Marcelle studied the envelope in front of her. She had been sitting in a cafe near her apartment, opening mail and working on her replies. This letter, however, she had not expected. An unfamiliar hand, a Washington address. She let the tension sit.
Turning it over, she spotted the wax seal. It didn’t appear to be homemade, as she and some of her friends had taken to practicing some years ago. Very official. The seal itself, she recognised. A letter from Mr. Miller, it seemed. Unusual. Their agreement had ended months ago, and even then, correspondence had always been through email. Perhaps it was a thanks, or reaching out in friendship. She hoped it was the former.
Carefully, she pried off the seal.
After reading the letter, she sat back in her chair. Well. That was certainly something. She folded it closed, and left it lying on the table as she considered what was to be done.
Eventually, of course, she decided to attend. Her only commitment was to Runt, her cat, and her neighbour had easily agreed to watch her. Mr. Miller was a very rich man. A lot of good could be done with that kind of money. And she might stop having to worry about whether or not she’d have to relocate from the arts quarter. Not to mention the interesting characters that would likely be in attendance—maybe she’d finally get over this creative block she had been experiencing.
As such, she found herself, a year later, in the grand estate gardens. Her bag had been carted off to somewhere or another, and she had been led to the guest reception. A few others had already arrived, and were milling about in small groups.
She settled to prepare herself some tea, leaving the teacups out in invitation of anyone who should wish to join her. For now, she was satisfied observing the other people in the area.
Approachable