The snow is falling more thickly, floating lazily down from the black sky to coat the landscape like a fleece blanket. In the darkness, it radiates light, swirling and eddying. Watching it makes Holly dizzy. She leans back and closes her eyes.
The auto is some type of sports car, luxurious and snug. The leather seats are soft, and she relaxes into hers, grateful for the coddling. She breathes deeply, catches the slightest hint of Robert’s scent. It’s warm and comfortable, a blend of spice and vanilla, a sharp contrast to the formaldehyde and bleach she’s used to.
“You all right?”
She stretches, opens her eyes. “Yes. This is lovely. Thank you so much for the ride.”
“Thank you, for the company. I really was going anyhow.”
Before she can respond, he snaps on the radio. “Is music okay?” The station is playing a holiday medley at a volume loud enough to make conversation difficult.
But after a few minutes, he reaches to turn it down. His elbow brushes hers, and her heart goes careening against her ribs. How is it possible for someone she barely knows to affect her like this? She glances sideways at him, but his face is inscrutable and she can’t tell if he feels the same connection. His next words make her doubt it.
“One more version of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ and my head may explode. You?” he says. His arm is still touching hers.
“Charming the first three thousand times. But after listening to the a cappella version, the acoustic version, and the big band version, what’s left?” The heat from his skin goes right through the fabric of her sleeve.
“Bagpipes?” He shifts, and his arm falls away.
“That would be worse,” she agrees, ignoring the sudden cold where his arm once was.
“Now that we’ve got that sorted, there’s a thermos of tea and some biscuits in the bag by your feet. There should be two cups, if you don’t mind pouring.”
She reaches down and opens the bag, then shoots him a sideways glance. The biscuits are chocolate-coated gingerbread, her favorite kind. Who is this man?
They munch for a bit in companionable silence. Normally at this point in the ride Holly’s gnawing on whatever stale crackers she or Joanie have uncovered at the bottom of their bags, swigging cold tea from a petrol station, and running over their lab results. But now the knots in her neck and back are loosening. Warm and fed, a buzz of electricity just beneath her collarbone, she feels as if the night is magical, as if anything could happen.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Robert says, breaking the silence and nodding at the sky. “Like being in our own private snow globe.”
“Lovely,” she agrees. She has so many questions—who Robert is, how he appeared at the exact right moment—but the one at the top of her head comes spilling out before she can think. “How is it I’ve never seen you before?”
He laughs. “An excellent question. One I’ve asked myself regularly. But why don’t you tell me what you do see? What’s so compelling to make you brave the wrath of Lady Darling by being late?”
She eyes him. “You have met my mother.”
“Let’s say we’ve crossed paths,” he says, shuddering. “I may or may not have attended a holiday luncheon at the Tate hosted by your mother at which the wrong vintage of champagne was served. Tears were shed. And not by her.”
“That sounds like my mother.” Holly sighs. “Her talents are wasted on charity work—she should have been a commander in the Royal Tank Regiment. Please accept my apologies.”
“Not necessary. Unless you are in fact secretly Jane Darling, in which case I am terrified and will pull over immediately.”
Holly laughs. For the first time in days, she feels light, as if she could float away. “You’re safe with me.”
“That’s reassuring. But you never answered my question.”
Holly could talk all night about the swirling, secret worlds she spies on through the lens of her microscope, but that doesn’t mean most people want to listen.
Robert turns out to be the exception.
He is an excellent listener, one who plies her with intelligent questions at all the right moments. It seems as if he’s interested in everything—her lab experiments, her studies, the professors she’s had, her career goals. From there, the conversation winds its way to music, the bands they both like, and the friends they have in common. Robert, it turns out, knows a surprisingly large number of the same people she does, especially for someone studying for an MBA.
“Whatever were you doing in the science labs then?”
He shrugs. “Waiting on a friend.”
Before she can follow up, the top of her street comes into view. She glances at the clock on the dash, shocked. How could two hours have passed so quickly?
“Here we are,” Robert says, pulling over to the curb. The house is ablaze with lights. From the safety of the car, Holly watches her mother open the front door to greet a cluster of guests. Jane is dressed in her best finery—a beautiful silvery blue gown with a white fur stole around her shoulders. When she turns her head, Holly catches the cold sparkle of the diamonds adorning her neck and ears.
“Damn,” Holly says. “Just a little too late. Would you mind turning onto the next street? I think I’d be better going in the back way.”
Robert obliges, cruising down the street until Holly directs him to stop. “Thank you so much for doing this,” she says, reaching for her bag. “I’d invite you in, but my mother is very . . .” She hesitates. “Very particular about changes to her guest list. She doesn’t like last-minute additions,” is what she settles upon.
“But there’s nothing here,” he protests. “I can’t let you out.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assures him. “Watch.”
She slides out of the car, counts the wide boards in the fence that encloses the back garden. When she finds the right one, she pulls on the top with all of her might, causing it to swing up, revealing a space barely large enough for her to wriggle through. She pushes her bag through first, using it to fend off the thorns on the other side, then carefully squeezes behind it.
“Goodbye,” she calls to Robert, who is watching from the car. “See you next term.” At least she hopes so. Too late, she realizes she has no idea how to reach him. She doesn’t even know his last name. She’s tempted to go back, but he’s already turning the car around and she won’t make herself ridiculous by chasing after it. She lets the board swing shut.
The garden is a dark space, empty and cold, quite unlike its summer self, when she’s usually escaping out, not sneaking in. There’s a statue of Peter Pan in the center—her mother’s latest tribute to their ridiculous family story—and as she reaches it, the wind picks up, sharp and cruel, a faint sound like laughter beneath. She shivers and Robert drifts from her mind as she rushes to the kitchen’s back steps, and from there up the servants’ stairs to her room. A new dress of white and silver silk is laid out on her bed, silver shoes on the floor.
There’s no time to shower, so she strips off her clothes and shimmies into the dress, holding her breath as she yanks the zipper up. It pours over her skin like liquid. She steps into the shoes, grabs the first pair of earrings she finds in her jewelry box, and wraps her hair into a messy bun. A quick glance in the mirror, a swipe of lipstick, and she’s done.