Hearts and Diamonds (18 page)

Jenna shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. She writes so clearly. There’s no hint of disturbance, although the behaviour of the girls is obviously getting to her.’

‘
Really
getting to her,’ Jason added. ‘Plus the sudden proposal thing. It could throw you off course. And the doctor reckons she’s ill too.’

‘I still think she’s been played.’

‘By kids?’

‘And the staff. I don’t know. The girls have something to gain if they can stop the wedding. They’re obviously enraged at the thought of losing their inheritance. The staff . . . I’m not so sure. Perhaps they just feel for the girls, or they’re loyal to the first Lady Harville in a kind of Mrs Danvers way.’

‘Mrs who?’

‘You haven’t read
Rebecca
?’

‘No, but I might have shagged her, back in the day.’

‘Oh, stop it. It’s a book, a gothic drama in which the second wife of a rich man is made very uncomfortable by the housekeeper, who remains obsessed with the dead first wife.’

‘What, like, in a lesbian kind of way?’

‘Most likely. I mean, the book was written a long time ago so they wouldn’t have made that kind of thing explicit, but you don’t have to read far between the lines.’

‘Ah, shame. There could have been some hot girl-on-girl scenes.’

Jenna sighed.

‘I can see I’m going to have to educate you.’

‘Ooh, please do.’

He smooched into the curve of her neck and shoulder, rapacious still, despite their comprehensive earlier exertions.

‘On the subject of great literature and general know-ledge,’ said Jenna sternly. ‘You don’t need much education as far as . . . hanky panky . . . goes.’

He laughed.

‘Hanky panky? Nobody calls it that.’

She giggled with him. ‘It is a bit daft,’ she agreed. ‘Not as bad as rumpy pumpy, though. That one’s enough to turn you right off.’

Jason tapped the diary page.

‘So do you think the wedding’s off? He thinks she’s nuts, she thinks he’s a bastard who deliberately didn’t listen to her. Not very well suited, are they?’

‘Not a match made in heaven, no.’ Jenna sighed. ‘I’m rather hoping the next entry will tell us she decided to go back home after all. But then, that leaves us with our mystery body in the cellar, and us none the wiser.’

‘Perhaps it’s better not to know,’ said Jason. ‘Not as if we can do anything about it, is it?’

‘No. True. Poor Frances.’

‘Come on. One more page.’

March 10th

My wedding day at last! Though why I say at last, I cannot tell, for our engagement has been a brief affair. David saw no cause to wait and neither did I. I could only wish for a more pleasant day – we have blustering gales and showers of hail. Thankfully my trip to the church will be made in a closed carriage.

My parents arrived last night, with Mary. I had hoped the girls might make a friend of her, but they have kept to their rooms and the nursery, refusing to even come down to the drawing room to make the acquaintance of their soon-to-be relatives. David promises that he will send them to school once we are wed. I should not look forward to it so, but I do.

I had some high words with Mama when we were able to find some time to ourselves – I was able to assure her most forcibly that there is no shameful reason for my precipitate marriage. It was simply Harville’s wish.

‘He is a great catch,’ she said, but there was some doubt underlying her words.

‘But you do not approve?’

‘Oh, not at all, how could I disapprove of your making such a fine future out of such poor material? You will be comfortable for the rest of your days, my dear.’

Still that doubt plagued her tone. I pressed her further.

‘Does he love you, do you think, Fan?’ she said at last.

‘He is sincere in his affections, I am sure,’ I replied, as hotly as I could.

‘His daughters
. . .
You say they are difficult?’

I sighed.

‘Difficult indeed. But Lord Harville knows that I have tried my best with them, and he promises me they will be sent away to school.’

‘I could never send Mary away, especially so young. The younger one is not yet nine, I believe.’

‘It is different for people in society, Mama.’

‘I know that. I suppose your own children, especially if they are sons, will grow up far from you.’

I did not care to think of it.

‘We will not cross that bridge before we come to it,’ I said, and then the men entered from the dining room, having smoked and drunk their fill.

I wish she had not voiced her doubts about David’s strength of affection for me. It has planted the seed in my own mind, and I slept but poorly. I shall be a haunted-looking bride, with dark circled eyes and dull skin. David may change his mind at the altar, and then we are all back where we began – my family, penniless, with no prospects of improvement.

