Chapter 3/7
The museum was packed when they arrived, but the room where the brunch was to be held was set well away from the public area. A footman took their alias - Green - and suggested that they take in the artwork gracing the walls before seating themselves.
They took him up on his suggestion, walking slowly around the long banquet table to admire the variety before them. Sculpture, statuary and paintings and sketches of all mediums were laid out with a minimum of security that made Sydney antsy.
"I keep expecting trouble," she confessed to Vaughn in a low voice. "I mean, anytime there isn't a bank of infra-red beams protecting something valuable, I get a little nervous."
"It's your upbringing," he chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist for - he told himself - the benefit of the other people scattered throughout the room. "Now, try to relax, okay? Look at this one, here. Isn't it incredible?"
It was, and they soon lost themselves in the beauty that surrounded them, trying to take everything in at once. It was rather like dropping a child in the middle of a candy factory, and telling him to take his time- he can't. He has to run from one thing to the next, devouring greedily the wonderful treat he's been given.
When at last the dinner chime was sounded, and people moved to seat themselves, Sydney and Vaughn were both exhausted from trying to take it all in.
"I hope this is a short brunch," she muttered to him, before they were whisked away to their places.
As was generally the custom at a fundraiser brunch, the more important people had tables assigned to them, all within clear view of the stage. Oddly enough, Vaughn and Sydney seemed to rate VIP status, as had their table been any closer, they would have had to sit in the speaker's lap. Soon, though, Sydney saw why.
"That," Vaughn hissed, nudging her and nodding toward a slender young woman with short, dark hair being led toward them, "is Charles Wallace's daughter-in-law. She lives in Halifax, and she's a big patron of the arts- her husband is probably around here somewhere, too."
Sure enough, a young man caught up with her before she reached the table, and pulled her chair out for her to seat herself before he, too, sat down.
"They've done a wonderful job, haven't they?" he volunteered, smiling at Sydney and Vaughn. "They really pulled a lot of strings to get some of these pieces here on time."
"Well," Sydney pointed out, with the air of one who knows what she's talking about, "this is hardly just another fundraiser, is it? Except for the Wallace Ball, this is the fundraiser."
"I agree," the young woman smiled, and shot her pink-cheeked husband a fond glance. "See, Clark? What did I tell you?"
"Oh- not Clark Wallace?" Vaughn looked amazed, as if he had just recognized him. Clark nodded, still embarrassed.
"Michael Green," Vaughn said promptly, extending his hand. "And my wife, Sydney. We're going to pop into the ball before we head back to Colorado on Christmas Eve. Will we see you there?"
"Most likely," Clark nodded. "Dad's big on family appearances, even if he spends eleven months out of twelve down in Virginia, so yes, Trish and I will definitely be there."
"Well, it's the holidays, isn't it?" Sydney smiled, reaching over to place a wifely hand on Vaughn's own. "It's a time to be with family. That's why I came in with Michael- we were supposed to have a quiet little country Christmas at our winter house in Hammonds Plains, but when the firm said they needed Michael to come in and spend the week, then of course I came with him."
"You didn't want to commute?" the woman, Trish, frowned. Hammonds Plains was only a half hour's drive or so from downtown Halifax.
"Not in these weather conditions," Sydney said firmly. "You never know around here."
"No, that's right." Clark agreed. "If you don't like the weather in the Maritimes, just wait a minute or two."
The conversation would likely have gone on from there had a beaming woman not climbed the stairs to the stage and addressed the crowd in a distinctive Nova Scotia accent.
"Good morning, everybody!" she trilled. "Good morning, and thank you so much for taking a few minutes out of your busy schedule to come and support the Halifax Art Museum. It's delightful to see so many of you are here, and I hope you will enjoy your breakfast. I'm told the cooks have been slaving over this all morning, so it should be most delectable indeed. Now please, won't you give a warm welcome to our chairwoman and the head of the fundraising committee, Dr. Charlotte Dawe!"
Everybody applauded as Dr. Dawe made her way to the stage, pitched a mercifully short spiel on the benefits of a classical education such as the museum struggled to provide, and then said she hoped everybody would enjoy their meal and have a safe and happy holiday.
The meal that followed was, indeed, fantastic, but it was a little hard to concentrate on. Sydney and Vaughn, anxious to preserve their cover, snuck little peeks at the Wallaces to see how they were acting towards each other, and then attempted to match their behavior. This meant they did everything from holding hands to making eyes at each other, and barely paying attention to everything going on around them.
Sydney had mixed feelings about what they were doing- she was happy, because it seemed to be such a simple thing to accomplish- it felt as if she had been doing it all her life. She was also a little nervous, because- well, it was so easy to pull off. It seemed as if she had been doing it all her life, and though she would never have admitted it for the world, it made her want to do it for the rest of her life as well.
***
Once the first course had been served, a string quartet emerged to play for them. They were obviously "local talent" but they weren't that bad at all, and performed quite well through the rest of the brunch.
Vaughn finished eating early, and rapidly grew uncomfortable just sitting at their table, so he squeezed Sydney's hand and leaned over. "Let's dance, Syd," he said softly into her ear. She grinned and gracefully extracted herself from the table.
The swung around the floor, moving perfectly to the beat of the music. Vaughn dipped his head and whispered again into her ear: "Don't you think it's odd that we're dancing at a brunch?"
Syd chuckled into his shoulder.
"This isn't exactly social central, Michael," she chided, and sure enough, rather than being scandalized or even condescending, people appeared to be watching them with great delight.
"Besides," she went on, "Maritimes or not, the rich are generally supposed to be refined, and therefore know how to dance."
