we’re staying, Mum? Rent free?”
Magda said nothing, although her cold blue gaze remained fixed upon her daughter, almost as though seeing her for the first time. Her beautiful face could have been sculptured from stone. Although she cradled a coffee mug in her hands, she did not appear to have drunk from it; the milk was puckering into skin on top. She was wearing one of Sarah’s tight pink sweaters, with bootcut jeans and high heels; clothes that were far too young for her, even though her figure was still a perfect size 8.
Thoroughly creeped out by the way her mother was still staring at her, Natalie tried again. “Will Sir Henry keep Dad’s job open?”
She knew this to be a stupid question as soon as she asked it. Her father was lying in a hospital, barely breathing unaided. How the hell could he continue to work as a gardener? Even if he did regain consciousness, the doctor said he would remain in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He would need constant care; and if they were not going to do it, they would have to pay someone else. This, when her mother failed to answer, led her to ask her second question - with more urgency.
“Mum, what are we going to do about money?”
Magda said nothing. Was she even listening?
“Mum!”
As though in slow-motion, the mug slid from Magda’s fingers. Before Natalie could react, it had crashed onto the table, splashing coffee everywhere. She hardly had time to grab a tea towel from the draining board to soak up the mess when Magda forced her chair back from the table and slammed both hands onto the table.
“Who gives a fuck about money?”
It was the violence in her mother’s voice which shocked Natalie most. Instinctively she cringed away, clutching the dripping tea towel to her chest, expecting Magda to follow up these words with a blow, as John would have done. Instead Magda looked her up and down, almost as though she was seeing a stranger. Then she yanked open the kitchen door and was gone.
Natalie ran to the window, hoping to see which way her mother had taken. Rain lashed the glass but she caught a glimpse of her mother running up the garden path before she faded to an indistinct blur. There was an orchard at the end of the garden, the branches of the ancient trees swaying in the storm like skeletal fingers. Beyond the orchard was a little-used path that led directly to Hurst Castle. Was that where Magda was headed? Was she running after Sir Henry?
Natalie was too anxious to calculate possible scenarios. To distract herself, she set about cleaning up the mess and cooking dinner. Concentrating on completing each small task seemed to be the only way to keep herself together. There was also the hope this would win her favour with her mother.
It had been a perfectly reasonable question to ask. What were they going to do about money? Her mother was a housewife and had no job, no income of her own. With her father incapacitated, and presumably uninsured, where was the money going to come from? Sarah was dead and her father as good as.
It was all very well to daydream about her mother marrying Sir Henry, but he was already married to Clare. Would he get a divorce, or would he expect Magda to just be his mistress? Where did that leave John - apart from flat on his back in a hospital bed, completely oblivious that some other man was making a move on his wife?
Natalie sighed. Perhaps Magda didn’t care for Sir Henry as much as he cared for her - although she’d never appeared to care much for John either. But if Sir Henry was offering marriage, or even just money, Magda should grab it with both hands. How else were they going to survive without a regular income? Someone had to be practical about these things. Why couldn’t her mother see that?
If her mother returned that evening, Natalie didn’t hear her. The following morning Magda was back in the kitchen, as immaculately and unsuitably dressed as ever, in a red floral dress and high heels, sweeping the
Magda said nothing, although her cold blue gaze remained fixed upon her daughter, almost as though seeing her for the first time. Her beautiful face could have been sculptured from stone. Although she cradled a coffee mug in her hands, she did not appear to have drunk from it; the milk was puckering into skin on top. She was wearing one of Sarah’s tight pink sweaters, with bootcut jeans and high heels; clothes that were far too young for her, even though her figure was still a perfect size 8.
Thoroughly creeped out by the way her mother was still staring at her, Natalie tried again. “Will Sir Henry keep Dad’s job open?”
She knew this to be a stupid question as soon as she asked it. Her father was lying in a hospital, barely breathing unaided. How the hell could he continue to work as a gardener? Even if he did regain consciousness, the doctor said he would remain in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He would need constant care; and if they were not going to do it, they would have to pay someone else. This, when her mother failed to answer, led her to ask her second question - with more urgency.
“Mum, what are we going to do about money?”
Magda said nothing. Was she even listening?
“Mum!”
As though in slow-motion, the mug slid from Magda’s fingers. Before Natalie could react, it had crashed onto the table, splashing coffee everywhere. She hardly had time to grab a tea towel from the draining board to soak up the mess when Magda forced her chair back from the table and slammed both hands onto the table.
“Who gives a fuck about money?”
It was the violence in her mother’s voice which shocked Natalie most. Instinctively she cringed away, clutching the dripping tea towel to her chest, expecting Magda to follow up these words with a blow, as John would have done. Instead Magda looked her up and down, almost as though she was seeing a stranger. Then she yanked open the kitchen door and was gone.
Natalie ran to the window, hoping to see which way her mother had taken. Rain lashed the glass but she caught a glimpse of her mother running up the garden path before she faded to an indistinct blur. There was an orchard at the end of the garden, the branches of the ancient trees swaying in the storm like skeletal fingers. Beyond the orchard was a little-used path that led directly to Hurst Castle. Was that where Magda was headed? Was she running after Sir Henry?
Natalie was too anxious to calculate possible scenarios. To distract herself, she set about cleaning up the mess and cooking dinner. Concentrating on completing each small task seemed to be the only way to keep herself together. There was also the hope this would win her favour with her mother.
It had been a perfectly reasonable question to ask. What were they going to do about money? Her mother was a housewife and had no job, no income of her own. With her father incapacitated, and presumably uninsured, where was the money going to come from? Sarah was dead and her father as good as.
It was all very well to daydream about her mother marrying Sir Henry, but he was already married to Clare. Would he get a divorce, or would he expect Magda to just be his mistress? Where did that leave John - apart from flat on his back in a hospital bed, completely oblivious that some other man was making a move on his wife?
Natalie sighed. Perhaps Magda didn’t care for Sir Henry as much as he cared for her - although she’d never appeared to care much for John either. But if Sir Henry was offering marriage, or even just money, Magda should grab it with both hands. How else were they going to survive without a regular income? Someone had to be practical about these things. Why couldn’t her mother see that?
If her mother returned that evening, Natalie didn’t hear her. The following morning Magda was back in the kitchen, as immaculately and unsuitably dressed as ever, in a red floral dress and high heels, sweeping the
Similar Books