But I must try to work wonders, with Mama’s help and Mary’s probable hindrance! Eliza, the maid, has been told to assist us, but I do not want her sly, sullen face anywhere near me on this morning of mornings, and I sent her off to see to the girls.

The next time I write in this book, I shall be a married woman!

‘I think her mum’s got it right,’ said Jason. ‘He doesn’t love her, just wants more kids, and by more kids I mean a boy.’

‘I agree. Poor Frances – she knows it too, although she doesn’t want to admit it. I suppose all the business of the lock-in was never mentioned again? She makes no reference to it at all. Though Harville has agreed to send the girls away as some kind of compensation, I suppose.’

‘He wants his boys. He’s got no use for the girls any more.’

‘Honestly, how did they live with themselves?’

Jenna put the book aside crossly.

‘Parents abandoning children still goes on,’ said Jason softly. ‘It wasn’t just them Victorians.’

‘No, I didn’t mean that – I was talking about Lord . . . Oh, love. You must wonder all the time who your dad was. Is. Is or was.’

‘Ah, no, not really.’ He put his head on the pillow and gazed up at the subtly spotlit ceiling. ‘I’m over all that now.’

‘But you wondered?’

‘Of course, when I was younger. I mean, it didn’t mark me out or anything. Half my mates never saw their dads. But most of them knew who the bugger was, at least. They had a photo, or a teddy bear from before they split, or something. I had nothing.’

‘And your mum never gave you a clue?’

‘Oh, forget it, she was hopeless. Every time she got pissed she’d be hinting that he was some kind of big deal, then she’d sober up and change her mind and tell me it could be one of half a dozen blokes. She always had some bloke on the side, usually a married one. She wasn’t very popular with the other mums, to say the least.’

‘She said something after you got out of jail. Something about how it would all come out one day,’ recalled Jenna.

‘She was tanked up, Jen. I’m sick of hearing it. Anyway, I don’t care if my father was Mickey fucking Mouse. He’s irrelevant. He’s nobody. He’s nothing.’

‘I doubt he was Mickey Mouse,’ said Jenna gently, stroking his forehead. ‘You haven’t got the ears.’

‘No, but I didn’t inherit my talents from my mum. So perhaps it was Banksy. What do you reckon?’

‘That would be the publicity coup of the decade.’

She lay down beside him, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. It had been a long, hot, busy, interesting day.

‘Maybe he’ll come out of the woodwork once I’m famous, like,’ said Jason. ‘Wanting his cut. He can fuck off.’

‘You’ve made up your mind you’re going to be, then?’ said Jenna. ‘Famous, I mean.’

‘If it happens, it happens. I don’t care about fame, but I want to paint for my living, no matter what. I want to be with you, and I want to earn it. I’m not going to be any rich woman’s pet poodle.’

Jenna laughed tiredly.

‘You’re anything but that.’

‘More like a tiger, eh?’ he said, turning his face to her with a lascivious wink.

‘Not tonight, Josephine. I’m exhausted. And tomorrow you learn how to walk the walk and talk the talk.’

JASON LOOKED UP
at the handsome red-brick building in the heart of South Kensington and said, ‘They like flowers here, then.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Jenna, motioning him up the steps. ‘They do courses in flower arranging here. Incredibly expensive, but meant to be very good.’

‘That’s not what I’m here for, I take it?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So . . . what
am
I here for?’

They had reached the top step. A large brass plaque, so shiny they could almost see their reflections without any distortion, revealed the building’s function.

‘Margery Mountjoy College of Etiquette.’

‘What the fuck’s a college of etiquette?’

He pronounced it ‘etikwet’.

‘Good manners,’ said Jenna. ‘But it’s more than that. It’s about being able to go through life mixing with all classes of people without any of them laughing at you. I took a course here after Deano’s first album went platinum. Money well spent.’

‘Really? Margery Mountjoy was the one that sucked the Bledburn accent out of you, was she?’

‘Well, not her exactly. She died decades ago. But this was where I came to transform myself into a London “It” person. It worked for me, and I think it’ll work for you.’

‘What if I don’t want to be a London “It” person? Whatever that is.’

‘Jason, don’t be obtuse. It’s just a little schooling in how to make people feel at their ease with you.’

