Читать книгу Miranda Sparks’ wonderful life онлайн

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Nothing disgusting was ever said about my mother. Everyone knew her as the beautiful, cheerful, and kind spouse of Mr. Henry Spikes. Which, evidently, cannot be said of me.

Almost every seat in the auction hall was taken. So I slowed my pace as I spotted an empty chair, in the right row, off the small improvised auction stage.

– Where are you running to, young lady?

Behind me was an old lady in a perfectly tailored peach-colored tweed suit with a thin string of pearls around her neck.

– Nowhere, madam. Please, come in!

Such prim girls, always trying to cut in line. Because, you see, they have been through a lot more than you have, and also, in the rules of good upbringing, it is considered bad form not to give way, a person older than you, a seat. Which, in principle, I – a young, well-mannered lady – had to do. Specifically, I had to let an old lady into the empty seat I was claiming.

In order to finally sit down, I now had to drag myself across the room, cursing my apologies as I passed other people who had already taken their seats. As I made my way to a free chair, I banged myself in pain. The nasty, throbbing pain in my knee reminded me of when, as a child, my mother had gently treated my scrapes and sores. I swiftly wiped away the tears, so no one would see them. I did not want to become another victim of gossip mongers, or simply inquisitive individuals who loved to discuss such displays of helplessness in their own small circle, with a glass of local French wine.