Read Dream a Little Dream (The Silver Trilogy) (F) for Free Online

something delicious to eat?” asked Mia, after we had stared at each other awkwardly for a couple of seconds.
    “I think so,” said Grayson, smiling again. I’ve no idea how he managed it. I couldn’t bring myself to smile back, anyway. Stupid show-off. “Mrs. Dimbleby has left quails on a baking tray ready to go into the oven.”
    Exactly what we might have expected! “Mrs. Dimbleby?” I repeated. “I assume she’s your cook? And Mr. Dimbleby will be your gardener, I’m sure.”
    “She’s our cook and housekeeper.” Grayson was still smiling, but from the way he looked at me (one eyebrow slightly raised), I could tell that he’d registered my ironic undertone. Incidentally, he hadn’t inherited Ernest’s blue eyes. His were light brown, a striking contrast with his fair hair. “As far as I know, Mr. Dimbleby sells insurance. Dad does the gardening himself—he says it’s relaxing.” The eyebrow went a little farther up. “And I hear that you girls have a nanny. Is that right?”
    “Well, we…” Bloody hell. Luckily Ernest interrupted us, with Mom clinging to his arm as if it were a life preserver. Just like yesterday he was beaming at us as if we were the best things he’d ever seen.
    “Good, Grayson’s already taken your coats. Welcome to the Casa Spencer. Come along through. Florence is waiting with the starters.”
    Neither Grayson nor Mia and I explained that we didn’t have any coats with us. (How could we, when our fall and winter clothes were still in the moving company’s crates somewhere?) Mom cast us a last warning glance before we followed her and Ernest in silence through a double door into the living and dining room. It was a pretty place, with wooden floorboards, windows down to floor level, an open hearth, white sofas with embroidered cushions, a piano, and a large dining table from which there was a lovely view of the garden. It looked spacious but not enormously large, and surprisingly … well, comfortable. I’d never in my life have thought of Ernest having such unstylish sofas, getting on in years a bit, with covers torn at the edges and brightly colored cushions that didn’t match. There was even an amusing fur cushion in the shape of a ginger cat. The cushion stretched as we passed it.
    “This is our cat, Spot.” A girl had just glided past us to put a plate down on the dining table. She had to be Grayson’s twin sister; they had the same light-brown eyes. “And you must be Liv and Mia. Ann’s told us so much about you. That’s a lovely way you’ve done your hair.” She seemed to smile as easily as her brother, but it looked better on her, because she had dimples in her cheeks, a snub nose that went with the dimples, and a pretty, freckled complexion. “I’m Florence, and I’m really pleased to meet you.” She was small and delicately built, but with voluptuous breasts, and her face was framed by shining, chestnut-brown curls falling in ringlets to her shoulders. Mia and I could only gawp at her. She was simply stunning.
    “What a pretty dress, Ann,” she said to Mom in a voice as sweet as honey. “Blue suits you so well.”
    Suddenly I seemed to myself not just dry as a stick, long-nosed, and plain simplistic in the way my mind worked but also dreadfully immature. Mom was right: we were being downright bad mannered. We’d hit out with dark looks and said rude things just to punish her. Like naughty toddlers flinging themselves on the supermarket floor and throwing tantrums. Meanwhile Florence and Grayson showed no weak spots but were behaving like grown-ups. They didn’t react to our rudeness. They were smiling, paying compliments, and carrying on a polite conversation. Maybe they really were glad that their father had met our mom. Or maybe they were just pretending to be glad. Whichever way it was, they were doing far better than we were.
    Feeling ashamed of myself, I decided that from then on I’d be just as well brought up and polite. Although that,