Authors: Fiona McIntosh
‘You have so much growing up to do,’ Stella cautioned. ‘Shall we continue?’ she said briskly with a feigned smile. Faking it helped, surprisingly. ‘Let’s write down some verbs and then we can use them in our conversation.’ She pulled the inkpot closer and reached for the pen, dipped the nib into it and began writing in French on a sheet of paper.
For a moment all that lingered between the two was the tension of their parried words and the sound of her nib scratching on the paper.
‘You have no idea of my life or my plans. Socially you are nowhere near my level and financially you obviously need my money.’
Stella sighed. ‘You don’t pay me.’
‘I wouldn’t even if I could. What my father sees in you is a mystery, although if he were a different man I could imagine. He could be paying you for other services because you’re pretty enough in a common sort of way.’
Stella tried not to break the nib with the pressure of her gathering wrath. She studiously wrote on, forcing herself to breathe low and long to beat the rising drumbeat of rage.
Georgina sighed, and began undoing her pearl earrings. ‘These are pinching.’ She placed them on the desk.
Stella pulled the ink closer still and dipped again, deliberately not looking at Georgina but the girl’s scathing remarks burned in her mind and, without warning, the words escaped and she helplessly bit back. ‘I told Mrs Boyd not to bother with the cocoa.’ Now she did look up. ‘We don’t need the interruption.’
Georgina’s eyes narrowed. She leaned forward slowly and deliberately to knock over the inkpot. Stella was quick to move but wasn’t fast enough and the royal blue liquid rushed across the desk and splattered over Georgina’s beautiful skirt.
‘Oh, dear!’ Georgina’s insincere tone sickened Stella but she dashed around the table all the same, dreading the mess. ‘Now, look at my skirt,’ her student said, sounding anything but dismayed.
More for the sake of the skirt that Stella had just admired so deeply, she made an effort and leaped up with a sheet of blotting paper. Wordless with fury, she dabbed uselessly at the spreading stain that was greedily crawling across the worsted skirt and privately she deeply lamented that she’d provoked Georgie into this petulant display. She mourned the garment that she suspected would never recover from the ink damage.
Georgina sat patiently, no doubt enjoying Stella crouching at her knees. ‘It’s no good, Stella,’ she said, her tone pitching a disgustingly fake virtue. ‘Perfectly ruined, I’m afraid. I’m so clumsy – I must take after my clodhopping father.’
‘He’s not a clodhopper,’ she answered in her quiet despair, realising a heartbeat too late that her defence was dangerous.
‘How would you know? You only met him yesterday.’
‘Er . . . that’s right. But he seemed entirely at home and well balanced on the moors when Grace and I ran into him.’
‘The way you defend him is admirable. I hope you don’t fancy him because I should warn you, there’s something between my mother and father that no one else can touch. Don’t ask me why,’ Georgina said, her tone dripping with cunning, ‘but my mother who had the looks and money to have absolutely anyone she wanted in life opted for the booby prize. My father is handsome enough but he’s a buffoon, Stella. He is a constant embarrassment and a drag in my life.’
Stella straightened. ‘And you’re a little beast in his, I’m sure,’ she murmured, unable to help her simmering disgust spilling over.
Georgina smiled. It seemed she’d heard. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to tell Mummy what you just called me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall go change. I have something to discuss with my parents.’ The teenager stopped at the door and threw back a smile. ‘Not sure how long I’ll be. I may even have to bathe again as I do believe the ink has stained my legs. Maybe it’s best if we rearrange for tomorrow.’
Stella couldn’t hold in her disdain a moment longer. ‘No, don’t rush back,’ she said. ‘I shall see you tomorrow, Georgina. I’ll rearrange a double lesson.’
‘Maybe not, Stella. You may even be packing your bags tonight, if I have anything to do with it.’
‘Close the door behind you, please.’
It was slammed shut. Stella walked to the window, her chest rising in deep, angry breaths as she stared out at the hills, determined not to cry although she watched the landscape through the blur of treacherous watering eyes. It felt peaceful out there and the silent stillness helped to calm her ragged breathing. She was finally able to blot away the threatened tears with a swipe of her fingers.
She wondered if Rafe was roaming the countryside again this morning. She’d heard him moving around upstairs late last night. She hadn’t slept well – her mind racing with thoughts of Carys perhaps crying herself to sleep and Rory desperately trying not to. But those thoughts entwined all too sinuously with snippets of her evening, particularly Rafe winking at her. She was still struggling to drift off when she’d heard the boards creaking above her. She hadn’t meant to derive satisfaction from it, but the realisation that the romantic dinner his wife had mentioned perhaps hadn’t turned out as romantically as she’d hoped was quietly pleasing.
