Waiting for Willa by Dorothy Eden

Author:Dorothy Eden
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Suspense, Gothic, Fiction
ISBN: 9781480429796
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-07-08T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

THEY ARRIVED TOGETHER, THE two people she had not met, the Baron von Sturpe and Ulrika Backe, sister of Sven. The baroness and Dr. Sven Backe were there, too, of course. They had followed one another, Sven said, the baron’s Mercedes hard on the tail of his little Volvo.

“We could have eaten the Volvo up,” Ebba said in her husky voice. “But we played cat and mouse. Grace, my dear, how nice of you to ask us to your party. You haven’t met my husband. Jacob, this is Miss Grace Asherton. I think English names are delightful, so much prettier than Swedish ones.”

The baron gave a small correct bow. To Grace’s surprise, he was a small, almost elderly man, towered over by his tall wife. He had gray hair, mild eyes, a deprecating smile, and was not definitely the kind who would make an impression on Willa, who liked more flamboyant types. Except perhaps for his title or his money, both of which possessions had probably caught the spectacular Ebba for him.

One would have thought Sven Backe, with his melancholy good looks, would have made a more suitable partner for Ebba, and Ulrika, the square-set, unsmiling sister, could have stood at the baron’s side.

Look at me changing partners already, Grace said to herself. The Swedes were capable of doing that for themselves.

“So you are still enjoying Stockholm,” Sven Backe said, looking at her with dark, nervous eyes. She hadn’t noticed their nervousness the other day in his surgery. Perhaps he didn’t like parties. Perhaps his sister inhibited him. She stood determinedly close to him. Or perhaps she was nervous, too, in her black wool dress cut too high round her short, thick neck. She would realize her lack of elegance beside Ebba in a long silvery dress that shimmered in the candlelight. Her big pale eyes had taken on the same cool silver color.

Polsen had said there must be dozens of candles. They were festive, intimate, kind to women’s complexions; they added warmth to the room. Willa’s parties had always been candlelit.

But the wavering flames seemed to make the faces waver, too, and become most shadowy when one wanted most to read their expressions. Captain Axel Morgensson meeting Ebba, giving her his intense stare. Peter Sinclair greeting Sven Backe too heartily, as if they were old friends, and yet having to be introduced to the dour Ulrika. Polsen being unusually attentive to Kate Sinclair, Winifred Wright talking too fast and too archly to the Baron von Sturpe, who surely was a man on whom archness would be wasted. Axel’s old aunts sitting on Willa’s lush velvet-cushioned couch and smiling and nodding pleasantly as if they heard every word that was being said.

“Great party, Grace,” said Nigel Thompson. “You have as much talent as Willa.”

“Did you used to come to her parties?”

“Sure. So did most people here. You’ve certainly rounded up the old mob.”

“I thought she would like it. It’s time to drink her health. And Gustav’s.”

“The mysterious Gustav.”

“Does no one have a clue who he is? It’s incredible.

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