Read Online The Woman From Paris by Santa Montefiore - Free Book Online

hide. Margaret always knew where to find her.

4
    B atten down the hatches, the Grand High Witch is coming to pay us a visit!” Antoinette announced, hurrying back into the drawing room. “Oh, for some special Mouse-Maker to drop into her tea!”
    “And a cat to catch her!” added Rosamunde. “Roald Dahl was a genius!”
    “Shame it’s only fiction.”
    “You could always put some sleeping pills in her sherry.”
    “You are devious, Rosamunde!”
    “Nothing fictitious about them.”
    “But she’s indestructible, like a cockroach,” Antoinette replied. “I don’t think she’d notice even a packet of sleeping pills.”
    “How does poor Dr. Heyworth cope with having her as a patient?”
    “She’s one of those rare people who are never ill. I don’t think she’s been to a doctor since she gave birth, back in the Dark Ages. And even then, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if George just popped out between her cocktail and dinner. But I must tell you that men love her.”
    “Men have always been a mystery to me!” Rosamunde exclaimed.
    “Yes, she’s a man’s woman, and men think she’s marvelous.” Antoinette sighed heavily. “No one thought her more marvelous than George.”
    At that moment a cold gust of wind swept through the hall and into the drawing room. Bertie and Wooster pricked their ears. The sound of little paws clattered across the marble floor as Harris closed the door with a loud bang, and Basil shot into the drawing room like a missile. The Great Danes jumped clumsily to their feet and chasedhim around the room before heading back into the hall and up the front stairs.
    “Be off with you!” resounded through the house, then a few seconds later the large black-clad figure of the Dowager Lady Frampton filled the doorway like a docking ocean liner. She floated there a moment, catching her breath. “Good, you’re here,” she said to Antoinette. “I need to talk to you urgently.”
    “You look out of breath.”
    “I’ve marched across the field.”
    “Why don’t you come and sit down. Would you like a glass of sherry?”
    “Harris is going to bring me one.” She marched across the carpet and lowered herself gently into the armchair where Dr. Heyworth had sat only minutes before. “I haven’t slept a wink for thinking of George’s illegitimate daughter.”
    “A sleeping pill might help,” Rosamunde suggested, sucking in her cheeks.
    “Good Lord, I don’t need medicine. I need peace of mind.” Rosamunde caught her sister’s eye but looked away instantly for fear of making her smile.
    “I’ve been thinking about her, too,” Antoinette agreed.
    “Good, I’m pleased you have come to your senses,” Margaret replied. “You see, I’m not about to open my arms to some random girl who claims to be my granddaughter. My son is dead, so there is absolutely no proof that she is who she says she is.”
    Antoinette frowned. “Mr. Beecher supervised the DNA test.”
    “DNA test, indeed! Have you seen it? Were you there when it was done? Codswallop, if you ask me!”
    “She’s your flesh and blood, Margaret, whether you like it or not.”
    “She was conceived outside wedlock, brought up in Canada—I don’t think a little bit of shared blood makes any difference at all. And I refuse to believe it. My son would have told me if he had fathered a child. I know he would. He told me everything.”
    “Not if he was ashamed,” Antoinette offered.
    “He had no reason to be ashamed. He was a very handsome manwith a title and a large estate. It is clear to me that some ambitious girl seduced him and tried to extort money from him. Maybe she even wanted to marry him. Who knows? What we do know, however, is that George accepted his daughter only very recently. Why didn’t he accept her when she was a baby?” Margaret sniffed her satisfaction. “Because he probably wasn’t sure the child was his. Or because he didn’t want any further dealings with her mother. He must have decided