Stella hadn’t left the nursery. It had been a pleasant time exploring all of the family memorabilia, particularly the photographs of Rafe as a boy. Time had seemed to move fast, though, for suddenly her next class was imminent.
‘Stella!’ It was Grace bursting in. ‘Hello – I’m not late, am I?’
Stella smiled at the rosy cheeks of her youngest pupil, their colour heightened from her riding lesson and her dash up the stairs, still in her jodphurs.
‘Mummy said I’m a disgrace to come to lessons dressed like this but I said you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Not in the slightest! It’s lovely to see you.’
‘Are we learning more of the daffodils poem?’
‘If you wish.’
‘I do. I want to learn it all.’
The hour with Grace passed easily and swiftly. Her eagerness to learn and to focus was in direct contrast to that of her sister. While Grace had her head bent, working on writing out some sentences in French, Stella had a chance to study her. She had elements of her mother – the beautifully shaped eyes – and despite her still-podgy build that Stella was sure would fall away in her teens, she could see that Grace possessed her mother’s languid manner when engaged.
‘Which teams do you play in at school?’
Grace kept writing but still answered. ‘I’m the youngest to play in the A team of tennis, and I’m the main substitute for the lacrosse team. Oh yes, I’m second base for rounders but our Games teacher thinks my bowling is coming on so she’s going to try me out this year in that position as we’re fielding two school teams I think. I’m in the under twelve swimming team and in winter I think I’ll make the hockey team . . . I hope so, I want to captain us in hockey one day.’
‘Your father was good at sport like you.’
‘My daddy is good at everything.’
‘Except spraying soda,’ Stella replied and Grace began to laugh delightedly.
Grace mimicked Beatrice’s shriek. ‘Oh, do shut up, Doug!’ and now Stella joined in the laughter. This only encouraged the youngster to leap up. ‘And now look what you’ve done to my Aubusson rug!’
Neither of them saw or heard the door open and only realised someone was standing there when a throat was cleared with obvious intent to catch their attention.
Stella turned and her expression dropped instantly as the temperature plummeted around her to see Beatrice Ainsworth. She stood in a heartbeat. ‘Mrs Ainsworth.’
Her employer regarded her as Stella imagined a cat might patiently await its prey. It was an unblinking stare of ice-blue malevolence.
‘Were we making too much noise?’
‘I was just leaving my room and I could hear the hilarity. I couldn’t imagine what was so terribly entertaining about French verbs . . . so I came this way down the hall. Now I discover what is so funny.’ She looked away from Stella to her child but Stella flinched to see how vicious her expression was. ‘Grace, you have disappointed me. I will be cancelling your riding lessons forthwith for the rest of the holidays.’
Grace’s expression crumpled but she didn’t cry. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy.’
‘Fresh clothes have been laid out. I’m perfectly sure you smell after being with the horses and dancing around in here instead of getting on with what I have paid for you to do.’ She glanced at her wristwatch in irritation. ‘Ah, I see your lesson time – if we can call it a lesson – is almost done. Let’s leave it at that, shall we? Hurry along, Grace. Miss Hailsham has drawn a bath for you. Don’t make a mess, please. I do not expect to see you for the rest of the day. You may stay in your room. Meals will be served there. Don’t let me hear another peep from you until tomorrow morning. And even then I’m not sure I want to look at you.’
Stella felt the horror of the cruel words settle on Grace’s shoulders and her private response was equally passionate but she had to physically clamp her mouth shut.
Grace cast Stella a look of deep apology. She too could sense trouble.
‘Thank you, Stella,’ she lisped just above a whisper.
‘You worked hard, Grace,’ she said firmly, knowing it made no difference but feeling stronger for saying it. ‘I’ll mark your page this afternoon. Hope to see you tomorrow.’
The child scurried away but her mother was in no hurry to leave.
Stella approached. ‘Mrs Ainsworth, I’m so sorry. We were —’
‘Stella, I was greeted not long ago by Georgie with a formal complaint against you. It’s not one I can ignore, I’m afraid, especially given what I’ve just witnessed.’
‘I can explain,’ she said, trying not to let it sound like a bleat, but given the suddenly leaden atmosphere, it sounded worse – like she was begging.
