slamming down the black-tipped jars with the Diptyque label.
“Really gets on your wick, doesn’t it?” Jett drawled. He spoke in a lightly insouciant tone precisely calculated to cause his wife maximum annoyance. He wasn’t a musician for nothing.
Cassandra had stormed out of the room in search of the hapless domestic. She’d had enough. Something had to give. Notice, preferably.
Cassandra tsked now as she snatched down a poster of a grinning David Beckham. “Can’t bear those boy bands, can you? That’s Zak’s bathroom, by the way,” she added, gesturing at the vast white expanse visible through a door ajar at one end of the room. “Make sure you clean behind the sink pedestal. It gets filthy there for some reason.”
“Me? Clean ?”
“Yes, I’ve had to let Lil go, unfortunately,” Cassandra trilled. “So if you could just step in for her for the moment, that would be lovely. Oh, and there’s a pile of ironing downstairs for you—we iron all sheets and underwear here, I’m afraid—and if you could just run round with the Hoover that would be fabulous. Garden could do with a weed and I’m afraid I haven’t had time to go to Waitrose either. To make your first day as easy as possible, Mr. St. Edmunds will do the school run this afternoon as well—you can take over tomorrow morning. Lunch is at one. Roast Mediterranean vegetable terrine, I thought.”
“Lovely,” mumbled Anna, still reeling from the list of tasks.
“So if you start to cook it at about eleven, that should be fine. Right, I’ll leave you to sort yourself out.”
Anna returned upstairs to “her” room and closed the door. She placed her back against it and slid slowly down into a crouch. Looking hopelessly at the bare and cheerless surroundings, she felt the familiar gulping in her throat. She wondered what Seb was doing now. Still in bed probably—it was hardly half past ten, after all. Probably not alone. As tears stung her eyes and began to roll slowly down her cheeks, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard. From millionaire’s Mayfair apartment to skivvy’s boxroom, she reflected. And all in the course of one morning. You’ve come a long way, baby.
***
Anna’s first night on the sofabed was even worse than she had expected. After the endless fetching, carrying, and negotiating involved in putting Zak to bed, she had finally turned back the thin and smelly duvet, only to hear a bloodcurdling howl ricocheting wildly around the walls of the room. It took a few seconds for Anna to realise it was her own.
As the ghastly sight sank in, shock shuddered through her as if from a hairdryer dropped in the bath. There, on the grey-white sheet beneath the duvet, crouched the stark, black and hideously leggy forms of what looked like at least twenty enormous spiders. Anna hated spiders.
“Of course,” Cassandra said, appearing in the room in a baby blue pashmina bathrobe, her eyesround islands of contempt in a sea of face cream, “had you been to public school you would have instantly realised that they were the tops of tomatoes and not real spiders. It’s the oldest trick in the book, along with apple pie beds, although I understand duvets have put a stop to those. Really, I’m amazed you fell for it. Zak’s hilarious ,isn’t he?”
Having been educated through a series of largely benign local state seminaries, Anna’s knowledge of public school had come mostly from Enid Blyton and Seb, neither of whom had mentioned tomato tops. They would, anyway, have failed to register on the Richter scale of prep school nastiness that Seb had suffered—being made to swim outdoors naked in the freezing cold and have Matron smack your penis with a cold spoon were among the more lurid lowlights he had mentioned to Anna. Seen from this angle, it was no surprise Seb had turned out to be the person he was. It was amazing he wasn’t worse.
“And making all that ridiculous noise as well,” Cassandra continued mercilessly. “Zak
“Really gets on your wick, doesn’t it?” Jett drawled. He spoke in a lightly insouciant tone precisely calculated to cause his wife maximum annoyance. He wasn’t a musician for nothing.
Cassandra had stormed out of the room in search of the hapless domestic. She’d had enough. Something had to give. Notice, preferably.
Cassandra tsked now as she snatched down a poster of a grinning David Beckham. “Can’t bear those boy bands, can you? That’s Zak’s bathroom, by the way,” she added, gesturing at the vast white expanse visible through a door ajar at one end of the room. “Make sure you clean behind the sink pedestal. It gets filthy there for some reason.”
“Me? Clean ?”
“Yes, I’ve had to let Lil go, unfortunately,” Cassandra trilled. “So if you could just step in for her for the moment, that would be lovely. Oh, and there’s a pile of ironing downstairs for you—we iron all sheets and underwear here, I’m afraid—and if you could just run round with the Hoover that would be fabulous. Garden could do with a weed and I’m afraid I haven’t had time to go to Waitrose either. To make your first day as easy as possible, Mr. St. Edmunds will do the school run this afternoon as well—you can take over tomorrow morning. Lunch is at one. Roast Mediterranean vegetable terrine, I thought.”
“Lovely,” mumbled Anna, still reeling from the list of tasks.
“So if you start to cook it at about eleven, that should be fine. Right, I’ll leave you to sort yourself out.”
Anna returned upstairs to “her” room and closed the door. She placed her back against it and slid slowly down into a crouch. Looking hopelessly at the bare and cheerless surroundings, she felt the familiar gulping in her throat. She wondered what Seb was doing now. Still in bed probably—it was hardly half past ten, after all. Probably not alone. As tears stung her eyes and began to roll slowly down her cheeks, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard. From millionaire’s Mayfair apartment to skivvy’s boxroom, she reflected. And all in the course of one morning. You’ve come a long way, baby.
***
Anna’s first night on the sofabed was even worse than she had expected. After the endless fetching, carrying, and negotiating involved in putting Zak to bed, she had finally turned back the thin and smelly duvet, only to hear a bloodcurdling howl ricocheting wildly around the walls of the room. It took a few seconds for Anna to realise it was her own.
As the ghastly sight sank in, shock shuddered through her as if from a hairdryer dropped in the bath. There, on the grey-white sheet beneath the duvet, crouched the stark, black and hideously leggy forms of what looked like at least twenty enormous spiders. Anna hated spiders.
“Of course,” Cassandra said, appearing in the room in a baby blue pashmina bathrobe, her eyesround islands of contempt in a sea of face cream, “had you been to public school you would have instantly realised that they were the tops of tomatoes and not real spiders. It’s the oldest trick in the book, along with apple pie beds, although I understand duvets have put a stop to those. Really, I’m amazed you fell for it. Zak’s hilarious ,isn’t he?”
Having been educated through a series of largely benign local state seminaries, Anna’s knowledge of public school had come mostly from Enid Blyton and Seb, neither of whom had mentioned tomato tops. They would, anyway, have failed to register on the Richter scale of prep school nastiness that Seb had suffered—being made to swim outdoors naked in the freezing cold and have Matron smack your penis with a cold spoon were among the more lurid lowlights he had mentioned to Anna. Seen from this angle, it was no surprise Seb had turned out to be the person he was. It was amazing he wasn’t worse.
“And making all that ridiculous noise as well,” Cassandra continued mercilessly. “Zak
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