"And when to dance," he pointed out. She laughed.
"So what? Any excuse to show off. Besides- you asked me, remember?"
"But you said yes."
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm glad I did, too! You can really dance! Danny always stepped on my toes." She hesitated, but then realized she was really okay to recount stories from a happier time. Vaughn, too, seemed to catch that, and began to do the same.
"My mom enrolled me in dance lessons when I was almost eight," he admitted. "It was just before he died, and he was starting to let me tag along to social functions. Mom was hoping he'd get promoted, so she insisted that I make a good impression."
He winced slightly as he thought back.
"I spent six weeks with bored housewives and their husbands."
Syd laughed freely, happy to be getting a peek into her handler's life. He was so mysterious, so impenetrable. Whatever she could do to get him to open up a bit more, she would gladly oblige.
Before she could speak to him further, though, she noticed something both amusing and delightful
"Look," she nudged him. "We're trend-setters."
Indeed, other people were starting to follow their example, gentlemen leading their ladies out into the narrow area in front of the stage where there were no tables. The quartet rose to the occasion and switched to dance melodies, so it wasn't long before almost half those present were getting up, and following their example.
"I love this," Sydney smiled, watching as couples ranging in age from early twenties to late fifties danced, or tried to fake it. "No running, no hiding, no wishing I was somewhere else- this is how I'd love to spend the rest of my life."
After a few more songs, the string quartet set their instruments down and Dr. Dawe returned to address them once more, Vaughn and Sydney were near the back of the room, they snuck out the back door.
"How long do we have until the hockey game?" she wanted to know, as they relaxed once more in the back of the limo. Vaughn checked his watch.
"A good eight hours. Why?"
"I want to do something before then, but we'll have to change first, of course."
"Why?" Vaughn wondered. "What did you have in mind?"
A good hour later, he knew.
"No way. Sydney, there is no way-"
"Oh, come on, Michael!" she coaxed for the benefit of those around them. "Just give it a try!"
"Sydney, that is a wild animal. There is no way you're getting me up there."
"Please?" she clasped her gloved hands under her chin, her already full bottom lip jutting out even farther. "Please, please, please? She's a perfect sweetheart, I promise you. I asked for the quietest horse in the stables just for you."
Maybe he should have been grateful, but looking at the massive bay mare they had presented him with, Vaughn found it hard to work up the appreciation he knew he ought to feel.
"You're asking me to sit on a horse."
"No, silly," she sighed, "I don't just want you to sit on her, I want you to ride her! Mom and Dad gave me lessons ever since I was just little- it's one of the most fun things I've ever done, and I just know you'd love it, too, if you'd only give her a chance."
"Sydney, if I gave this a chance, it would be the last chance I ever gave. I just know it."
Sydney sighed.
"Fine. Then you can stay here while I go. I paid for two hours' worth of hacking and hot chocolate after, and I am not about to be gypped out of that."
Vaughn, watching her nod to another stable hand who led over a slightly larger gelding, couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as she buckled on the helmet offered her and swung easily up into the saddle.
As she lifted the reins slightly and clucked at her mount, he felt himself give away.
"All right, all right. Just- how do you get on this thing, anyway?"
***
Mounting was not as difficult as he had imagined it would be. Not with the steps they provided for him, anyway. It only took him one try before he was up in the saddle, and finding it surprisingly comfortable.
The horse was not only reassuringly wide beneath him, she was warm, and alive. She eyed him with something like mild interest as he hesitantly scooped up the reins, and Sydney rode closer to instruct him on how to hold them.
"Fit them between your pinkies and ring fingers- that's it. Now just lift them a bit, and cluck to her."
He did, and was honestly surprised when the mare listened, starting to walk pensively along beside Sydney's own horse.
"They said her name was Sugar, right?" she prompted. "Talk to her. Pat her."
"I'll pat her," Vaughn allowed, "but talk to her?! I am not talking to a horse!"
"Humph," Sydney scowled, then turned to give her own a firm pat on the neck. "Well, we don't want to associate with him, now, do we, General?"
General either didn't understand her, or didn't let on that he did, but Vaughn was still mildly offended to be snubbed in favour of an animal that slept in a stable and ate the same meal every day. There was something injuring to his dignity about it.
So he turned to his horse, and said,
"Well, we don't need them, either, do we, Sugar?"
It took him a few seconds to realise that he had played right into Sydney's hands, and when he did, he looked up at her with an 'Okay, you can feel free to laugh at me right now,' look on his face.
She obliged, but only for a moment, quickly smothering the giggles, clearing her throat and touching her lips with one leather-gloved hand.
"Sorry," she smiled, and he thought the dimples that appeared as she did were the sweetest things he had ever seen.
"Don't be," he chuckled. "Please, don't be. I set myself up for that one. Laugh all you like."
She was too good, though, to obey. Rather, she shook her head, and said, "No. I won't. It would be rude. Let's talk about something else- the ballet, maybe? What are they performing, anyway?"
"The night before Christmas Eve?" he arched an eyebrow. "The Nutcracker, of course."
"Really?" she looked delighted. "I love the Nutcracker. My mother took me every year- it was a girl thing. The first time we went, Mom was five months pregnant with me, and we went each Christmas after that right up until . . ." she trailed off, pursed her lips, and looked down at the reins. "Until she left," she finished quietly.
Vaughn looked stricken.
"Syd, I'm so, so-"
"No," she interrupted, "it- it's okay. I don't mind talking about it. We- well, that was one of the first things I thought, actually, when she disappeared- who was going to take me to see the Nutcracker?"
