Then Catherine stood up too. “Personally, Phoebe, I’m very entertained by Mallory’s story. Where’s the insult? It’s creative and fascinating.” “I think so too,” said Drew. Benjamin nodded. But Phoebe looked only at her mother. “All that stuff about Mayer worshipping the faerie queen? Mayer was a good Jew. That’s history. Also, can’t you see where Mallory’s going with this? It’s like something from the worst kind of trashy novel!” “You might know where Mallory is going,” said Drew mildly, from his seat on the sofa. “Or think you do. But I don’t, not for sure, anyway, and I’m dying to hear the rest. So don’t spoil it.” He smiled at Mallory. “I had no idea you were such a good storyteller.” His gaze went back to Phoebe and it was as stern as she had ever seen it. “Sit down again, Phoebe. Personally, I’d like to hear more about Mayer dancing naked with the faeries on Midsummer Night.” “Midsummer Night 1772, to be precise.” Mallory was still using her storytelling voice.
