The Glass Slipper Project Read Online Free PDF Page B

became vexing at times.
    At the sound of the doorbell, Mrs. Lyons sat back in her chair. She listened to the hushed voices down the hall, then closed her eyes as she heard Isabella’s footsteps approaching.
    “How are you doing today?” Isabella asked in a bright cheery voice.
    “I’m old and I’m sick. How do you expect me to be doing?”
    “You’re not sick.”
    Mrs. Lyons opened her eyes, sending a bright green gaze at the young woman. “You’re supposed to say I’m not old.”
    “But then you would accuse me of lying.”
    “Did you pick up the book?”
    Isabella handed her an old volume of poems she’d loaned to Douglas Merchant, a widower trying to win the affections of the local beautician. She’d loaned him the book only a month ago and although she didn’t need it back, she liked having Isabella run errands for her. It made her feel important. She set the volume aside next to the cold cup of tea that had been sitting there for the past half hour.
    “What should we read today?” Isabella went to the drawn curtains and pulled them aside, welcoming sunlight into the room. The sun’s rays spread across the gleaming Steinway piano, an oak bookcase lined with hardback books and little tea cups Mrs. Lyons liked to collect. She saw a dash of white and orange dart under the couch. “Hello Nicodemus,” she said.
    Mrs. Lyons shielded her eyes from the brightness. “I don’t care what you read. Leave the curtains alone. The sun hurts my tired old eyes.”
    “Your eyes are fine.”
    Mrs. Lyons grumbled.
    “You complain every time, but within five minutes you are always in a happier mood.”
    “You’ve scared poor Nico.”
    “He’ll come out eventually. He likes when I play the piano.” Isabella walked over to the bookshelf and ran a finger along the spine of the books. “Now let’s see…”
    “I don’t feel like reading,” Mrs. Lyons said in a petulant tone.
    “Perhaps I can play something for you.” Isabella sat at the piano and noticed a new little figurine: a bust modeled after Michelangelo’s David. “This is a beautiful sculpture. It must be from the early 20th century. I bet it costs a lot.”
    She shrugged. “It wouldn’t fetch any more than fifteen hundred.”
    Isabella stared at it impressed. “Oh.”
    Mrs. Lyons watched her, a glint entering her green gaze. “If it were real.”
    Isabella turned to her. “It’s a fake?”
    “Of course it’s a fake. You must learn to develop your eye. A fine terracotta bust would gather some interest. But that,” she made a dismissive gesture, “is just a pretty thing of little merit. By now I thought your years with me would have helped you notice the difference.”
    “I am trying to understand how to recognize antiques, Mrs. Lyons. I really love them.”
    “Good. One should respect their elders. By the way, I’m planning my annual trip. This time I’ll spend two weeks in Italy along with my regular route. I missed it last year.”
    “Italy?” Isabella said wistfully.
    “Have you ever been?” Mrs. Lyons asked, knowing she had not.
    Isabella ran her fingers lightly over the keys then began to play. Nicodemus came from under the couch, jumped up on the bench and began to purr. “No, I’ve never traveled outside the U.S.” She looked at her. “But I would love to.”
    Mrs. Lyons saw the bright eagerness in the younger woman’s gaze and smiled slightly. She’d been hinting at traveling with her for years, perhaps this year she would take her along. “Yes, it would probably do you good. Now play me something festive.”
    Hours later, Isabella prepared to leave. “The Saturday after next I must leave early.”
    “Why?” Mrs. Lyons asked annoyed that there would be any change to her schedule.
    “I’m attending a party at the Montpelier Mansion.”
    “But I only get a few Saturdays out of you. Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and some Saturdays, that’s all I ask.”
    “I’ll make it up to you. There are plenty of Saturdays