Fresh tea is brought in, but Leo and Cecilia leave it unpoured. Leo sits in an armchair, on the edge of the cushion, elbows on his knees and hands clasped so that he can lean forwards in some mimicry of a serious pose he has seen men adopt at his office.
‘I suppose we’d better talk about it now. Sit down.’
Cecilia sits down.
Perhaps tomorrow, she will wake up and it will be summer again. Perhaps the house will burn down in the night. Perhaps she will be the Queen of Sheba or a house cat, or the trees will start to speak.
She cannot play the game anymore. She cannot pretend.
‘Do you think we can eat jam tarts for supper?’ she asks Leo.
His expression doesn’t change. ‘Odette isn’t here to humour your silliness. The both of you have been given far too much free rein and look where that got Odette. She should have been brought under control long before now. You must listen to me.’
‘Only they are so colourful and everything is so grey. We could eat all the colour and then we’d carry it around inside us and we’d never have to feel grey again.’
Leo ploughs on as though she hasn’t spoken. ‘Mother was right when she said that after Aunt Lydia died, we were living on Claudine’s good graces. Claudine has spoken to me, and while she was happy enough to let the three of us live here, things are different now. Mother is dead. I’ve been considering moving into digs with some friends for a while. It so happens that a place has come up, and I was rather meaning to move out. Which just leaves you.’
‘Me,’ she echoes. Last on the list.
‘Yes. And it doesn’t really seem a good use of the place to house only you, especially if you’re off at university half the time.We can’t afford to pay for you to have two places to live.’
Cecilia pours a cup of tea for something to do with her hands. The china is fine and delicately painted, and the heat burns against her cold fingers. The set was an unexpected gift from Lydia, found in Herne House and given with that confusing generosity Lydia had, which sometimes seemed more like self-flagellation.
‘I don’t want to go back to university,’ she says. ‘It isn’t what I imagined. It is the greyest place.’
Leo laughs, harsh and unkind, and for the first time Cecilia wonders whether the love between them will be enough to withstand the hate they have been left with. She understands now that she is the only thing Leo has inherited. Another difficulty to overcome.
‘That’s your problem, Cessy – always imagining, never thinking. The tuition fees and your accommodation are already paid up for the year, so you’d better go back, as there won’t be anywhere else for you to go.’
‘But what about Mother’s stipend?’ she asks, hating herself for how plaintive she sounds.What about Mother’s stipend, what about Lydia’s paintings, what about Odette.There are no simple answers, yet she keeps searching.
‘Will you listen? There is no stipend. Mother and Father never married – when he died, we were left with nothing. All we have inherited from Mother is debt. She said she had the finances sorted, but the truth is: she kept up appearances, running up bills anywhere that would credit her. It’s all come due now. Claudine has said she and Uncle George will cover the debt, but they cannot fund us now we are grown. As I said, you’re paid up at Oxford for another two terms, but after that, you can look for positions as a governess. Claudine said she might know a good family or two who’d have you.’
Cecilia curls back into the chair. ‘Oh.’
‘Now, don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault you dallied around with Odette instead of finding yourself a secure match. And now – well. You’re a bastard. No man will take you.’ He speaks so plainly. It is fact.
‘Spoilt goods,’ she says. ‘Bruised fruit from the market floor.’
‘If you want to be dramatic about it. I don’t think Mother did you a kindness by indulging you. She let you believe you and Odette were the same for too long. You will have to take a position as a governess, and now you have looked at reality head-on, if you don’t like that idea, you can work out something else.’
Cecilia stares into the tea, pale with too much milk, just as she has always drunk it, since she was a child. ‘I don’t think I’ll be any good as a governess.’
‘Then work out how you can be.’ Leo rises, takes his coat from where it has been drying by the fire. ‘I am just as alone as you are. I will have to work for my bread. I know it is harder on you as a woman. I am sorry, but that is simply how it is.’
He shakes the last droplets from his coat as he puts it on and knots his scarf tight around his neck.
‘I’m going to the office. Probably won’t be back for dinner, so don’t wait for me. I suppose Cook can have a tray brought to the parlour for you.’ He pauses, one glove on, and regards her curiously. ‘I suppose you are mistress of this house now, even if it will be only for a short while.’
Mistress of the house. Employment as a governess. Yes, yes. All these plans.
Claudine has so many plans. Why is it that she alone has brought her will to bear upon the world? What magic does she possess to be so in control of her life? Has she struck some strange bargain that grants her a freedom withheld from the rest of them?
The front door slams behind Leo, and Cecilia watches fromthe window as he dashes through the rain, umbrella overhead. He has somewhere to go.
All Cecilia has is herself.
3
