The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (read this if txt) 📕

windows as clusters of people in long black gowns and tuxedoes entered the mahogany double doors. Even from her vantage point in the cobbled stone courtyard, Eileen could see the huge jewels that sparkled on the necks of the female guests. She looked down at her knee-length dress with its sweetheart neckline. She sighed; this was the only nice dress she had. She stepped back, intent on turning around and going home, but bumped into something big and solid. Two hands held her arms and a voice said, “Careful, Eileen.”

She twisted around and her words caught in her throat. Holden was handsomely decked out in an immaculate black suit that fit his body not unlike how a mango’s skin conforms to its shape.

“You look…good,” she stammered. He chuckled and tugged on the lapels. “I’m out sharp tonight, aren’t I? He gestured to her figure-hugging dress, his eyes glittering as he took in her outfit. “You look beautiful.” She blushed and he struggles to take his eyes off her before he cleared his throat and held out his arm. “We can’t party out here so let’s head inside.”

Her face flushed. She shook her head and muttered, “I’m not properly dressed. I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“Codswallop! These stuffy bats have old money, but no style. Besides,” he said grimly, “Clifford is parking the van. No-one will question your ensemble when they see his.”

Arm in arm, they joined the steady stream of people on the pathway that led to the foyer, Eileen tugging her hem as they walked. Soon they reached the mahogany doors where Paul was patting men’s shoulders and kissing women’s cheeks with unstoppered zeal.

Backlit by the sparkling crystal chandelier, the difference between the brothers was more pronounced, perhaps because they were dressed in almost identical outfits. While Holden was broad-shouldered and warm, Paul was a curtailed version, lean and angular, his pinched features giving him an air of haughty austerity.

He shook Holden’s hand enthusiastically and slapped him on the back. “Brother! I wondered when you’d come to see The Manor. I’ll give you the grand tour as soon as I finish greeting my guests.” His eyes flicked over Eileen’s curvy figure and her dress before he smiled and said, “Aha, is this the lady to whom we owe the pleasure of your company?” He hugged Eileen, then stepped back and pressed his forefinger against his lips. “I must admit…something about you seems familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Jesus, Paul, you met her at Earl’s house.”

Paul’s eyes scanned Eileen’s shapely figure greedily and he said, “No…I don’t think that’s it.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll work it out soon enough,” Holden snapped. “We’ll be moving along now.”

Paul’s smile faltered for a second before he plastered it back onto his face and patted Holden’s shoulder a bit too heavily. “Ever the diplomat, my brother.” Something in the distance caught Paul’s attention and his grin widened. “Ah. Here’s Clifford, colourful as usual.”

Of all the outfits Eileen had ever seen on Clifford, this one was the most spectacular. A broad-rimmed tie-dyed hat, a lime green suit jacket, woolly leg warmers and a worn pair of jeans were paired with a beaded peace sign that bounced against Clifford’s bare chest as he ambled up the pathway.

“Oye, this is a real shindig,” Clifford said as he sidled up behind them, hitching his pants higher on his slim waist. Paul beamed. Holden rolled his eyes. Eileen smirked.

Clifford cracked his knuckles and surveyed the scene. Inside the foyer, waiters wafted through the crowd with canapé-laden silver trays high above their heads and a pianist played music in the corner of the massive room. “I shall be wining and dining ’til the cock crow.” He caught Holden’s stern face and added, “Or ’til you ready to leave, of course.”

The three of them made their way through the crowd as the sounds of clinking glasses and clattering cutlery filled the air. Clifford waylaid a passing waiter, retrieving six fishcakes in the process. He popped one in his mouth before pressing two fishcakes into Holden’s hand. “Try these, boss, you gonna like them.”

“If you say so, these things must burn like Hades’ ass.”

“Nah, them taste good.” Clifford threw another in his mouth, chewed twice and swallowed.

Holden raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take my chances with the crudités.” Clifford shrugged and ate another fishcake and handed the rest to Eileen. Holden plucked two tiny vegetable stacks from another waiter’s tray and tasted them, commenting that they were very flavourful. Clifford raised an eyebrow but said nothing as his eyes assessed the females at the party like a hungry man at a buffet. A full-figured woman with hair like Whitney Houston’s waved at Clifford from the other end of the terrace, beckoning him to come over. She was dripping in jewels and attitude, but her face glowed like a teenage girl’s when she saw him wink back at her.

“Excusez moi, s’il vous plait, I’m being summoned.” He sauntered off like a cowboy into the sunset to join her, throwing a wink over his shoulder at Eileen. She laughed, wondering what these hoity-toity women could ever have in common with Clifford.

Piano music floated through the doors from the large hall beyond the french doors that led outside to the terrace. The black and white marble floor glinted under the soft yellow light from the brass sconces that lined the terrace’s exterior walls.

Eileen took in the decor, the beautiful tropical gardens, the bright moon. Eventually, his crudités eaten, Holden leaned over and asked, “Having a good time?”

“I am.”

“Good. Good.” He cleared his throat and asked, “Something to drink?”

“A Sprite, please.”

Holden nodded and disappeared through the crowd. He returned shortly, bringing along a stocky gentleman that he introduced as John Wilson, a bank manager. Soon a handful of others, including Dorothy Greaves, the owner of Happy Home, joined as well. Dorothy looked even more pitiful than she had the last time Eileen had seen her, dressed as she was in a shapeless black dress and