‘So, is Marcus any good at dancing?’ Cleo asked, as she helped herself to a piece of Cordelia’s pumpkin and walnut cake.
‘How should I know?’ replied Anita. ‘But I would imagine so, given that the Descendants seem to be trained for every possible eventuality.’
‘You know Cordelia is a genius,’ Cleo garbled, through a mouthful of cake. ‘She really is.’
‘Thank you Cleopatra,’ came a voice from the corner. Anita whipped round to see Cordelia looking smug. How had she come in without them hearing? Great, now Cordelia knew, she was never going to live this down. ‘So you’re going to the ball with Marcus?’ Cordelia asked, clearly amused.
Anita glared at Cleo, who shrugged apologetically. ‘She was going to find out eventually.’
‘Yes,’ sighed a resigned Anita, ‘I’m going to the ball with Marcus.’
‘I knew you were up to something,’ said Cordelia, settling into an armchair. ‘Come on, tell me.’
Anita recounted the story about the run by the river (leaving out the kiss), the encounter after Christiana’s funeral, and the ride in the woods, Cordelia listening intently, fascinated. ‘We need to get you a dress,’ said Cordelia, frivolously, when Anita had finished. ‘Something show-stopping, and shoes, and what are you going to do with your hair?’ Cleo jumped in before Anita could utter a word, but she just went with it. She showed Cordelia her dress and shoes and listened to how she would have her hair and makeup, and observed Cordelia and Cleo’s childish excitement as they conspiratorially speculated about the first dance. After what seemed like an eternity, Cleo got up to leave.
‘See you tomorrow at the Crowning,’ she said, making her way to the door. ‘Don’t forget to get your beauty sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.’
‘Yes ma’am,’ said Anita, half saluting, half waving as Cleo left the room. As she left, Cordelia turned to face Anita square on. ‘I know, I’m sorry…’ she started.
‘…sorry for what?’ Cordelia cut her short. ‘I’m thrilled for you and you two are going to look fabulous leading the first dance; you always were a wonderful dancer. Wait here, I’ve got something for you.’ Cordelia disappeared out of the room and came back a minute later carrying a large wooden box. She opened the lid and fumbled around inside before lifting out a beautiful gold and diamond tiara. It was made in a swirling, almost Celtic pattern with upward points designed to sit low on the wearer’s head. Anita sat and stared, totally speechless. ‘It was your mother’s,’ said Cordelia softly. ‘She would have wanted you to have it and it will go perfectly with that dress.’
Cordelia very rarely mentioned Anita’s mother, Clarissa. She presumed that was because she didn’t know that much about her. Cordelia was Anita’s paternal grandmother, not that she ever really spoke about her son, Jeffrey, either. ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Anita.
‘It will look beautiful on you,’ she said finally, closing the wooden box, and Anita knew the conversation was over. She’d tried in the past to probe about her parents, but Cordelia simply would not open up. Anita presumed that it was just too painful for her. She had rummaged around the cottage enough to know that Cordelia kept nothing that would give Anita any clues. She had been to the Archives but they had been useless; nothing but birth and death records for each of them and nothing significant in any of the newspapers. Her only hope was that one day Cordelia would decide it was time to tell her more.