‘I’m sure you can. Just as you want to explain you were not ridiculing me in the presence of my young child just now.’
She held her tongue, Rafe’s warning about his wife’s cunning echoing in her racing thoughts.
‘Nothing to say for yourself?’ Beatrice goaded.
‘Yes, I would like to explain, if you’d permit me.’
‘Fine. I shall see you downstairs in my salon in fifteen minutes. Be prompt, I have a busy day.’ She swung around and left, a waft of her luscious rose and jasmine French perfume polluting the pleasantly musty, boyish smell of the Green Room. Stella recognised it immediately as Jean Patou’s Joy and sighed that Beatrice didn’t deserve to wear a fragrance of that name.
Mrs Boyd was on hand to show her to Beatrice’s salon, which was in a part of the house she hadn’t stepped into previously. It felt lonely, their footsteps echoing down the uncarpeted corridors, and somehow this area felt more imposing for the lack of light.
‘Cold down this way,’ she remarked in a weak attempt to make conversation with the housekeeper as she trailed alongside, listening to Mrs Boyd’s heels click on the parquetry.
‘It’s the western side. The sun takes a while to find its way in over here,’ she replied and Stella suspected Mrs Boyd had been apprised of the situation, hence her curtness.
She moved on. ‘Um, Mrs Boyd, I have Georgina’s earrings that she removed because they were pinching her lobes. She accidentally left them behind on the writing desk in the nursery this morning. Should I give them to you to return?’
‘You may like to return them yourself. They’re waiting for you,’ she added and knocked on a door where she’d paused.
They?
‘Come,’ called Beatrice’s voice from the other side.
Stella didn’t have a chance to ask more but presumed the loathsome Georgina would be smirking on the other side too. Mrs Boyd obliged by opening the door and nodding that Stella should proceed. She breathed deeply and silently to calm herself and stepped inside. Stella didn’t hear the door close behind her but seated behind a strikingly modern, highly polished oval desk was Beatrice Ainsworth. The entire room was a statement of good taste in Stella’s opinion and the single sweeping glance she could afford gave her an impression of muted colours of greys and creams with bold accents of black and silver in stripes or geometric patterns on cushions. The Macassar desk was the centrepiece, though, and she’d seen a similar piece in the furniture department of her store. It attracted a price tag so high most customers she recalled gasped upon hearing it. All in all, the chamber possessed a sharp, crisp look that was entirely in keeping with the era’s latest décor and far more modern than the rest of Harp’s End. There was no doubt this was Beatrice Ainsworth’s private domain.
Equally crisp-looking in a sombre grey three-piece was Rafe Ainsworth, unhappily standing by a window and glaring out. Stella hadn’t expected Rafe but she showed no surprise at his presence. Georgina, as expected, was in tow standing beside her seated mother, still wearing her ink-stained clothes. Stella felt another pang of misery for the skirt and now could anticipate Georgina’s tale of woe. The script was already written.
‘Would you like a seat, Stella?’ Beatrice began.
‘Not really. I feel extremely uncomfortable so I might as well remain standing.’ The defiance, though hollow, stirred her courage. She noticed Rafe turn away from the window to regard the scene as the two sides faced off.
‘As you wish,’ Beatrice countered but Stella had already looked away.
‘Good morning, Mr Ainsworth.’
‘Stella,’ he said softly in greeting, looking momentarily surprised to be addressed so directly.
‘Let’s not beat around the bush,’ Beatrice launched in, wresting back the room’s attention. ‘Georgina tells me you insulted her this morning.’
Stella returned her gaze to Beatrice but not before sweeping a glance at the smirking daughter. She said nothing, though, forcing Beatrice to continue.
‘Have you no comment? Earlier you gave the impression that you might have plenty to say.’
‘I do, although I’m not sure any more that it matters.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, Mrs Ainsworth, I believe you have already made up your mind and I’m here simply as a formality.’
‘That’s rather presumptuous.’
‘I apologise for any offence given. I’m just trying to make it easier and not fight it.’
‘Did you or did you not call my daughter a beast?’
All right, let’s do this
, Stella decided and straightened. ‘I did. I murmured it to myself because she had behaved abominably during her lesson. She insulted her father repeatedly in my presence, which I found both indiscreet and uncomfortable, given that Mr Ainsworth employs me. She refused to partake in the work I’d set; she ignored the fact that I had prepared carefully for yesterday’s and today’s lesson, sneering at your investment. Finally in a last-ditch bid to be excused from her tutorial, she deliberately leaned across the desk and knocked the inkpot over. I might add she sneered to my face over this and then excused herself without my permission.’