Her smile was wistful.
"My nanny took me."
She ducked her head and examined her gloves once more.
"It just wasn't the same. And when Dad found out, he was furious, and told her not to take me again. That was the last time I saw it."
Vaughn's face clearly said that his heart was breaking in two.
"Syd, I-"
"Would you listen to me!" she gasped, a little breathless. "All mopey, and here it is almost ! What do you want to talk about?"
He smiled. He wasn't going to get anywhere further on that subject, and that was for sure, so he changed it obediently.
"Well, who do you think will win tonight? Mooseheads or Wildcats?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, that's a really fair question to ask a person who hasn't seen either team play before," she snorted, and he smiled.
"Sorry. So- based on the names, who do you think will win?"
"The names?" she was amused. "Vaughn, they're hockey teams, not books."
"Humour me," he begged, so she rolled her eyes, and smiled.
"Fine. Seeing as one is named after a deadly predator, and the other after a beer, I'd have to go with Wildcats."
He nodded, and smiled.
"Fair enough, I guess. So, after the excitement of tonight, will you be able to settle down in time for tomorrow?"
"After how little sleep I got last night, and the excitement of the hockey game tonight," Sydney retorted, "I will sleep right into tomorrow afternoon- if not later than that."
Vaughn smiled, but this quickly changed to a look of surprise as Sugar's head snaked out to one side to tug at a few blades of dead grass sticking up from below the snow.
"Don't let her get away with that," Sydney advised quickly. "Give a hard yank- that's it. Now tell her she was a good girl to listen to you."
Feeling slightly foolish, Vaughn did, patting her somewhat awkwardly on the neck while Sydney watched, smiling.
"A bit different from your dog, isn't she?"
"Yeah, a bit," he admitted. "I mean, she actually listens when I tell her to stop doing something. You should see Donovan- he's like a little cannonball when he'd got a target in mind."
"I'd like a pet," Sydney admitted, "but I can't really manage it, what with - well- you know." She shrugged.
"The travelling," Vaughn finished, understanding.
"Yeah," she made a face. "The travelling."
They fell silent, their eyes falling to the reins. When they spoke again, it was about ordinary things, and the conversation continued in this manner for the remainder of the ride.
***
"I don't have anything to wear," Sydney scowled, some hours later in the hotel room. Vaughn glanced up from the sink where he was brushing his teeth, surprised.
"What do you mean, you don't have anything to wear? It's a hockey game. You can wear anything."
"No, Vaughn," she corrected, "you don't wear anything to a hockey game, you wear something. There's a difference."
"Is there?" he was honestly surprised.
"Yes, Vaughn, there is. Anything implies just that- anything from pyjamas to your father's twenty-year-old suit he keeps for the sole purpose of annoying your mother. That is anything. Something is something that you reach out and grab, not really checking to see what it is, but it's still clothing. In other words, it's not just anything- it's something."
Vaughn's eyes were slightly crossed at the conclusion of this narrative, and Sydney, seeing, blushed.
"Sorry. I think I can find some jeans and a shirt, if I look again. Ii just- well, I may have brought a lot, but it always seems like I never bring the right things, you know? I could bring everything in my closet save for one outfit, and when I arrive, it turns out that I can't possibly wear any outfit but that."
Vaughn laughed in sympathy, finishing with his toothbrush and setting it back in his travelling kit.
"You set for a romantic dinner of hot dogs and sodas on the bleachers?" he teased, and Sydney smiled before shutting the door to the bedroom so they could continue their conversation without compromising her virtue.
"Yeah, all set. We do get around, don't we? Which reminds me- where were you thinking we'd eat tomorrow night?"
"I don't know- were you thinking of a dinner before the show, or after?"
"Um- it's at nine, right?"
"Yes."
"Then we had better eat first. It runs what- three hours, doesn't it?"
"Three and a half. Almost four."
"Ugh, then we had definitely better have dinner first. No way could I wait that long."
"So- reservations for seven thirty sound all right to you?"
"Perfect."
"Great. Only- I still don't know where to make them."
"Well . . ." Sydney pondered. "I don't know the restaurant district too well. You had better see if they can recommend anything at the front desk, all right?"
Vaughn agreed that this sounded all right, then wondered if she was done.
She was, and proved it by emerging, dressed in jeans and a pullover with a snowflake print. She looked about twelve, and he had to smile at her flushed cheeks and eager expression.
"I don't suppose that you're actually getting excited about this game, are you?" he wondered, handing her the coat and scarf she had purchased earlier that day.
"Very," she confessed, tugging the coat on and draping the scarf behind her neck. "I've never seen a Moosehead in action before, so this is my big chance, isn't it?"
"Yes," he agreed, smiling, as he shrugged into his own coat, "I guess that this is your big chance. So- are we taking the limo?"
"To a hockey game? Are you kidding? Call a cab. Box seats or not, you just do not take a limo to a hockey game."
Suitably chastened, Vaughn called for the cab, and was promised that it would arrive within minutes. Thusly assured, he opened the door, and made a sweeping bow to Sydney, gesturing that she should precede him through. She laughed, tucked his hand in hers, and pulled him through behind her.
***
The cab was delightfully prompt, and they settled down together in the toasty warm back seat as Sydney gave their destination, and the cabby, pulling away from the curb, at once launched into a detailed prognosis of the likely outcome of that night's match.
They tried to pay attention, but found it rather hard, because their attention kept drifting back to the Christmas lights that decorated the lamp posts. Little trumpets, wreaths and bells all twinkled down onto the sparkling snow, and both Southern-raised adults found it hard not to press their noses and palms to the glass like little children waiting for Santa.
