Blanche looked at all the ingredients laid on the counter before her in blank bewilderment. She was feeling somewhat light-headed from sitting this high on the bar stool. Although the girl had made a good attempt at hiding the fact, Blanche knew that getting her up there had been a rare ordeal for Lynn. And for what? Blanche didn't have any idea what to do with any of the things Lynn had bought from the market. Despite considering herself rather an optimistic person on the whole, Blanche had no illusions about old dogs learning new tricks.

Lynn had protested vehemently when Blanche had voiced her thoughts, saying it was never too late to learn anything and that—for heaven's sake!—Blanche had at least two decades to go before she could be considered old. "How could you be old if I can hardly believe you're older than I am?" Lynn had chuckled into Blanche's ear as she pulled the actress's loose hair back over her shoulders and onto her back. Blanche had merely shaken her head at that.

She turned her head towards the girl beside her. Lynn was taking a carton of eggs out of the icebox and only noticed Blanche's helpless expression when she straightened up again. "Oh, don't worry, Miss Blanche," she said, placing the eggs on the table. "I'll talk you through it all."

This, however, didn't encourage the older woman in the least. Lynn placed a large bowl in front of her. "Now, when was the last time you cracked an egg?"

Blanche looked up at her. "I don't think I ever have," she admitted with a straight face.

"Oh, Miss Blanche!" Lynn laughed. "You really are the best! No wonder you're my mommy's favourite actress."

Despite her good intentions, Lynn's words saddened her friend further and Blanche seized her chance to ask, "How is your mother holding up? Heaven knows, I know what she must be feeling right now. In fact, I'm surprised at how composed you are, considering Dan is your brother."

Lynn turned away from her and pulled the flour bag closer. "It's nothing to be surprised about," she said in a grim but clear tone. "I can't remember a time when I didn't want him out of my life."

"I'm so sorry," Blanche said, watching Lynn wipe up the last of the egg she'd dropped onto the floor.

Lynn grinned up at her. "I bought that egg with your money. It's the hen you have to apologize to."

"Do you think so?" Blanche asked, a shadow of a smile tugging at her lips. Judging by the hard time Lynn was having trying to keep her mirth hidden, Blanche knew she must have looked rather comical in her disorientation in the kitchen. At least the batter was finished now.

"Do you think we're ready to bake them?" Lynn asked in return, standing up, a wipe in one of her hands, the poor eggshells in the other.

Blanche looked mistrustfully over to the pan Lynn had started heating. "Only if you show me first."

Lynn laughed lightly. "Of course! I wouldn't want you to burn the house down," she said merrily, although Blanche could see a serious glint in her eyes. "It's my home, too. And I'm getting pretty hungry."

Blanche recognized her chance of escape. "Me too," she replied quickly. "Can't we eat something before I do burn the house down?"

"Oh, no." The young woman shook her head. "You're not getting out of this now."

Blanche made a disappointed face as Lynn pulled her and the stool sideways towards the stove. "I'm not knitting your cardigan," she threatened weakly, holding on to the seat.

Lynn laughed again, obviously taking pleasure in Blanche's feeble protest. "I don't believe you," she replied airily.

Blanche watched her bring the bowl of batter closer and take two wooden spatulas out of a drawer in the kitchen cupboard. And an idea sprung to her head—one, which, she thought, might sway Lynn or, if not, at least make her feel better. "Okay," she said, eyeing the frying pan warily. "Let's make a deal." Lynn's curious expression bade her continue. "I'll stop resisting if you play me something on the piano."

"But I can't-" Lynn started to protest.

"And I can't cook," Blanche retorted in the same innocent manner.

There was a moment of contemplation before Lynn nodded. "All right," she accepted the challenge. "But only after you've mastered baking pancakes."

"You know, when you were away, I used to play to cheer myself up," Lynn said as she slid onto the stool at the piano.

"Did it help?" Blanche asked, staring at the slowly yellowing pancake in the pan as Lynn opened the fall-board.

"A little bit," the girl answered, taking a moment to choose a song. "But you just watch that cake and not me." She received an obedient nod from Blanche. "I have to warn you," Lynn said, an unexplained nervousness building up inside her, "I've only ever learned on my own. And I'm no professional."

"I know," Blanche reassured her.

"So I'm no Baby Jane."

"I'm counting on that," Blanche said thinly and turned the pancake over.

And Lynn lowered her hands to the keys.

"Smile the while you kiss me sad adieu.

When the clouds roll by, I'll come to you…"

Blanche's eyes rose from the stove in wonder. She'd known Lynn could play a little, but she hadn't expected her to be able to sing so sweetly. Blanche had never been too fond of singing herself, and after being forced to listen to Jane accompany herself for years, she had lost faith in the old grand being able to produce any decent sound. But this was so different from when Jane had played the piano that, quite unexpectedly, delighted tears appeared in Blanche's eyes. She took a small shuddering breath in the silly fear of making a sound that would somehow spoil this beautiful music.

"Wedding bells, your pancake's burning.

Every tear will be a memory."

It took Blanche longer than it should have to notice that Lynn had changed the lyrics and even longer to really comprehend their meaning and smell the sharp burning scent in the air. An alarmed, "Oh!" escaped her as she jumped out of her reverie and grabbed the spatulas. Blanche's face fell upon seeing the black crisp side of her latest creation. But as she poured a new portion of batter into the pan, her mood was restored and her attention drawn back to Lynn's song.