‘Mummy, I surely couldn’t be expected to sit there with ink soaking through to my skin,’ Georgina remarked with feigned shock.
‘Hardly,’ Beatrice agreed. ‘And that darling skirt of yours I brought back from Paris earlier this year is now completely ruined.’
‘I know. I’m devastated,’ Georgie moaned.
Beastly liar
, Stella thought, enjoying repeating the insult silently. ‘Surely I am not responsible for the state of Georgina’s skirt?’ she wondered.
‘I think you are!’ Georgie snapped. ‘This was a special gift from Mummy and you’ve spoiled it as far as I’m concerned.’
‘But you knocked the pot over,’ Stella countered, frowning.
‘Because you were haranguing me. You made me nervous.’
Stella couldn’t help the gust of disdain she gave. ‘“Haranguing”? That’s a great word, Georgina. And if you’d stuck at it you could have learned how to offer the same sentiment in French.’ It was condescending but she couldn’t help herself and suddenly no longer cared for the ungracious, manipulative youth she was supposed to be polite to. ‘I’m sorry, Mr and Mrs Ainsworth, I really wanted to make this job work – I felt privileged to be offered it – but Georgina is lying to your faces and if anything, she should be punished for today’s debacle.’
‘Gosh, Mummy, she’s the beast, not me! I was simply reaching for a sheet of paper,’ Georgina said, adding a tremulous note to her claim.
‘Mrs Ainsworth,’ Stella said, affecting a tone of reason, ‘perhaps Georgina would like to explain to you both how exactly she managed to tip an inkwell towards herself if reaching for paper. If anything, the accident Georgina is describing would send the ink my way. No, I’m sorry, I cannot tolerate the lie. She did it deliberately. She flicked the pot in her own direction to cause a disruption that would allow her to leave the lesson directly after I’d mentioned to her that I had cancelled the cocoa she’d ordered so as to avoid any disruption to our lesson. And, I might add, the paper was on the far side of the desk to my right and nowhere near where Georgina was reaching. If you’d like to check with Mrs Boyd, she’ll confirm that as she placed the paper on the desk.’
Georgina gave a look so hostile that if Stella had been one ounce weaker than she felt right now, she was sure she would flee the room. ‘And I can’t find my earrings either, Mummy. You know the ones you gave me for my sixteenth?’
Stella was well ahead of the minx with the silver tongue.
‘They’re right here, Georgina.’ She dipped into her pocket and retrieved them.
‘How convenient!’ the girl sneered.
‘Not at all. I offered them to Mrs Boyd to return to you a little earlier but she suggested I bring them here to the meeting.’ Stella leaned forward and placed the pearl earrings on the desk where they gleamed, fat and accusingly, tempting Georgina to try a final parry over them. She hesitated so Stella took the advantage. ‘They’re very beautiful and you should not remove them in case someone less honest than I should happen upon them. If you care to, please check with your housekeeper that I am recalling only the truth. And if you wish, Mrs Ainsworth, you may like to double-check my references at Bourne & Hollingsworth. I have never been known to tell lies; it is not in my nature to be anything but truthful . . . and, just as it has now, this level of honesty can get me into trouble.’
‘None of this excuses the fact that you insulted my daughter.’
‘No, that is true.’ Stella shifted her attention back to her daughter and fixed her with a steady gaze to prove her sincerity. ‘Georgina, I’m appalled that I lost my composure with you today. I apologise unreservedly for accusing you of being beastly for calling your father a constant embarrassment and a drag in your life. And saying that you wished him dead.’ She glanced at Rafe, then to his wife, who looked thunderstruck. ‘I apologise to all of you for repeating that but you are forcing me to defend myself. I found Georgina’s remarks to be insensitive especially as I have recently lost my father and would give anything to have him still in my life.’
She hadn’t meant to open her heart but the words and the powerful emotion they travelled on were out of her mouth before she could close it on them. And now they were free and resonating around the trio of Ainsworths.
Rafe cleared his throat, Beatrice had the grace to look at least slightly sympathetic and only Georgina kept her mask in place without so much as a flicker of acknowledgement that Stella’s situation might well have led her to take offence at her careless and sulky criticism.
‘Well,’ Beatrice said into the awkward silence. ‘Of course that does throw a different light on the situation.’ Her daughter glared at her. ‘Georgie, did you really say those things about your father?’