"It's beautiful," Sydney said wistfully, and Vaughn smiled at her before quietly affirming,
"Yeah. It sure is."
When the cabby realised they weren't hearing him he fell silent, and the rest of the drive to the coliseum was completed under a heavy blanket of awed quiet.
It broke when they arrived, of course- it was, after all, a hockey game.
Vaughn paid the driver, thanked him, and Sydney threaded his arm through his as they made their way to the brightly-lit doors and joined the crowd that was rushing in.
It didn't take too long to find their seats, and they were pleasantly surprised to discover that the chairs actually had a thin padding of lather on them, and so would not be overly uncomfortable.
"Your seat, m'dear," Vaughn's eyes twinkled, and he held down the spring-loaded seat for Sydney to sit on before he took his own.
She looked at the ice, gleaming white under the fluorescent lights, the red and blue lines standing out in stark relief, and felt a thrill of delight.
"I can't believe we're here," she sighed, settling back. "This- I didn't think this would happen for a few years, at least."
"What, watching the Mooseheads get their butts kicked by the Wildcats?" he teased, and she laughed.
"No, you nut, the hockey game. We talked about it, I know, but I didn't even like to think about it, because I knew how long it would be before we actually could. Or rather," she corrected herself, "I thought that I knew."
"How does it feel to be wrong?" he wondered, and she looked up steadily into his eyes as she answered.
"Wonderful."
Vaughn smiled.
***
The game was surprisingly intense, when one considered that they were just local teams. Sydney watched the players with avid interest, her gaze straying from the ice only once when, largely for the benefit of the others seated in the box around them, she put her hand on Vaughn's arm and murmured,
"I'll bet you could do better, dear."
He laughed, and slid an arm around her shoulders. It felt so right, somehow, that even after he had given her a gentle hug he left it there, and Sydney made no move to pull away.
The middle-aged man sitting beside them, his two sons and tiny daughter gaping at the action on the ice, glanced over and smiled at the young couple. As the whistle blew, he leaned over and addressed Vaughn.
"You have a lovely wife," he smiled, "and I couldn't help but be reminded of my own when I saw you two together."
"Oh- well, you're very fortunate indeed, then," Vaughn smiled, as Sydney looked over, and grinned at the littlest boy, who was falling asleep on his father's shoulder.
"Yes," the gentleman agreed, "we are." He offered his hand. "I'm Frank Webber."
"Michael Green, and this is my wife, Sydney."
"How do you do?" Sydney smiled, reaching out to take Frank's hand in her own.
"Well, thank-you, young lady. And- are you two from around here?"
"No," Michael admitted, "we're from Colorado, but my firm has a branch up here, do when they found out we have a winter home in Hammonds Plains, they took advantage, and asked me to put in a little overtime."
"He jumped at the chance," Sydney sniffed. "He's a workaholic. But we'll be going home on Christmas Eve," she added, "right after the Wallace Ball."
"Oh, are you going to the Wallace Ball, then? Amy and I are as well. my is my wife," he added, rather belatedly. "Maybe we'll see you there."
"That would be wonderful," Sydney said warmly, then glanced at her watch.
"Sweetie," she murmured, "if we're going to get supper . . ."
"Yes, yes, don't let me keep you," Frank smiled. "Go on and get something- I have to take these ones as well. Come on, sleepyhead," he added, hoisting his little boy to his shoulder as Sydney and Vaughn got to their feet, and headed toward the concession stands.
"Well, we accomplished what we wanted," he smiled. "We met somebody who will be there, and who can back up out story if people wonder who we are."
"So what, you want to go home now?" Sydney teased, as they joined a lineup for the Greco stand. Vaughn looked surprised.
"Do you?"
"Well," she pointed out, "if we were really married, we would. But- we're not. And I'd love to see then end of the game, if you would."
Vaughn smiled.
"I was hoping you would say that. So-" he gestured to the counter. "What do you want on your pizza?"
***
The Wildcats won the game, but Sydney and Vaughn almost missed it. They were too busy debating the merits of pepperoni versus hamburger on pizza.
"Pepperoni is classic!" Vaughn maintained. "Really, you just do not eat a pizza without pepperoni. It isn't right! It- it's unAmerican!"
"Don't be silly!" she rolled her eyes. "I never liked pepperoni because when I was little, I always tried to take little bites, and the pepperoni made it hard because the whole piece would always come away in my mouth, and it would be too much. I had," she reflected, "a very tiny mouth. And now- I don't know." she shrugged. "I guess it just stuck with me."
"You mean you don't eat pepperoni on your pizza at all?"
"No, that's not what I mean. I mean that, given the choice, I would choose hamburger any day."
Vaughn eyed her doubtfully.
"Well . . ."
She laughed, and looked up just as the whistle blew.
"Hey, look-" she sounded surprised. "It's over."
She looked at the scoreboard, and laughed.
"Didn't I tell you? Didn't I?" she pointed. "Seven to four. That's what you get for naming your team after an alcoholic beverage, rather than a lethal predator. Now, shall we call it a night? I'm bone tired, and bed sounds pretty good to me."
***
Not only did it sound good, but it felt good, too. Sydney couldn't even remember changing into her pyjamas- all she knew was that, as she crept in under clean sheets and tugged the top on right up to her chin, she didn't think she could be so comfortable anywhere else in the world at that moment.
The bed smelled sweet and clean, and it was soft underneath her. Her head touched the pillow, a little smile touched her lips, and she was asleep before Vaughn could even open up the couch.
