‘You’re a parasite,’ she says, staring at me coldly.
‘We never really bonded, did we?’ I say, although she’s spot on with her description. Age hasn’t wearied her perception at all.
‘You stole him from his fiancée.’ Her body leans forward, showing more determination than I imagined she had. ‘He loved her. I loved her. She was from better stock.’
‘Eugenics is frowned upon these days, Madeleine. And she was sleeping with one of his friends. Not so classy.’
‘Liar,’ says Madeleine, trying to shift herself onto her elbows. ‘You made it all up, as you always do. I know what you are.’
‘And what’s that?’ I say.
‘A nothing from nowhere,’ she says, her eyes twinkling with delight as she looks me up and down. ‘A charade. But I found your shadow. I found Lola Wells. The poor girl taken into care with a murderer for a mother.’
‘My name is Lalla Rook.’
‘Is it, indeed? You made up this fantasy of who you are and fooled everyone. But not me, and now it’s all coming apart at the seams,’ she says.
‘We’re all inventions, Madeleine. Some are born with their masks on, others have to create one to survive. We all strive for more. You’re no better than me.’
‘I am better than you. I don’t need to lie and cheat to find a husband. I’m going to tell Stephen all about you, and then we’ll see what happens. Would’ve done it already, if I hadn’t had heart failure.’
‘I think you’ve been suffering heart failure most of your life, Madeleine. You’ll convince him I’m someone else and you think, along with your threat to disinherit him, that’ll be enough.’
‘Seems like checkmate, Lalla.’
‘Actually, I find it quite reassuring. If he was leaving me because he’d found someone else or had fallen out of love, I might worry, but if it’s just due to your lies and money, then I can do something about it,’ I say, taking her wrist and squeezing it until she squeals and pulls away.
‘He’s never loved you, Lalla, because you’re not real. You’rea set of reflections. Now, you have a choice. You can agree to a divorce on amicable terms and avoid public humiliation, or I’ll not only tell Stephen, I’ll release everything I know to the press, and prove he married you under false pretences. You’ll get nothing.’
‘You shouldn’t threaten me, Madeleine.’
‘Oh, I believe I just have,’ she says with a smile. ‘And let this be a warning – I’ve only just scratched the surface with you. I know there’s more. I daren’t think what I’ll find next if I carry on scraping around in the mud, so your best move would be to disappear and take your funny little children with you.’
‘Pardon?’ I say, my stomach lurching. ‘My children?’
‘Everyone knows, Lalla. Everyone talks about them behind your back. Nathan’s sweet but he’s a bit of a simpleton, and Nelly is just strange. God knows how Stephen has stayed so long. I always told him not to mingle his genes with the lower orders. Use them for fun, but don’t bloody breed with them.’
I have to stand and turn away or she’ll see my distress. I feel my legs weaken as I take two small steps to the window. I want to feel strong now, but I don’t feel any strength at all. I want to curl up and lie on the floor. In the face of attack, I’ve always been able to punch right back harder, but I can’t focus now. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, and I can’t think.
I steady myself on the windowsill and feel the cold stone against my hands. Outside, I can’t quite see the lake any more as it’s lost in a layer of mist.
‘Just go back to whatever hole you came from,’ she says, ‘and I won’t dig any deeper.’
Chapter61Headmistress
Friday, 10 January
Mrs Pembury is resplendent. She’s hosting a secondary school evening at Adams, where five heads from the key senior schools give a sales pitch about their hundred acres of parkland, Olympicsized swimming pools and Michelin-starred catering teams to the parents of current Year 5 and 6 girls.
I’m not interested in secondaries as yet. I just wanted to have a word with the head and she didn’t get back to a single one of my thirty-four emails, which I find unprofessional. I have to sit through four generic monologues, and my boredom is only slightly alleviated by one gorgeous headmaster that all the mums talk about.
I don’t drink too much of their Chilean sauvignon blanc (they could do better), and I don’t ask difficult questions. I just stare at Mrs Pembury from the audience, which seems to put her off balance.
I wait by the door as she goes through her clever social interaction with each and every parent. I’m probably the only non-Adams parent present but one of the best dressed. They’re all parading luxury loungewear with Ugg boots and cashmere sweaters, but I’ve made an effort.
When it’s my turn (and I do ensure I’m last in the queue), Mrs Pembury’s seemingly endless stream of graceful smiles dries up.
‘Hello Mrs Pembury. Lalla Rook,’ I say, and hold out my hand.
