‘I gave Jean the boot earlier,’ she said, closely checking Megan’s expression.
Megan did a doubletake. ‘You didn’t. Why?’
‘You ask me why? You know Jean and you ask me why?’
‘Well, I know she can be a bit full of herself. But she seemed so very fond of you.’
‘The feeling unfortunately was not mutual.’
Megan did a low chuckle. ‘That’s going to sting. She’s never been chucked before – she’s always been the one to chuck.’
Bettina got up off the sofa and retrieved another bottle of wine from the cabinet. When she sat back down, she made sure her thigh was touching Megan’s. ‘How old were you when you knew you were different?’ she asked.
‘Oh, very young,’ said Megan. ‘I was tight with a girl at the orphanage and we used to share a bed. Nothing untoward happened, but I used to hold her at night and dream about one day marrying her. I remember understanding that this wasn’t normal, and for some reason I didn’t care a fig. I liked what I liked, sod what everyone else thought.’
‘How very novel. I wish I’d been so accepting of myself,’ said Bettina. ‘Things might have gone easier for me.’
‘If you’ll pardon me for saying, Mrs – Bettina. If you’ll pardon me for saying, it seems to me that things have gone easy for you. You’re wealthy and beautiful with an angel for a daughter, and you and your husband have quite the sweet deal going on.’
Bettina stared at her. All she’d heard was ‘beautiful’. ‘But there’s something I’m missing,’ she said in a quiet voice.
‘Your own private island?’
Bettina gave her a look – it was a deliberate look, a loaded gun of a look, and certainly not something she could take back. ‘Something like that,’ she said, reaching out to touch Megan’s face, her fingertips tracing a gentle line down her cheekbone. Then she leaned over and quickly kissed her lips, which of course tasted like chocolate.
Megan leapt out of her seat. ‘Don’t do – oh my – what are you doing, Mrs Dawes?’
Bettina pressed a hand over her eyes. Jesus Christ.
‘And you being pregnant and – and… there are professional boundaries, Mrs Dawes. Dear Lord. Why does this always happen to me? You’d think I’d be safe working for a woman!’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Bettina couldn’t look at her. What a fool she was. The great predatory seductress! The dirty dog. She was no dog – she was a bitch, a silly bitch.
‘Not as sorry as I am,’ said Megan, making her way to the door.
Bettina’s dream turned to black liquid behind her eyes. Her mouth was full of foul flavours and her brain felt like an old sea-sponge left to dry out on the rocks.
There was an envelope pushed under her bedroom door. She got up and read it: a letter of resignation. Signed Miss Megan Elizabeth Smart.
She threw herself back onto the bed and groaned into the pillow.
Chapter 24
Before leaving, Megan had got Tabby washed and dressed and then handed her over to the confused Doris, who, last time she’d checked, wasn’t a nanny or a nursemaid. Bettina took Tabby into her arms – poor Tabby! Already missing her daddy and ‘uncle’, and now she’d have to do without the lovely, laughing woman she’d known since she was a couple of weeks old. But why resign? Did it really have to come to that? People were so precious about their principles. God. She wanted to die. Wildflowers were wilting in the vase on the windowsill – oh. Oh. That was just bloody perfect.
‘No mint for the mint sauce,’ said Doris, almost through the door. ‘The delivery boy must have mucked up the order. But that’s none of my business, I suppose.’
Venetia was living in Lucille’s house now – ‘on a temporary basis, of course’. She’d been able to keep most of the monies made from selling the holiday home in Carmarthenshire and this supplied her with a modest annual income – enough even to keep on Henry, much to Bettina’s profound displeasure. Venetia was comfortable in Longworth, but complained that it was improper for two women of their standing to live together ‘like college girls’. Everyone besides the two women could see it sliding into permanence.
They arrived at Davenport in two cars. ‘Look who it is,’ said Bettina, watching from the window. Tabby was clamped, legs hooked, to her side. Bettina tapped the glass with her finger. ‘Look, darling, it’s Granny Venetia and Granny Lucille, come to see you.’
‘Why?’
‘To save the day.’
The chauffeur opened the car doors and Venetia and Lucille spilled out in a blur of fur and gold. Henry came out of the second car and went around to the boot to attend to the luggage. Lucille’s maid pushed open the passenger side, looking put out – obviously she’d expected Henry to open the door for her.
‘Where’s that little dewdrop of mine?’ said Venetia, coming with arms spread open, her fox stole swinging pendulum-like in front of her large bust.
Tabby clung on tighter, her knee digging into Bettina’s huge stomach.
‘What?’ said Lucille. ‘No cuddles and kisses for your grannies?’
‘She’s shy,’ said Bettina. ‘She’s had a difficult few days.’
‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Venetia.
‘I never liked Margaret,’ said Lucille. ‘False as all hell.’
‘Megan,’ corrected Bettina. ‘And you’re early. Your rooms aren’t quite ready.’
Henry planted two huge suitcases on the gravel next to Lucille’s feet. ‘Mrs Dawes,’ he said to Bettina, dipping his head respectfully. False as all hell.
‘How long were you planning to stay?’ she asked her mother.
‘A week or so, until you’ve found a new nanny. Where’s your footman?’
‘We don’t have a footman, Mother, I’ve told you this before.’
‘You don’t have a footman?’ asked Lucille. ‘If I’d known I’d have brought Dennis! Oh, poor Henry’s going to have to do the work of—’
‘You mean to tell me you’re in the habit of welcoming guests yourself?’ said Venetia.
‘Yes. It’s really rather simple,’ said Bettina. ‘One reaches out and turns a door handle and enacts a pulling motion. I can write you step-by-step instructions if you wish to learn the manoeuvre.’
‘What happened to that French chap?’
‘He was a house guest.’
‘What kind of house guest answers the front door?’
‘The bohemian kind,’ said Lucille, grimacing.
‘Is money tight, darling? Because—’
‘It’s not about money, it’s about independence.’ Bettina shot a look over at Henry, who was struggling to pull another suitcase out of the car boot. ‘And privacy.’
Lucille clasped her hand to her breast and laughed, her powdered wattle quivering. It was the way Monty had laughed when she came out with something charmingly idealistic.
Tabby pulled her face out from the crook of Bettina’s neck and peered shyly at her grandmothers.
‘What do you think about all this, Tabby?’ said Lucille.
Tabby returned her grinning face to the safety of her mother’s flesh.
‘We’ve got lots of lovely things planned,’ said Lucille. She poked Tabby’s back. ‘We’re going to be the best of friends.’
‘Where shall I have Henry put our things?’ said Venetia.
‘In the guest rooms,’ Bettina replied, and Venetia called Henry over and gave him instructions; his eyes flickered as he came to realise he’d be doing all this hauling and moving by himself – just a flickering, a tiny tick-tock of the irises. Henry had impeccable poise. He was able to maintain it even while standing, startlingly erect, outside the bedrooms of young girls.