The museum was packed when they arrived, but the room where the brunch was to be held was set well away from the public area. A footman took their alias - Green - and suggested that they take in the artwork gracing the walls before seating themselves.
They took him up on his suggestion, walking slowly around the long banquet table to admire the variety before them. Sculpture, statuary and paintings and sketches of all mediums were laid out with a minimum of security that made Sydney antsy.
"I keep expecting trouble," she confessed to Vaughn in a low voice. "I mean, anytime there isn't a bank of infra-red beams protecting something valuable, I get a little nervous."
"It's your upbringing," he chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist for - he told himself - the benefit of the other people scattered throughout the room. "Now, try to relax, okay? Look at this one, here. Isn't it incredible?"
It was, and they soon lost themselves in the beauty that surrounded them, trying to take everything in at once. It was rather like dropping a child in the middle of a candy factory, and telling him to take his time- he can't. He has to run from one thing to the next, devouring greedily the wonderful treat he's been given.
When at last the dinner chime was sounded, and people moved to seat themselves, Sydney and Vaughn were both exhausted from trying to take it all in.
"I hope this is a short brunch," she muttered to him, before they were whisked away to their places.
As was generally the custom at a fundraiser brunch, the more important people had tables assigned to them, all within clear view of the stage. Oddly enough, Vaughn and Sydney seemed to rate VIP status, as had their table been any closer, they would have had to sit in the speaker's lap. Soon, though, Sydney saw why.
"That," Vaughn hissed, nudging her and nodding toward a slender young woman with short, dark hair being led toward them, "is Charles Wallace's daughter-in-law. She lives in Halifax, and she's a big patron of the arts- her husband is probably around here somewhere, too."
Sure enough, a young man caught up with her before she reached the table, and pulled her chair out for her to seat herself before he, too, sat down.
"They've done a wonderful job, haven't they?" he volunteered, smiling at Sydney and Vaughn. "They really pulled a lot of strings to get some of these pieces here on time."
"Well," Sydney pointed out, with the air of one who knows what she's talking about, "this is hardly just another fundraiser, is it? Except for the Wallace Ball, this is the fundraiser."
"I agree," the young woman smiled, and shot her pink-cheeked husband a fond glance. "See, Clark? What did I tell you?"
"Oh- not Clark Wallace?" Vaughn looked amazed, as if he had just recognized him. Clark nodded, still embarrassed.
"Michael Green," Vaughn said promptly, extending his hand. "And my wife, Sydney. We're going to pop into the ball before we head back to Colorado on Christmas Eve. Will we see you there?"
"Most likely," Clark nodded. "Dad's big on family appearances, even if he spends eleven months out of twelve down in Virginia, so yes, Trish and I will definitely be there."
"Well, it's the holidays, isn't it?" Sydney smiled, reaching over to place a wifely hand on Vaughn's own. "It's a time to be with family. That's why I came in with Michael- we were supposed to have a quiet little country Christmas at our winter house in Hammonds Plains, but when the firm said they needed Michael to come in and spend the week, then of course I came with him."
"You didn't want to commute?" the woman, Trish, frowned. Hammonds Plains was only a half hour's drive or so from downtown Halifax.
"Not in these weather conditions," Sydney said firmly. "You never know around here."
"No, that's right." Clark agreed. "If you don't like the weather in the Maritimes, just wait a minute or two."
The conversation would likely have gone on from there had a beaming woman not climbed the stairs to the stage and addressed the crowd in a distinctive Nova Scotia accent.
"Good morning, everybody!" she trilled. "Good morning, and thank you so much for taking a few minutes out of your busy schedule to come and support the Halifax Art Museum. It's delightful to see so many of you are here, and I hope you will enjoy your breakfast. I'm told the cooks have been slaving over this all morning, so it should be most delectable indeed. Now please, won't you give a warm welcome to our chairwoman and the head of the fundraising committee, Dr. Charlotte Dawe!"
Everybody applauded as Dr. Dawe made her way to the stage, pitched a mercifully short spiel on the benefits of a classical education such as the museum struggled to provide, and then said she hoped everybody would enjoy their meal and have a safe and happy holiday.
The meal that followed was, indeed, fantastic, but it was a little hard to concentrate on. Sydney and Vaughn, anxious to preserve their cover, snuck little peeks at the Wallaces to see how they were acting towards each other, and then attempted to match their behavior. This meant they did everything from holding hands to making eyes at each other, and barely paying attention to everything going on around them.
Sydney had mixed feelings about what they were doing- she was happy, because it seemed to be such a simple thing to accomplish- it felt as if she had been doing it all her life. She was also a little nervous, because- well, it was so easy to pull off. It seemed as if she had been doing it all her life, and though she would never have admitted it for the world, it made her want to do it for the rest of her life as well.
***
Once the first course had been served, a string quartet emerged to play for them. They were obviously "local talent" but they weren't that bad at all, and performed quite well through the rest of the brunch.
Vaughn finished eating early, and rapidly grew uncomfortable just sitting at their table, so he squeezed Sydney's hand and leaned over. "Let's dance, Syd," he said softly into her ear. She grinned and gracefully extracted herself from the table.
The swung around the floor, moving perfectly to the beat of the music. Vaughn dipped his head and whispered again into her ear: "Don't you think it's odd that we're dancing at a brunch?"
Syd chuckled into his shoulder.
"This isn't exactly social central, Michael," she chided, and sure enough, rather than being scandalized or even condescending, people appeared to be watching them with great delight.
"Besides," she went on, "Maritimes or not, the rich are generally supposed to be refined, and therefore know how to dance."
