“She could curl her tongue like me.” She demonstrated. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, Richard,” Lainie said provocatively. She widened her eyes at him. “What can you do with your tongue?”
“Are you being gross?” her niece demanded, and Richard snorted. Lainie’s cheeks reddened.
Taking pity on her, he stuck his tongue out and curled it, to the resounding approval of his younger audience.
“She could do cartwheels too.” She looked at him expectantly.
“No,” he said firmly.
“Yeah, Auntie Lainie can’t do them either.” The little girl looked disparagingly at her aunt. “Mum says it’s because she has a heavy top.”
Richard bit back a grin. His gaze moved to the...top in question, and Lainie pinched him.
“She can do some stuff, though,” the precocious child grudgingly allowed. “She can sit on the ground and put her foot right up behind her head.”
“Can she?” He eyed Lainie with new interest. “That sounds...useful.”
“I did it once and almost broke my hip,” she replied deflatingly. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“He can curl his tongue like Auntie Hannah, Gran,” the little girl said to Rachel, who had come into the room to gather up dirty plates.
“Is that right?” Lainie’s mother glanced at Richard, and then smiled at her granddaughter. “You can take these plates to the kitchen for me, please, madam.”
He got to his feet, still holding his empty coffee cup. “Let me,” he began, but Lainie took the cup from his hand and a stack of plates from her mother.
“It’s okay,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. It was a very casual, gentle, affectionate action, which somehow rendered him motionless. “I can do it.”
Her niece trailed in her wake, holding a single plate and looking martyred.
Rachel stood looking at the photo of Hannah. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he remained silent.
“She was a good person.” Rachel turned her head to look directly at him. “So is her sister.”
He didn’t so much as blink under her steady regard. “I’m aware of that.”
“Good,” she said, unsmiling. She continued to watch him for several seconds, then nodded and returned to the kitchen.
He walked over to take a closer look at the family photographs. He was standing near the open door to the hallway, well within hearing range when his name came up in conversation.
“So, what do you think of Richard Troy, up close and personal?” He didn’t recognise the female voice, but instantly identified Victoria when she responded.
“He seems to have a few more brain cells than the last walking ego she had in tow. But once again, Lainie takes up with an up-himself actor.”
“He doesn’t seem that bad.” The unknown woman sighed. “Do you reckon it’ll last?”
“No.”
“They do seem pretty into each other.”
“She seemed to be pretty into the manwhore too.”
“Vicky...”
“Besides, do rebound relationships ever last? None of mine did.”
The voices trailed away and he heard footsteps going up the stairs. He was still standing by the doorway when a trio of kids came tripping through. They were all clutching plastic swords.
Apparently Lainie’s brothers had dispatched an execution squad.
One of the two boys looked him up and down. “Are you a pirate?”
Richard dropped the murderous scowl and resisted a self-conscious urge to touch a hand to his unshaven chin. “No.” His response was curt. “Sorry.”
The boy persisted. “But you could be a pirate?”
Technically, he had been a pirate, although he suspected the kids were after a more interestingly bloodthirsty performance than was required by Gilbert and Sullivan. He eyed the plastic sword that the other boy offered, and shrugged. He’d worked with less convincing props, and he was in the mood for wielding a weapon. And thanks to the past weeks of work on The Cavalier’s Tribute, his swordplay wasn’t too rusty.
The children grinned from ear to ear when he threateningly brandished the sword. The female pirate, who looked a lot like Lainie, growled and took a violent stab at him with her own weapon. It was lucky the room was childproof, with no breakables on display.
“You’re the baddie,” the first boy informed him bossily.
“Again, that seems to be the general consensus.”
The swordfight continued amidst rising giggles, and did a surprising amount toward working off his bad temper. He fielded off an enthusiastic slice and creased his face into another angry scowl, much to his opponents’ delight. Eventually—naturally—the Lainie-look-alike declared herself the victor, for no other reason than that she wanted to be.
Amused, Richard lowered his sword in surrender. He heard a deep chuckle. Turning, he was slightly embarrassed to see Lainie’s father watching the game.
“Fence at Oxford, did you?” Simon Graham asked, grinning.