Chapter 3 - CAMILLA DRAYTON
Camilla came from money older than mine and cleaner in public memory.
The Draytons had banks, publishing interests, galleries, and enough ancestors painted beside horses to make every family house look vaguely accused.
She was thirty-four.
Educated.
Funny.
Impossibly composed.
When I met her at a museum benefit, she made one joke about my signet ring.
“Does it open a secret Sicilian vault?”
“No.”
“Disappointing.”
I liked her immediately.
More importantly, Lila liked her.
For the first year.
Camilla brought children’s books instead of diamonds.
Sat on carpets despite expensive dresses.
Learned which pasta shape Lila would eat.
Never forced affection.
When I proposed, Lila helped choose flowers.
I thought I had done the impossible.
Found love again without replacing Eleanor.
Then little things changed.
Camilla reorganized the east dressing suite.
Reasonable.
She moved Eleanor’s framed photograph from the bedroom corridor to Lila’s room.
“More appropriate.”
I put it back.
She apologized.
Then she complained that staff still referred to “Mrs. Eleanor’s archive.”
“She’s been dead three years.”
“It’s her collection.”
May you like
“I know. But the house needs to move forward.”
Then the museum opportunity arrived.
