Read Online Simply Heaven by Serena Mackesy - Free Book Online Page A

drawers to pass on to someone else. Quietly and deliberately, she twists the base, producing an inch-long, immaculate stick of going-on-apricot pink greasepaint, which has been worn, I notice, on both sides. Holding up the tiny mirror built into the inside of the compact lid, she sweeps the stick once across her lower lip, twice across her upper, crushes the lips together to set the colour, then retracts the stick, replaces the lid, slips the whole into the compact, pops the popper, returns it to the clutch bag, closes the catch on the bag, leans sideways and replaces it upon the ground. ‘Take that, whippersnapper!’ each movement says. ‘Did you think you could outmanoeuvre me with a water glass? Just wait till you see what I can do with a teaspoon!’
    And still I wait. I’m glad I didn’t do anything as foolish as smile when I started; the expression would be all over the place after such a lengthy performance.
    Eventually, she says: ‘There isn’t any money, you know. Not for you, anyway.’
    This brings me up with a jolt. This isn’t a needling little prod like the last one, a small experiment to see how I will react. This is a direct accusation.
    ‘Sorry?’ I say.
    ‘I’m sure you are,’ she says. Then: ‘Would it be too much of an imposition to ask you for a glass of water?’
    I get to my feet. ‘Fridge water?’
    ‘Thank you.’
    I’m surprised she’s given me this much thinking time. Although, of course, I quickly realise that what she’s trying to give me is stewing time. What she wants is for me to get so worked up that Rufus will come back to find me snarling. She’s smart. I guess she’s already figured that I might have a bit of a temper on me, and is hoping that she can needle me enough to show her son what I look like when something’s got me going.
    In the kitchen, pulse going like the clappers, I roll the water bottle over my forehead, my cheeks and the back of my neck, and concentrate for a moment on lowering my heart rate. I take half a dozen deep breaths, do a bit of counting, and, once the moment of panic has begun to subside, I return to my mother-in-law.
    She accepts the glass without thanks, takes a sip.
    ‘No,’ she continues, as though this hiatus had never happened, ‘Rufus hasn’t got much more than a bean to rub together. It’s all in trust, I’m afraid. Has been for years. Since the socialists started trying to get their hands on it.’
    ‘I may be Australian,’ I inform her, ‘but I’m not totally wet behind the ears.’
    ‘I’m sure you aren’t,’ she says drily. ‘I just thought I should let you know. There are so many fortune-hunters in the world,’ she says pointedly, ‘and so many of them end up disappointed.’
    I take another sip of water, glance down at my watch. He’s only been gone five minutes. If he doesn’t make it back quickly, I’m in deep, deep shtook. So I decide to take the bull by the horns. ‘Mary,’ I ask as pleasantly as I can manage, ‘are you implying that I’ve married Rufus for his money? Because, you know, that’s not the case.’
    She sips in turn. ‘It’s not always money. Cachet. Social status. He’s a very attractive man from many points of view.’
    ‘He certainly is. It sort of struck me the first time I clapped eyes on him. But believe me, I didn’t know anything about this landed gentry sh—’ I catch myself, correct my language in a hurry ‘—ebang until yesterday afternoon. He kept very shtum about that. Seriously. As far as I was concerned, he was ordinary. Well, not ordinary. Obviously. I wouldn’t have married an ordinary fella.’
    Call-me-Mary lets out a laugh that’s a million miles away from the men-in-the-room fairy tinkle she affected when we first met. A rooster-like explosion of disbelief and disdain.
    ‘So how exactly was I supposed to tell? With my magical powers of perception?’
    ‘Oh, don’t give me that,’ she snaps. ‘As you said yourself, you’re hardly wet behind the ears.