“What the hell is going on here?” George walked into the room just as Joanie tore the door open on her way out. “I could hear you shouting all the way from the drive,” George told his father.
As if by magic, Mrs B and Nurse Ann melted out ofthe room.
Millie and George looked at each other, then turned to the old man.
“Get out,” Du Montfort barked. He hadn’t dismissed her like this for a long time. It was a reminder of the early days when he used to tell her to “get out” three times a day.
She was near the door, so she turned to go.
“Not you, you ninny. You stay.Youcan go.” He glared at his son. “Millie, you’re a proper English girl, you must know toad-in-the-hole.”
“Yes,” said Millie, then kept her mouth shut. When her boss was in one of his tempers, she relied on her granny’s advice:Least said, soonest mended.
George didn’t seem to have that particular wisdom. “Is this explosion really about supper?” he asked her. “Is my father goin—”
“Don’t talk about me as though I weren’t in the room. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to do that afterI’m dead.”
Both men glared at each other.
Just then, a hand shot through the double doors, grasped Millie’s arm and pulled her out. She stumbled out into the gallery, and Nurse Ann caught her. Putting her finger to her lips, she led Millie downstairs to the half landing, where Mrs B was waiting.
Millie looked up, frowning. “He was talking to me.”
“Not anymore,” Ann said. “He’s talking to his son now. Best keep out of the way. Remember what happened last time?”
“Let’s go and find Joanie before she packs her bags,” Mrs B said. A deep frown troubled her usually kind face. They all hurried down to the ground floor.
Kitchen
Joanie, when they found her, was in the kitchen, emptying food into the rubbish bin and throwing the pot into the sink. There were still tears in her eyes, but if the ferocity of her pot cleaning was anything to go by, they were tears of rage, not sadness.
“Joanie, sweetheart, he doesn’t really mean it,” Millie said. “Come and sit down, and let’s havesome tea.”
Mrs B took the dirty saucepan from Joanie and pushed her towards the table as Millie put the kettle on and found cups and teapot.
“I’m not sorry,” said Joanie. “I wanted to leave anyway.”
“Now, now,” Mrs B tried to calm her down. “Nobody wants you to leave, it’s just a storm in a tea cup. Soon blow over.”
But Joanie was not mollified. “I’ve been here four years, long enough to pay my dues. I can now get a better job in one of the posh hotels in Jerseyor even—”
“No, please don’t resign, Joanie,” Millie begged. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“You would do just fine. You don’t think my career ambition was working like a skivvy in this kitchen?” Joanie turned to Mrs B. “This was my training. You’ll give me a good reference, no?”
“Of course, dear, but it needn’t come to that.” Mrs B gave Millie a worried look as she brought the teapot tothe table.
“I want more from my life,” said Joanie. “Huh. If you think old Genghis Khan upstairs is going to keep me here to make him stupid English food—Boeph.”
Ann helped pour the tea. “I don’t think Genghis Khan likes English food. Wasn’t he Mongolian?”
Joanie shrugged. “It was always my plan, yes? Work here for a time, then move.”
“Really?” Millie hadn’t thought about the future and assumed the three women would always be here.
“I am still young,” Joanie said as Millie handed her a cup of tea. “I want to live, I have dreams.” She looked at all of them. “Maybe I will compete onMasterChefand win.”
“Bollocks to tea.” Ann got up from the table and reached into a cupboard under the counter for a bottle of Irish whiskey. “We need a proper drink.”
