Black Diaries

68. A Fruity Welcome

The lights of the car were like two little fireflies, fluttering alone in the dark evening air. But they didn't remain alone for long. Another pair appeared, then another. Soon, a swarm of headlights was moving down the road towards us. With smooth purrs, the luxurious limousines slid onto the driveway and, one after another, came to a halt in front of the manor.

I swallowed. My acquaintance with Elliot's grandfather had left me well versed regarding cars. From where I stood, I counted two Audis, three Rolls Royces, three Bentleys, one Lincoln, one Cadillac, and one Porsche. And those were just the ones I could make out. Dozens more were already clogging up the driveway, while valets rushed out of the manor to park the cars of those guests who had arrived first.

"Who are all these people?" I demanded in a whisper, clutching his Lordship's hand more tightly. "Who— Oh no!"

The back door of the first limousine opened, and a plate of cheese got out. It was followed by a man in evening suit, and a giant yellow butterfly.

"No! Not the women with the funny hats!"

From beside me, I heard a choked laugh. I threw a glare at my dear husband, who was trying to suppress his laughter, while the plate of cheese, the yellow butterfly and the two women underneath them strode towards us.

"The women in funny hats?" he gasped, his eyes dancing. "If you'll take a piece of advice, don't let her Grace the Duchess or her cousin hear you say that."

"Stop laughing!" I hissed. "This is not funny!"

"I beg to differ. It is immensely funny. Positively hilarious."

"Last time I came across all those snotty women, they all turned their noses up at me!"

"Well, I hardly think that'll happen again. Look."

He pointed, and I followed his outstretched arms with my gaze to the door of another luxury car that was just now opening. And out came—

"Holy hell!"

"Exactly."

"That thing on her head! Is that...is that...."

"...a pineapple? Yes, indeed it is."

"She stole my hat! I can't believe it! That hussy pinched my hat!"

"Well, not exactly pinched it. I would say she let herself be inspired by your style."

"I sure as hell wouldn't! That little hussy pinched my hat, and I want it back!"

I was just about to start towards the villainous hat-thief when his hand closed around my shoulder.

"I think you're missing the point here," he mused.

"Let me go! The only point I see is the point of a knife, and I'll drive that between the ribs of that witch if she doesn't give me my hat back!"

"The point," he continued, the grip on my shoulder increasing, "is that last time you met those women, they may have turned their noses up at you—but now they're trying to imitate you."

I froze.

"What?"

He smirked. "Why do you think she bribed her milliner to commit the sacrilege of plastering a pineapple on a straw hat? She wants to imitate you. She's jealous of you."

"Me?"

"Yes. Just like her..." He nodded to another woman just getting out of a Bentley. She was wearing a straw hat with a big, fruity shape on top that looked disturbingly familiar. "...and her, and her—oh, and that one, too."