"So wait and pray each night for me

'til we meet again."

Blanche dropped the spatulas to clap for the girl. "That's wonderful, Lynn!" she said happily. "I never knew you had such a lovely voice!"

Lynn rose from her seat and made an exaggerated reverence, a brilliant smile on her face. "Thank you, Miss Blanche," she replied, strolling back to the kitchen. "I've never really sung for anyone before," she admitted, glancing over the stove a the latest burnt pancake. "I actually like the crispy ones."

Blanche smiled to herself, convinced that Lynn was only saying this to console her—a successful effort nevertheless. But then the girl ripped off half of the pancake and consumed it with speed that spoke of her hope of her employer not noticing her utterly heinous crime. "Hey!" Blanche exclaimed with feigned hurt and pulled the plate farther away from Lynn. "You told me I couldn't eat before they were all finished."

"But I sang," Lynn justified herself, trying to reach for the second half of the pancake. "I deserve a reward."

"No more for you," Blanche decided, lifting a new pancake onto the plate and snatching the plate away from the eager fingers of her young friend.

By the next afternoon the atmosphere in the fairy house had, inevitably, changed for the better. Blanche had stopped protesting against her unplanned cooking course after tasting her first ever self-made pancakes. And Lynn had survived the first cheeky handfuls of flour thrown at her.

Lynn was placing their rhubarb pie in the oven when the shrill ringing of the doorbell interrupted their laughter and left the two women staring in the direction of the front door in momentary silence. "Who could that be?" asked Lynn curiously, looking up at the older woman, whose expression was slowly changing from confusion into glad realization.

"I completely forgot," Blanche said, clasping a hand to her mouth in surprise. "Bill called and said he was coming to see us today."

"Us?" Lynn asked wryly, standing up. "At least," she mentioned over her shoulder, "we'll have someone to share the pie with."

As Lynn skipped towards the door, she failed to catch Blanche's vain attempt to fix her tousled hair. "But I'm not…" she muttered in a state of fidgety nervousness, wiping her hands in the pink apron covering her flowered house dress. Seeing flour on the apron, she realized with sudden mortification that she must have also gotten some of it in her hair. Before she could act on this new piece of knowledge, however, her maid's voice carried to her from the hallway.

"Hello, Bill!" the girl greeted their guests happily. "Margaret, how are you?"

"Is Blanche in?" Bill's voice, filled with hesitant enthusiasm, replied.

"Of course she is. Come on in."

There was a shuffle in the hallway and Blanche turned on the bar stool to face its way just as Bill appeared in her view. The actor rushed over the room and before Blanche could even react, cast his arms around the woman's petite form and pulled her against him in a tight and affectionate embrace. "My dear, sweet girl!" he said as he did so, paying absolutely no mind to Blanche's unusually plain attire and the flour in her ebony hair.

Blanche knew it wasn't entirely proper to be held like this, for Margaret was right there in the hallway, but she couldn't help feeling completely safe in her friend's embrace. She brought her arms up to respond to his expression of love, keeping in mind not to let her hands make contact with Bill's clean suit. She had always known Bill to be an ardent hugger but probably due to his immense happiness and relief at seeing her well again, he only let go when Blanche was already feeling rather flushed.

By that time Margaret had also made her way into the kitchen, and offered Blanche a briefer but by no means less kind hug. "We are so glad you're all right," she said to a heavily blushing Blanche. She didn't seem to mind her husband's familiarity towards his old colleague, for which Blanche was deeply grateful.

The Carrolls had been delighted to hear about Blanche's new pastime and congratulated Lynn for coming up with the idea. They'd also immensely enjoyed the pie the pair had made. Their conversation had steered towards darker topics, however, when Bill had voiced his relief over Blanche's return from the hospital.

"What ever happened to that man?" he asked, eyeing with concerned interest the concealing scarf Blanche still wore around her neck.

Although Lynn noticed the shaking in Miss Blanche's hands as she held her teacup with both of them, she replied in a low voice, "I believe he's got a room next to Jane Hudson."

There was a beat of silence, and then Blanche's cup clinked sharply as she nearly dropped it back onto the coffee table. Everyone's eyes were suddenly drawn to the woman sitting in the armchair at the end of the table. She had grown awfully pale upon the mention of her sister's name, and it couldn't have gone unnoticed by anyone in the company that she had started to shake a little. Of course, no one could have known what exactly was going through the actress's head, but it didn't take more than one try to guess.

Lynn was the first to make any move to comfort her. She reached over to clasp one of Blanche's hands in her own. It was cold—ice cold compared to the way the woman had been earlier, when their guests had arrived.

"I'm sorry," Blanche seemed to force the words out of her mouth, a dejected expression on her face. "I'm not feeling well."

Lynn felt the strong urge to pull Blanche into her embrace and hold her for a little while, but somehow it didn't feel right to do so in front of other people, and she doubted Miss Blanche would appreciate it just now. So instead she watched silently as Margaret leaned forward in her seat and spoke in a gentle tone, "It's not you who should be sorry, darling. We shouldn't have brought up her name."

Blanche shook her head slightly. "It's not that," she said, and Lynn felt her grip on her hand tighten. "I-I've had a letter from the sanatorium." A shared hush descended over the little group as everyone waited with baited breath for Blanche's next words. "I was asked to go and see Jane."