"And when to dance," he pointed out. She laughed.
"So what? Any excuse to show off. Besides- you asked me, remember?"
"But you said yes."
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm glad I did, too! You can really dance! Danny always stepped on my toes." She hesitated, but then realized she was really okay to recount stories from a happier time. Vaughn, too, seemed to catch that, and began to do the same.
"My mom enrolled me in dance lessons when I was almost eight," he admitted. "It was just before he died, and he was starting to let me tag along to social functions. Mom was hoping he'd get promoted, so she insisted that I make a good impression."
He winced slightly as he thought back.
"I spent six weeks with bored housewives and their husbands."
Syd laughed freely, happy to be getting a peek into her handler's life. He was so mysterious, so impenetrable. Whatever she could do to get him to open up a bit more, she would gladly oblige.
Before she could speak to him further, though, she noticed something both amusing and delightful
"Look," she nudged him. "We're trend-setters."
Indeed, other people were starting to follow their example, gentlemen leading their ladies out into the narrow area in front of the stage where there were no tables. The quartet rose to the occasion and switched to dance melodies, so it wasn't long before almost half those present were getting up, and following their example.
"I love this," Sydney smiled, watching as couples ranging in age from early twenties to late fifties danced, or tried to fake it. "No running, no hiding, no wishing I was somewhere else- this is how I'd love to spend the rest of my life."
After a few more songs, the string quartet set their instruments down and Dr. Dawe returned to address them once more, Vaughn and Sydney were near the back of the room, they snuck out the back door.
"How long do we have until the hockey game?" she wanted to know, as they relaxed once more in the back of the limo. Vaughn checked his watch.
"A good eight hours. Why?"
"I want to do something before then, but we'll have to change first, of course."
"Why?" Vaughn wondered. "What did you have in mind?"
A good hour later, he knew.
"No way. Sydney, there is no way-"
"Oh, come on, Michael!" she coaxed for the benefit of those around them. "Just give it a try!"
"Sydney, that is a wild animal. There is no way you're getting me up there."
"Please?" she clasped her gloved hands under her chin, her already full bottom lip jutting out even farther. "Please, please, please? She's a perfect sweetheart, I promise you. I asked for the quietest horse in the stables just for you."
Maybe he should have been grateful, but looking at the massive bay mare they had presented him with, Vaughn found it hard to work up the appreciation he knew he ought to feel.
"You're asking me to sit on a horse."
"No, silly," she sighed, "I don't just want you to sit on her, I want you to ride her! Mom and Dad gave me lessons ever since I was just little- it's one of the most fun things I've ever done, and I just know you'd love it, too, if you'd only give her a chance."
"Sydney, if I gave this a chance, it would be the last chance I ever gave. I just know it."
Sydney sighed.
"Fine. Then you can stay here while I go. I paid for two hours' worth of hacking and hot chocolate after, and I am not about to be gypped out of that."
Vaughn, watching her nod to another stable hand who led over a slightly larger gelding, couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as she buckled on the helmet offered her and swung easily up into the saddle.
As she lifted the reins slightly and clucked at her mount, he felt himself give away.
"All right, all right. Just- how do you get on this thing, anyway?"
***
Mounting was not as difficult as he had imagined it would be. Not with the steps they provided for him, anyway. It only took him one try before he was up in the saddle, and finding it surprisingly comfortable.
The horse was not only reassuringly wide beneath him, she was warm, and alive. She eyed him with something like mild interest as he hesitantly scooped up the reins, and Sydney rode closer to instruct him on how to hold them.
"Fit them between your pinkies and ring fingers- that's it. Now just lift them a bit, and cluck to her."
He did, and was honestly surprised when the mare listened, starting to walk pensively along beside Sydney's own horse.
"They said her name was Sugar, right?" she prompted. "Talk to her. Pat her."
"I'll pat her," Vaughn allowed, "but talk to her?! I am not talking to a horse!"
"Humph," Sydney scowled, then turned to give her own a firm pat on the neck. "Well, we don't want to associate with him, now, do we, General?"
General either didn't understand her, or didn't let on that he did, but Vaughn was still mildly offended to be snubbed in favour of an animal that slept in a stable and ate the same meal every day. There was something injuring to his dignity about it.
So he turned to his horse, and said,
"Well, we don't need them, either, do we, Sugar?"
It took him a few seconds to realise that he had played right into Sydney's hands, and when he did, he looked up at her with an 'Okay, you can feel free to laugh at me right now,' look on his face.
She obliged, but only for a moment, quickly smothering the giggles, clearing her throat and touching her lips with one leather-gloved hand.
"Sorry," she smiled, and he thought the dimples that appeared as she did were the sweetest things he had ever seen.
"Don't be," he chuckled. "Please, don't be. I set myself up for that one. Laugh all you like."
She was too good, though, to obey. Rather, she shook her head, and said, "No. I won't. It would be rude. Let's talk about something else- the ballet, maybe? What are they performing, anyway?"
"The night before Christmas Eve?" he arched an eyebrow. "The Nutcracker, of course."
"Really?" she looked delighted. "I love the Nutcracker. My mother took me every year- it was a girl thing. The first time we went, Mom was five months pregnant with me, and we went each Christmas after that right up until . . ." she trailed off, pursed her lips, and looked down at the reins. "Until she left," she finished quietly.
Vaughn looked stricken.
"Syd, I'm so, so-"
"No," she interrupted, "it- it's okay. I don't mind talking about it. We- well, that was one of the first things I thought, actually, when she disappeared- who was going to take me to see the Nutcracker?"
