Marten guided her with a hand on her back, but a sixth sense told Jackie that he wasn’t faring any better. “Jackie, hi!” beamed Clara, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle on her pencil skirt. “And this must be the boyfriend I’ve heard so much about. Lovely to meet you, Marten.” She pumped their hands with a lax grip, her fingers cold and bony like bird claws. “Please, have a seat. We already ordered the wine, I hope you don’t mind.” Tony had risen to his feet when he saw them, but now he was being tugged down like a disobedient pup, his eyes downcast, his face turned away from them. His cheeks were stained pink. Jackie yearned to reach out and steal him away. Clara’s proprietary hold on his hand reminded her that it wasn’t her place. “I thought you were sick,” was all she found to say, forcing the words past the knot of confusion and embarrassment that seemed lodged in her throat. Clara waved that aside. “So I played hooky for one day.
