hug people enough.â
âDonât you believe it. Huen I huas much smaller than you are now some of those terrible old German cousins came to stay. Huenever they saw me they huould pick me up and hug me and insist on a kiss. They huere huomen, but they had moustaches, and even in Madrid they huore huool next to the skin, huich made them smell like dirty old sheep, except that their breaths smelt of aniseed.â
âOh, both sides have got to want to. Itâs got to mean something. Do you want to?â
âJust now, yes, in spite of your filthy hands. Huat on earth have you been doing, Lulu?â
âOh, I finished my homework early and started looking for something in the old press cuttings.â
âWhich year?â
It didnât need the perfectly pronounced W to tell Louise that sheâd trodden on a mine, hidden in the grass of the soft meadow through which sheâd just been strolling. Deliberately she pulled herself closer into Motherâs stiffened embrace.
âBefore you were married,â she said. âThatâs why Iâm a bit sloppy this evening. I was thinking how marvellous you are, and how foul people can be, and what a lot youâve given up. And I do love youâitâs just that I donât get many chances to show it.â
It wasnât any good. Sheâd made it worse.
âWell, I love you, Lulu,â said Mother, âand I know I am not very good at showing it. Iâm sorry. Youâd better go and wash, darling, because I donât want to have to change this dress before dinner.â
There was no shake in her voice, no glimmer of wetness in her eye. Her kiss was as precise as the full stop at the end of a sentence.
âSorry,â said Louise as she disentangled herself. âDonât move. Iâll tell you if Iâve left any marks ⦠I think your dress is OK but thereâs a little blotch on your neck. Do you mind lick? Oh, Mother, donât be silly. Sit still. There. Iâm glad you havenât got a moustache and you donât smell of aniseed and old sheep, but Iâd love you even if you did. I think thatâs all right now. Bye.â
Only when she was out of the room did she realise that sheâd left her essay on the desk, and that it wouldnât be fair to go back and collect it now. Mother would bring it along to supper. Somehow her face managed to smile at Annette when she met her bustling along the corridor, but really she felt as upset as Mother had been. The only thing she could think of was that Mother hadnât really accepted Nonny as easily as sheâd pretended to, and that there was something about it in the cutting-books which still hurt. And yet Durdy had said it was all right.
⢠⢠â¢
Mother did bring the essay to supper. All the Family were at home, for once, and Father insisted on charades afterwards. They had a laughing evening, and Louise managed to push her sense of danger and hurt deep down and close the lid on it. But next afternoon when she went to the Library to start her homework she had to wait in the doorway to let out a couple of the Palace porters who were pushing a rubber-wheeled trolley piled with slabby green volumes. Inside she found Mrs Suttery looking harassed.
âHello, Mrs Suttery, have you had the removals men in?â
âYes, thank heavens. Iâve got rid of all the press-cuttings before 1960, except the wedding volume. Lovely empty shelvesâjust what a librarian dreams about.â
âWhereâve they gone? Are you going to burn them?â
âGood heavens, no! Theyâve just gone into store. Iâve been wanting to move them out for simply ages.â
Louise smiled. One of the likeable things about Mrs Suttery was that she was a less practised liar than most of the Palace staff.
Chapter 5
âB lighter had a go at me last night,â said Sir Sam.
âBut you foiled him,â drawled
Carolyn Keene
Kathleen O’Neal
John Ballem
Kelly Cherry
Robin Stevens
Claire Fenton
Dani-Lyn Alexander
Wolf Wootan
Margaret Atwood
Suzanne Macpherson