn’t it?” he asked under his breath, leaning in.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    His face was so close to hers she could smell his shaving lotion. “The applause, the fuss. A Mural Board? It’s not what I expected.”
    Vera pulled on the pendant of one of her canary diamond earrings. “Everyone is excited, that’s all.”
    “And you?”
    “Me what?”
    His eyes gleamed. “Are you excited?”
    Vera’s lips parted, and she clamped them shut. When she spoke, her voice came out like the blade of a knife. “I’m generally a calm person by nature. If you’ll excuse me, I ought to check on the kitchen.”
    She left the drawing room and downed the last of her cocktail. If this was how the artist was planning to behave for the entirety of his stay, she did not know how much of his company she could tolerate. What was he thinking, asking her if she was excited? What was that in his tone? Was he actually flirting? With her husband standing not two feet away? Surely not. She stepped into the kitchen and took a deep breath to restore her composure.
    When the cook confirmed everything was running on time, Vera sent the maid out with the dinner bell. The party progressed to the dining room, and the guests found their seats. Vera was glad she had put Hallan three seats away, between the matronly Ida Bloomer and the reedy Bessie Harper. The distance was a relief. Poppy Hastings was likewise too far away to enjoy a chat with the artist; a good thing, since she had been on the point of salivating over him when Vera had returned to the drawing room.
    Vera congratulated herself on having planned and timed the meal perfectly. The chilled caviar melted like ice, and the sole that followed was still steaming. She would have to commend Gertrude on the perfect presentation of the artichokes, and the chicken had just the right amount of herb seasoning. The only tiny hiccup was when Julius Hastings bellowed an order to a servant who passed away at least two years before, but that sort of thing could be forgiven at his age. Otherwise, everything flowed as Vera had planned, until the waiters brought in the cordials.
    Hallan stood and clinked his fork to his glass, silencing the party. “Good evening, everyone. I want to thank you again for my appointment as your muralist. I’m delighted to begin work on the project very soon.”
    There was light applause around the table, which he waved off with a gracious nod before continuing. “I do have a request to make, and I thought it easiest to make it when we are all assembled together. I must ask that all keys to the pool room be turned over to