girl who can’t get out two words of English without
parlez-vous
ing, who’s got bright-yellow hair down to her backside and has to be shown how to turn on the kitchen tap?”
“This one is
very
nice!” Glancing up at Tobias, who had still not forgiven Gerta for bringing a dog into the house, I dared him to meow a contradiction. “She’s a little older than the usual au pair.”
“That won’t stop her!” Mrs. Malloy smacked her glossy butterfly lips in grim satisfaction.
“Stop her from what?” I attempted a laugh. “Making off with the children?”
“Making eyes at your husband is more like.” She set the cup down in the saucer with a rattle that I could see was due to the fact that her hands were shaking. “But I’m not here to judge you, Mrs. H., we’ve all sinned. And I’ve never been one to throw stones … even before I found out …”
“Whatever is the matter?” I grabbed the cup away from her before she could drop it and watched in distress as she dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her black taffeta sleeve.
“Now, don’t you go getting worked up, Mrs. H., I’m the one what has to live with the shame. I’m the one who will be pointed at in the street when word gets out.”
“Word about what?” I was bewildered.
“That I’m …” A sob went down the wrong way.
“Yes?” I prodded when she started breathing again.
“That I’m expecting.”
“Expecting what?” My mind gyrated wildly between the possibility of a visitor from Mars, to a summons to meet the Queen.
“The same thing any woman means when she says she’s expecting.” Mrs. Malloy reared up her black-and-white head and fixed her raccoon eyes on my face. “A kid on the way, that’s what I’m talking about! The flesh of me loins, the fruit of my lapse from grace in the back seat of a Rover.”
“Isn’t it possible you’re mistaken?” Dragging a chair away from the kitchen table, I dropped down on it with a wallop that reverberated right through my skull. Mrs. Malloy was in her early sixties.
“Mistaken?” She looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “How can I be bloody well mistaken, when the lad’s coming up for forty? Sometimes I worry about you, Mrs. H., you’re off in cloud cuckoo land half the time. What I’ve been trying to tell you is that I’m expecting a visit from George—the son nobody here knows about, because he was grown and gone when I moved to Chitterton Fells and I never thought to mention him. An unnatural mother, that’s what the muckrakers will call me.”
“Surely not.”
Mrs. Malloy ignored my attempt to soothe. “Haven’t heard a dicky bird from George in years. Then last night I get a phone call from him. Seems he’s getting married to a very posh young lady and the two of them want to come down here for a kiss and cuddle from the old mum.”
“Well, I think that’s lovely.”
“You won’t be singing that tune much longer,” Mrs. Malloy said icily, “not when I tell you the name of George’s fiancée.”
“What difference can it make to me who she is?” I began bustling about, laying the Beatrix Potter china for the twins’ breakfast. “Buck up, Mrs. Malloy. You’re getting yourself upset over what should be a happy event. You’re not losing a son, you’re gaining a daughter.”
“It’s
you
what’s going to be upset, Mrs. H.!” She tottered onto her high-heeled feet, squared her padded shoulders, and looked me straight in the eye. “I’ve been trying to break it to you gently; but I suppose it’s best to say it straight out and watch you fall apart. My son George has got himself engaged to your cousin Vanessa.”
Chapter
4
Mrs. Malloy must surely have had a few nips of gin before coming to Merlin’s Court. Her son George could not possibly be betrothed to my nemesis! To my indecently gorgeous cousin! She who had been a thorn in my flesh since we first met at the age of six and she asked me whether I was a boy or a girl.
Vanessa, the
parlez-vous
ing, who’s got bright-yellow hair down to her backside and has to be shown how to turn on the kitchen tap?”
“This one is
very
nice!” Glancing up at Tobias, who had still not forgiven Gerta for bringing a dog into the house, I dared him to meow a contradiction. “She’s a little older than the usual au pair.”
“That won’t stop her!” Mrs. Malloy smacked her glossy butterfly lips in grim satisfaction.
“Stop her from what?” I attempted a laugh. “Making off with the children?”
“Making eyes at your husband is more like.” She set the cup down in the saucer with a rattle that I could see was due to the fact that her hands were shaking. “But I’m not here to judge you, Mrs. H., we’ve all sinned. And I’ve never been one to throw stones … even before I found out …”
“Whatever is the matter?” I grabbed the cup away from her before she could drop it and watched in distress as she dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her black taffeta sleeve.
“Now, don’t you go getting worked up, Mrs. H., I’m the one what has to live with the shame. I’m the one who will be pointed at in the street when word gets out.”
“Word about what?” I was bewildered.
“That I’m …” A sob went down the wrong way.
“Yes?” I prodded when she started breathing again.
“That I’m expecting.”
“Expecting what?” My mind gyrated wildly between the possibility of a visitor from Mars, to a summons to meet the Queen.
“The same thing any woman means when she says she’s expecting.” Mrs. Malloy reared up her black-and-white head and fixed her raccoon eyes on my face. “A kid on the way, that’s what I’m talking about! The flesh of me loins, the fruit of my lapse from grace in the back seat of a Rover.”
“Isn’t it possible you’re mistaken?” Dragging a chair away from the kitchen table, I dropped down on it with a wallop that reverberated right through my skull. Mrs. Malloy was in her early sixties.
“Mistaken?” She looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “How can I be bloody well mistaken, when the lad’s coming up for forty? Sometimes I worry about you, Mrs. H., you’re off in cloud cuckoo land half the time. What I’ve been trying to tell you is that I’m expecting a visit from George—the son nobody here knows about, because he was grown and gone when I moved to Chitterton Fells and I never thought to mention him. An unnatural mother, that’s what the muckrakers will call me.”
“Surely not.”
Mrs. Malloy ignored my attempt to soothe. “Haven’t heard a dicky bird from George in years. Then last night I get a phone call from him. Seems he’s getting married to a very posh young lady and the two of them want to come down here for a kiss and cuddle from the old mum.”
“Well, I think that’s lovely.”
“You won’t be singing that tune much longer,” Mrs. Malloy said icily, “not when I tell you the name of George’s fiancée.”
“What difference can it make to me who she is?” I began bustling about, laying the Beatrix Potter china for the twins’ breakfast. “Buck up, Mrs. Malloy. You’re getting yourself upset over what should be a happy event. You’re not losing a son, you’re gaining a daughter.”
“It’s
you
what’s going to be upset, Mrs. H.!” She tottered onto her high-heeled feet, squared her padded shoulders, and looked me straight in the eye. “I’ve been trying to break it to you gently; but I suppose it’s best to say it straight out and watch you fall apart. My son George has got himself engaged to your cousin Vanessa.”
Chapter
4
Mrs. Malloy must surely have had a few nips of gin before coming to Merlin’s Court. Her son George could not possibly be betrothed to my nemesis! To my indecently gorgeous cousin! She who had been a thorn in my flesh since we first met at the age of six and she asked me whether I was a boy or a girl.
Vanessa, the
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