Her smile was wistful.
"My nanny took me."
She ducked her head and examined her gloves once more.
"It just wasn't the same. And when Dad found out, he was furious, and told her not to take me again. That was the last time I saw it."
Vaughn's face clearly said that his heart was breaking in two.
"Syd, I-"
"Would you listen to me!" she gasped, a little breathless. "All mopey, and here it is almost ! What do you want to talk about?"
He smiled. He wasn't going to get anywhere further on that subject, and that was for sure, so he changed it obediently.
"Well, who do you think will win tonight? Mooseheads or Wildcats?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, that's a really fair question to ask a person who hasn't seen either team play before," she snorted, and he smiled.
"Sorry. So- based on the names, who do you think will win?"
"The names?" she was amused. "Vaughn, they're hockey teams, not books."
"Humour me," he begged, so she rolled her eyes, and smiled.
"Fine. Seeing as one is named after a deadly predator, and the other after a beer, I'd have to go with Wildcats."
He nodded, and smiled.
"Fair enough, I guess. So, after the excitement of tonight, will you be able to settle down in time for tomorrow?"
"After how little sleep I got last night, and the excitement of the hockey game tonight," Sydney retorted, "I will sleep right into tomorrow afternoon- if not later than that."
Vaughn smiled, but this quickly changed to a look of surprise as Sugar's head snaked out to one side to tug at a few blades of dead grass sticking up from below the snow.
"Don't let her get away with that," Sydney advised quickly. "Give a hard yank- that's it. Now tell her she was a good girl to listen to you."
Feeling slightly foolish, Vaughn did, patting her somewhat awkwardly on the neck while Sydney watched, smiling.
"A bit different from your dog, isn't she?"
"Yeah, a bit," he admitted. "I mean, she actually listens when I tell her to stop doing something. You should see Donovan- he's like a little cannonball when he'd got a target in mind."
"I'd like a pet," Sydney admitted, "but I can't really manage it, what with - well- you know." She shrugged.
"The travelling," Vaughn finished, understanding.
"Yeah," she made a face. "The travelling."
They fell silent, their eyes falling to the reins. When they spoke again, it was about ordinary things, and the conversation continued in this manner for the remainder of the ride.
***
"I don't have anything to wear," Sydney scowled, some hours later in the hotel room. Vaughn glanced up from the sink where he was brushing his teeth, surprised.
"What do you mean, you don't have anything to wear? It's a hockey game. You can wear anything."
"No, Vaughn," she corrected, "you don't wear anything to a hockey game, you wear something. There's a difference."
"Is there?" he was honestly surprised.
"Yes, Vaughn, there is. Anything implies just that- anything from pyjamas to your father's twenty-year-old suit he keeps for the sole purpose of annoying your mother. That is anything. Something is something that you reach out and grab, not really checking to see what it is, but it's still clothing. In other words, it's not just anything- it's something."
Vaughn's eyes were slightly crossed at the conclusion of this narrative, and Sydney, seeing, blushed.
"Sorry. I think I can find some jeans and a shirt, if I look again. Ii just- well, I may have brought a lot, but it always seems like I never bring the right things, you know? I could bring everything in my closet save for one outfit, and when I arrive, it turns out that I can't possibly wear any outfit but that."
Vaughn laughed in sympathy, finishing with his toothbrush and setting it back in his travelling kit.
"You set for a romantic dinner of hot dogs and sodas on the bleachers?" he teased, and Sydney smiled before shutting the door to the bedroom so they could continue their conversation without compromising her virtue.
"Yeah, all set. We do get around, don't we? Which reminds me- where were you thinking we'd eat tomorrow night?"
"I don't know- were you thinking of a dinner before the show, or after?"
"Um- it's at nine, right?"
"Yes."
"Then we had better eat first. It runs what- three hours, doesn't it?"
"Three and a half. Almost four."
"Ugh, then we had definitely better have dinner first. No way could I wait that long."
"So- reservations for seven thirty sound all right to you?"
"Perfect."
"Great. Only- I still don't know where to make them."
"Well . . ." Sydney pondered. "I don't know the restaurant district too well. You had better see if they can recommend anything at the front desk, all right?"
Vaughn agreed that this sounded all right, then wondered if she was done.
She was, and proved it by emerging, dressed in jeans and a pullover with a snowflake print. She looked about twelve, and he had to smile at her flushed cheeks and eager expression.
"I don't suppose that you're actually getting excited about this game, are you?" he wondered, handing her the coat and scarf she had purchased earlier that day.
"Very," she confessed, tugging the coat on and draping the scarf behind her neck. "I've never seen a Moosehead in action before, so this is my big chance, isn't it?"
"Yes," he agreed, smiling, as he shrugged into his own coat, "I guess that this is your big chance. So- are we taking the limo?"
"To a hockey game? Are you kidding? Call a cab. Box seats or not, you just do not take a limo to a hockey game."
Suitably chastened, Vaughn called for the cab, and was promised that it would arrive within minutes. Thusly assured, he opened the door, and made a sweeping bow to Sydney, gesturing that she should precede him through. She laughed, tucked his hand in hers, and pulled him through behind her.
***
The cab was delightfully prompt, and they settled down together in the toasty warm back seat as Sydney gave their destination, and the cabby, pulling away from the curb, at once launched into a detailed prognosis of the likely outcome of that night's match.
They tried to pay attention, but found it rather hard, because their attention kept drifting back to the Christmas lights that decorated the lamp posts. Little trumpets, wreaths and bells all twinkled down onto the sparkling snow, and both Southern-raised adults found it hard not to press their noses and palms to the glass like little children waiting for Santa.