‘Mummy, she is exaggerating ridiculously.’ Stella’s gaze narrowed as she wondered whether there was no end to this girl’s ability to tap dance her way out of situations. ‘We all tease Daddy, don’t we?’
Beatrice regarded Stella, waiting for her to jump in and deny Georgina’s claim, perhaps even accuse her of lying in order to dilute how vicious she had truly been. Stella desperately wanted to; hated the notion that Georgie might get away with her scandalous behaviour. Nevertheless her sensibilities told her it was gracious to remain silent now. She returned Beatrice’s look with an unblinking gaze and an unspoken message passed between them as though Beatrice understood that Stella had been truthful with them. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod and with that gesture Stella no longer cared now whether they fired her or not. The fact that Mrs Ainsworth seemed to believe her side of the story felt like exoneration.
Georgina had turned her attention to her father by now and was oozing all the charm she could muster in his direction.
‘. . . against you, Dad, you know that!’ She giggled for his benefit and Stella felt ill.
‘Thank you, Stella,’ Beatrice said and her daughter went quiet. ‘It seems to me no matter what occurred this morning that you and Georgie are finding it difficult to work together.’
‘I am more than happy to help Georgina as I was employed to do.’
Georgina sighed. ‘I’m sorry. After today I think I will find it awkward and uncomfortable. You see she’s called me a beast and now she’s really calling me a liar to your faces. I don’t think I want to learn from Stella.’
‘Not sure you ever did, though, Georgina,’ Stella defended.
‘It’s no secret that I think I should be allowed my holiday freedom, yes. But I find you difficult to work with, Stella. You’re prickly and you have a high opinion of yourself and frankly, it’s intolerable.’
Stella wanted to laugh in her face and accuse her of needing to look in the mirror. Instead she looked down. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’ It was neither an admission nor a denial but she could almost sense Rafe cheering silently at her diplomacy.
‘And then there’s the business of you encouraging Grace to mimic me,’ Beatrice launched at Stella.
‘I really didn’t encourage her, Mrs Ainsworth, and I am genuinely sorry for any offence Grace gave. Truly, I think it was meant affectionately.’
‘Oh, how so, Stella? Do educate me on this aspect of parenting I’m clearly lacking in.’
Stella felt herself blush at the barb but she pushed on regardless. ‘Well, I’ve watched Grace poke gentle fun at her father in a similar manner – I think she’s an alert, mature girl with a dry sense of humour that is a compliment to you both. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to making similar affectionate fun at the expense of my parents. There was nothing cruel intended by Grace.’
‘I see. So while you can see the fondness of Grace for her father, for example, when gently mocking, you cannot see the same affection in Georgie’s remarks.’
Bravo, Beatrice, Stella thought. Cunning. ‘No,’ she replied. Beatrice waited and Stella felt obliged. ‘Because Georgina’s body language, tone, her whole disparaging manner was about giving offence, while Grace in her mimicry was doing so in a joyful way that was humour-filled and in a tone of genuine affection. You were there, Mrs Ainsworth, and perhaps if I hadn’t been you may have found Grace’s performance charming. There was no cruel mockery meant.’
It was a far longer explanation than she’d intended and she was not surprised to note that Beatrice was suddenly looking bored of the confrontation and either in need of her first gin of the day, or certainly to be rid of them all from her salon.
‘What do you think, Doug? You’re very quiet over there and this really is all about you.’
All eyes turned towards the man of the house who visibly quailed beneath the scrutiny. ‘Er . . . really dear, I’d rather not —’
‘Yes, but I insist. It’s not fair that I have to be the ogre all the time and reach all the tough decisions. There is no easy way out of this. Georgie feels slighted and clearly isn’t going to get the best out of Stella’s tutoring, while I can understand now that Stella’s comment in the light of her explanation seemed understandable, albeit unnecessary.’
This is going to be interesting, Stella thought, adopting a careless attitude now. Whatever Rafe said she believed it really was all up to Beatrice and what she wanted. Was she to be bullied by Georgina or was she going to stand up for what Stella suspected the woman knew to be the reality of this morning’s confrontation? She looked at him, fascinated as he dithered, hands in pockets one moment, then the next pushing his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. He’d perfected his character and was able to move, it seemed, near invisibly around his family, only reminding them of his presence with deliberate antics of clumsiness.
‘I . . . er, well, Bee, I do agree with your summation of the situation.’
‘That’s not terribly helpful, though, darling. Help me to reach a decision.’