Authors: Anita Hughes
Hallie followed Sophia through the double glass doors into the foyer. She had forgotten the scope of the house, the sweeping marble staircase, the intricate murals painted on the ceiling. Every chair, love seat, and ottoman was covered in thick gold brocade. It was like standing inside a jewelry box.
“Portia tells me you have taken up interior design,” Sophia said.
“I work for one of the premier designers in San Francisco,” Hallie said, nodding.
“Maybe you can teach Portia.” Sophia walked through double oak doors into the family dining room. “If she had an interest she wouldn’t concern herself with Riccardo’s peccadilloes.”
“Veronica is not a peccadillo. She’s a twenty-two-year-old actress with breasts like hot air balloons and the hair of Medusa,” Portia muttered, putting a celery stick and a baby carrot on a dessert plate.
“Riccardo will tire of her.” Sophia shrugged. “They always do.”
The table was covered with a burgundy tablecloth and set with inlaid china. Crystal pitchers held fresh juice and stone platters overflowed with fruits and vegetables. There were eggs simmering under silver domes, whipped mashed potatoes in warming trays, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes.
“It is healthy to eat a large midday meal,” Sophia said, and handed Hallie a plate. “Tonight you will dance it off.”
Hallie felt the jet lag return, crushing her like a boulder. She filled the plate with melon balls, strips of ham, and green olives. She poured a glass of cranberry juice and sat in one of the ornate brocade chairs. She tried to bring the fork to her mouth but suddenly she grew dizzy.
“I’m sorry.” Hallie gulped, trying to stop the room from spinning. “The jet lag caught up with me.”
“Are you feeling ill?” Pliny appeared from the foyer. He walked over to the table and touched Hallie’s arm. “My mother has never been on an airplane, she doesn’t understand how travel can affect you.”
“I could use a glass of water,” Hallie murmured.
“You need to put something solid in your stomach,” Pliny insisted. “I will fix you a plate.”
Portia ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Pliny strode quickly around the table and set a full plate in front of Hallie.
“Eat, you will feel better,” he prompted.
Hallie’s head tipped forward and she knocked the plate on the floor. Eggs and prosciutto spilled onto the ceramic tile and the plate shattered into pieces. She slumped in the chair and the stained-glass windows, the plastered walls, the gold drapes disappeared. She let the cool blackness swallow her up like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.
ALSO BY ANITA HUGHES
MONARCH BEACH
About the Author
Anita Hughes is also the author of
Monarch Beach.
She attended UC Berkeley’s Masters in Creative Writing Program and has taught creative writing at The Branson School in Ross, California. Hughes lives in Dana Point, California, where she is at work on her next novel.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
MARKET STREET
. Copyright © 2013 by Anita Hughes. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover photographs: woman © Photosearch/Getty Images; flowers © Doug Allan/Getty Images; bridge © Ron Yue/Alamy; sky © STILLFX/
Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Hughes, Anita, 1963–
Market Street / Anita Hughes.—First Edition.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-312-64333-1 (trade pbk.)
ISBN 978-1-250-02039-0 (e-book)
1 Women—California—San Francisco—Fiction. 2. Heiresses—Fiction. 3. Female friendship—Fiction. 4. Self-realization in women—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.U356755M37 2013
813'.6—dc23
2013002660
ISBN 9781250020390 (e-book)
First Edition: March 2013