"It's beautiful," Sydney said wistfully, and Vaughn smiled at her before quietly affirming,
"Yeah. It sure is."
When the cabby realised they weren't hearing him he fell silent, and the rest of the drive to the coliseum was completed under a heavy blanket of awed quiet.
It broke when they arrived, of course- it was, after all, a hockey game.
Vaughn paid the driver, thanked him, and Sydney threaded his arm through his as they made their way to the brightly-lit doors and joined the crowd that was rushing in.
It didn't take too long to find their seats, and they were pleasantly surprised to discover that the chairs actually had a thin padding of lather on them, and so would not be overly uncomfortable.
"Your seat, m'dear," Vaughn's eyes twinkled, and he held down the spring-loaded seat for Sydney to sit on before he took his own.
She looked at the ice, gleaming white under the fluorescent lights, the red and blue lines standing out in stark relief, and felt a thrill of delight.
"I can't believe we're here," she sighed, settling back. "This- I didn't think this would happen for a few years, at least."
"What, watching the Mooseheads get their butts kicked by the Wildcats?" he teased, and she laughed.
"No, you nut, the hockey game. We talked about it, I know, but I didn't even like to think about it, because I knew how long it would be before we actually could. Or rather," she corrected herself, "I thought that I knew."
"How does it feel to be wrong?" he wondered, and she looked up steadily into his eyes as she answered.
"Wonderful."
Vaughn smiled.
***
The game was surprisingly intense, when one considered that they were just local teams. Sydney watched the players with avid interest, her gaze straying from the ice only once when, largely for the benefit of the others seated in the box around them, she put her hand on Vaughn's arm and murmured,
"I'll bet you could do better, dear."
He laughed, and slid an arm around her shoulders. It felt so right, somehow, that even after he had given her a gentle hug he left it there, and Sydney made no move to pull away.
The middle-aged man sitting beside them, his two sons and tiny daughter gaping at the action on the ice, glanced over and smiled at the young couple. As the whistle blew, he leaned over and addressed Vaughn.
"You have a lovely wife," he smiled, "and I couldn't help but be reminded of my own when I saw you two together."
"Oh- well, you're very fortunate indeed, then," Vaughn smiled, as Sydney looked over, and grinned at the littlest boy, who was falling asleep on his father's shoulder.
"Yes," the gentleman agreed, "we are." He offered his hand. "I'm Frank Webber."
"Michael Green, and this is my wife, Sydney."
"How do you do?" Sydney smiled, reaching out to take Frank's hand in her own.
"Well, thank-you, young lady. And- are you two from around here?"
"No," Michael admitted, "we're from Colorado, but my firm has a branch up here, do when they found out we have a winter home in Hammonds Plains, they took advantage, and asked me to put in a little overtime."
"He jumped at the chance," Sydney sniffed. "He's a workaholic. But we'll be going home on Christmas Eve," she added, "right after the Wallace Ball."
"Oh, are you going to the Wallace Ball, then? Amy and I are as well. my is my wife," he added, rather belatedly. "Maybe we'll see you there."
"That would be wonderful," Sydney said warmly, then glanced at her watch.
"Sweetie," she murmured, "if we're going to get supper . . ."
"Yes, yes, don't let me keep you," Frank smiled. "Go on and get something- I have to take these ones as well. Come on, sleepyhead," he added, hoisting his little boy to his shoulder as Sydney and Vaughn got to their feet, and headed toward the concession stands.
"Well, we accomplished what we wanted," he smiled. "We met somebody who will be there, and who can back up out story if people wonder who we are."
"So what, you want to go home now?" Sydney teased, as they joined a lineup for the Greco stand. Vaughn looked surprised.
"Do you?"
"Well," she pointed out, "if we were really married, we would. But- we're not. And I'd love to see then end of the game, if you would."
Vaughn smiled.
"I was hoping you would say that. So-" he gestured to the counter. "What do you want on your pizza?"
***
The Wildcats won the game, but Sydney and Vaughn almost missed it. They were too busy debating the merits of pepperoni versus hamburger on pizza.
"Pepperoni is classic!" Vaughn maintained. "Really, you just do not eat a pizza without pepperoni. It isn't right! It- it's unAmerican!"
"Don't be silly!" she rolled her eyes. "I never liked pepperoni because when I was little, I always tried to take little bites, and the pepperoni made it hard because the whole piece would always come away in my mouth, and it would be too much. I had," she reflected, "a very tiny mouth. And now- I don't know." she shrugged. "I guess it just stuck with me."
"You mean you don't eat pepperoni on your pizza at all?"
"No, that's not what I mean. I mean that, given the choice, I would choose hamburger any day."
Vaughn eyed her doubtfully.
"Well . . ."
She laughed, and looked up just as the whistle blew.
"Hey, look-" she sounded surprised. "It's over."
She looked at the scoreboard, and laughed.
"Didn't I tell you? Didn't I?" she pointed. "Seven to four. That's what you get for naming your team after an alcoholic beverage, rather than a lethal predator. Now, shall we call it a night? I'm bone tired, and bed sounds pretty good to me."
***
Not only did it sound good, but it felt good, too. Sydney couldn't even remember changing into her pyjamas- all she knew was that, as she crept in under clean sheets and tugged the top on right up to her chin, she didn't think she could be so comfortable anywhere else in the world at that moment.
The bed smelled sweet and clean, and it was soft underneath her. Her head touched the pillow, a little smile touched her lips, and she was asleep before Vaughn could even open up the couch.