‘Sounds more like it’s a schooling in how to have airs and graces.’

‘Oh, God, you sound like my mother! That’s what she was like. “What’s wrong with Bledburn ways? They’ll turn you into a snob.” But I’m not a snob, am I?’

‘Well . . .’

She thought he was teasing. She hoped he was.

She pushed the double doors with determination, leading them into a large, luxurious, marble-floored lobby area.

‘Hundreds of people take courses here every year and come out raving about the place,’ she said.

‘I’d rather just come out raving. I could enjoy a good rave right now. Good weather for it too.’

‘Oh, stop it. You’re just trying to wind me up.’

‘Would I?’

They stopped at a reception desk, presided over by a very well-dressed and very fragrant lady with a tight updo.

‘Welcome to Margery Mountjoy,’ said the lady, with a winning smile. ‘What can I do to help you?’

‘Hello, I’m Jenna Myatt and I’ve booked a session with Georgina.’

‘Let me check the record – ah, yes. So you have. Please take a seat and she’ll be with you very shortly. I’ll just ring to let her know you’re here.’

‘You see,’ whispered Jenna, as they seated themselves on a cream leather couch bookended by luscious green plants. On the coffee table in front of them was a fan-shape of glossy magazines. ‘Perfect manners. Makes you feel welcome and important straight away.’

‘I dunno about that,’ said Jason. ‘I think it’s a bit creepy.’

‘Don’t be so silly. It’s just a question of confidence, and being comfortable around people. I don’t feel that you really are, not yet. This will help you.’

‘You don’t think I’m confident?’

‘I think you’re cocky, which isn’t the same thing. It comes from a chip on your shoulder. It’s aggressive, when you need to be assertive. I don’t want that to come over when you’re trying to make your name. It’ll alienate people you need on your side.’

His jaw dropped. ‘Now she tells me! You think I’m a chippy, aggressive bastard. Well, thank you so much.’

He was about to get up and leave, when a very thin middle-aged woman with a helmet of shiny black hair and an immaculate Chanel suit stepped out of the lift and made a beeline for the couch.

‘Ah,’ she said, her thin magenta mouth curving upwards into a smile. ‘Ms Myatt. And Mr Watson. You’re in very good time. Hello, I’m Georgina May.’

She held out a hand, which Jenna took first.

Jason folded his arms and looked at the ceiling, then, when nudged by Jenna, stood up to shake Georgina’s hand.

‘I’ll have coffee brought up,’ she said. ‘Unless you’d prefer tea?’

‘Coffee’s good,’ said Jenna.

‘Or beer,’ said Jason hopefully.

Georgina laughed politely but her mouth settled straight back into its magenta line and she called to the receptionist to bring coffee up.

Georgina’s office was more like the drawing room of a stately home, on a slightly smaller and more comfortable scale. Beautiful works of art lined the walls and the furniture all looked antique.

‘Jenna – do you mind if I call you Jenna?’

‘Please do.’

‘I believe you’re an alumnus of ours.’

‘That’s right. I came here, oh, it must be thirteen years ago. Maybe fourteen. And I was taught by Tiggy Henderson.’

‘Ah, dear Tiggy. She has retired, but she keeps in touch. Exhibits her roses all over the country.’

‘Yes, I remember she was proud of her roses.’

‘And I’m sure she’d be proud of you. You brought a lot of business our way, when you were working in London, I’m told.’

‘Oh, yes, you did wonderful work with a lot of my clients.’

‘Thank you. And now you have made another booking with us.’

Georgina looked pointedly at Jason, who was slumping in his chair like a teenager who’d been told he couldn’t borrow his parents’ car.

‘Yes,’ said Jenna, trying not to feel embarrassed by Jason’s extremely negative body language. ‘This is Jason. He’s a very talented artist who is shortly to have his first gallery exhibition. But he’s not at all familiar with the art world, or the world away from the small town he comes from.’

‘I can say all this for myself, you know,’ he said, coming to hostile life.

‘Please do,’ said Georgina, smiling again.

‘I’m from the same place she is,’ he said, jerking a thumb at Jenna. ‘Same estate, even. This accent is the same as what she once had. But she’s better than all that now apparently.’

‘Don’t you think you are?’ said Jenna.