Page 84 of Every Silent Lie

I tsk him teasingly. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“A flask a day keeps the lurgies away. How do you think I made it to the ripe old age of one hundred?”

“You’re not there yet,” I say, accepting. “So this is your secret? Brandy?”

“Bottoms up,” he sings, as I tip the flask to my lips and swallow. “Jesus Christ.” I gasp, blinking back the burn as it slides down my throat. It hits my belly with a bang and more burn. “This kept you alive?” I wheeze.

“Sailor’s strength, dear.” He winks and screws the little silver cap back on, tucking it into his coat. “How’s that cream coming along?”

“Slowly.” I grab the hand whisk and get back to work, switching hands constantly to split the strain, until it finally thickens. I tip the bowl upside down over my head to demonstrate, making Mr. Percival laugh loudly.

“Oh, who’s this then?” he says, looking past me.

I turn, still smiling, the bowl still over my head, and see Dec in the kitchen doorway.

“The door was open,” he says, eyes on me. “I called a few times, but you obviously couldn’t hear me.”

“Obviously,” Mr. Percival says on a hum.

My smile falls with the bowl to the table. “Dec.”

He steps forward, his hands in his coat pockets. “What happened to your face?”

“She did it at work,” Mr. Percival says, almost proud he has the information to share.

“I did it at work,” I repeat quietly. I’d say it’s so lovely to see him, but he doesn’t look happy.

“How?”

“A door sprung back in her face,” Mr. Percival goes on.

My lips straighten as I watch Dec’s eyes narrow. He’s doubtful. “I was going to call you Monday.”

“I know. I didn’t want to wait until Monday.” He goes to Mr. Percival and offers his hand. “Dec Ellis.”

Mr. Percival flashes me an impressed look. “Nice to meet you, Dec Ellis.” Mr. Percival slaps his gloved hand in Dec’s. “Percy Percival.”

“Your name’s Percy?” I ask on a light laugh. “Percy Percival?”

The old man’s back straightens, making him a whole inch taller, and his shoulders push back. “That’s right.”

“And a great name it is, too,” Dec says, catching my amusement. “Right, Camryn?”

“Right.”

“Now, Percy, would you mind if I steal your sous chef?”

“Not at all!”

“Thank you.” Dec pries my fingers off the bowl and claims my hand. “Let’s go.”

I smile my goodbye and thanks to Mr. Percival as I look back over my shoulder, and he nods his understanding. “I feel like I’m about to be scolded,” I say.

“Why’s it so fucking cold in there?” Dec asks, grumpy.

“His heating’s broken down.”

“Is it being fixed?”