Viette #4: A mother and a daughter

Their footsteps echoed offensively as Viette followed her father and grandfather into the foyer. They had been greeted by a stuffy-looking doorman, his watery eyes looking bored as he ushered in the strange half-family of his mistress. Viette tried to not dwell on the unconventionality of her relationship with her mother, the well-known and equally well-liked Delia Roche-Doherty. It was best to just pretend that she, Henry, Delia, and even Grandpa Peter were an average English family in all possible ways.

But as Viette concentrated on keeping her heels from clicking too noisily on the tiles of the foyer, she couldn't help recalling that rather disheartening feeling of discomfort that plagued her anytime she was in the Doherty house. Its expensive furnishings, heavy curtains, and dark floors, walls, and ceilings never made her feel welcomed, no matter how hard Delia tried to keep her daughter from considering herself a stranger.

Ahead, a slender figure in a fluttery green dress came dashing -- almost too eagerly -- down the splendid oak staircase at the end of the foyer. Viette noted a slight hesitation in her father's tread before he met Delia halfway.

"Vivienne, Henry! I'm so glad you all made it safely," Delia crowed in her attractively throaty voice. She embraced Henry in a very brief, non-romantic sort of way before taking Viette into her pale, willowy arms. "And I'm very glad you're here," she whispered into Viette's ear.

"I'm glad, too," Viette choked a little awkwardly. Delia's auburn hair, the same color as Viette's, smelled familiarly like lavender.

She noticed Grandpa Peter just as she released Viette. "Well, if it isn't Peter Dawes! I know you only live a few miles out from here, Peter, so I'm surprised I never see you."

Grandpa Peter smiled sheepishly and took one of Delia's delicate hands in both of his. "I'm sorry about that, Delia. I do stay pretty busy on our vineyard."

"I'm sure you do," Delia said, her radiant grin lighting up her heart-shaped face. But her eyes cast down at that moment and she sighed. "As glad as I am that Vivienne has made it back here to England at last, I was sorry to hear about the reason for your visit. I'm sure you are going to miss Carlotta a great deal, Henry."

"Yes," Viette's father said as he spun the rim of his fedora hat in his hands. Delia always made him peculiarly nervous, Viette had noticed. Especially when she was looking as uncommonly lovely as now.

Delia's smile returned in a flash and she reached out to take the bag on Viette's shoulder. "Won't you all stay for a while, have a cup of tea? Ernest is out for the evening but if you linger until about eight I'm sure you'll catch him--"

"Oh, no, Delia, I'm sorry," Peter interjected. "I have some things to take care of before dark, and Henry is meeting some visitors at the train station. You know, a lot of old friends are coming into town for the funeral."

Out of the corner of her eye, Viette saw Delia bite her lip in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Peter, I wasn't thinking."

"It's alright, Delia," Henry offered, patting her shoulder clumsily as he returned his fedora to the top of his head. "We'll be around tomorrow night, if we're invited to dinner."

"Of course you are," she said with a wave of her hand. "I want to hear all about Greece and the adventures you and Vivienne have been having without me."

As Delia turned to call someone to bring the rest of Viette's luggage in from the cars, Viette turned to her father with a look of disdain. "I can't believe you won't let me come with you," she hissed in his ear as she hugged him goodbye. "Adventures we've been having without her, indeed -- she would have hated Greece!"

"Actually, Delia's quite fond of Greece," he responded with an air of playfulness as he patted her back. "And she does like to hear about your adventures, Viette. Humor her."

Viette pulled away and stared into her father's eyes. They had the same vividly blue eyes, of which Viette was rather proud. "Well, as long as you and Grandpa are going to be here to deal with her tomorrow night, I guess it's okay," she said. "The longer she's around just me, the quicker she's likely to grow tired of me."

"Viette, lighten up," Grandpa Peter said as he tousled her hair. "There are going to be enough occasions in the next few days which require moroseness. Try to enjoy yourself here in your mother's company."