commented Val. She didn’t look prim now. Bea watched Addie coming around the side of the house. Her face was flushed, her hair mussed. Clandestine assignations behind the acacia bushes? How terribly out of character. There was a man striding around the side of the house, hurrying after Addie. Bea couldn’t see who it was at first; the flickering firelight played strange tricks. He said something, but Addie shook her head and kept going, leaving him standing alone, near the cookhouse. He turned and Bea recognized him, not by his features, but by his stance, the way he held his shoulders, the angle of his chin. She should know. It was her husband. “So charmingly untouched,” mused Val, trailing his fingers along the bare curve of Bea’s spine. “Like a flower quivering on the cusp of awakening.” Bea turned away, leaning her back against the balustrade. “Don’t, Val,” she said shortly. “She’s not the type.” She took a long drag on her jade cigarette holder, feeling the familiar grate of the smoke against the back of her throat, drawing strength from the nicotine.
