“Mmm, I love a man who understands fashion,” said Donna. “No, it’s not the same one, silly, but it is an exact replica.”
“Chanel,” said Danny. “I’ve seen all the documentaries. I’ve watchedThe Crownthree times.”
“Good for you,” said Donna. “Princess Diana did adore Chanel, may she rest in peace.”
“Yes, may she rest in peace.” Danny and Cleo’s mother shared a moment of creepy connection while Cleo watched, shell-shocked. “Of course, Diana didn’t wearthishat withthisdress,” said Donna. “I took artistic license.”
“Somehow you make it work with the aqua,” said Danny. “Gorgeous.” Cleo swallowed. Danny loved to charm.
“Wait til you see the rest of my Princess Diana–inspired outfits,” said Donna. “I have a suitcase full. And by the way, Cleo,where’s the butler?” Donna gestured to a giant red suitcase with wheels that was certainlynotinspired by a princess. In fact, Cleo realized, it was the suitcase she herself had bought at Dillard’s to take to university.
“There’s no butler, Mom,” said Cleo.
“I’d be happy to help you with your luggage,” said Danny.
“Ooooh, and you look strong enough to do the job,” said Donna. She simpered at Danny, then turned to Cleo and spoke again in her creepy whisper. “If this hunkisn’tyour Danny, do tell,” she said, raising her eyebrows and gripping Danny tight, as if he were going to attempt to escape, which—judging from his expression—was a distinct possibility.
“I’m notanyone’sDanny,” said Danny.
“Well, that’s good news,” said Cleo’s mother. “I’m not anyone’s Donna!”
The two laughed, and Cleo was filled with fury and despair for herself and for the world.
3
Emma
-$48,005.03
“Penelope’s mother, Thisbe, is awitch,” said Jameson, flopping into the Adirondack chair next to his mother. Emma, who was very much enjoying her time talking to no one and sipping a plum gin and tonic while eating some sort of tiny meat pie, did not reply. Emma rarely drank alcohol—after overdoing it a few times while the kids were young (and remembering Donna’s cruelty when she drank), she’d switched from booze to tea years ago but did enjoy a tipple on special occasions.
“I mean, she’s not arealwitch,” said Jameson. “I just didn’t want to say the other word.”
“Did Penelope say the other word?”
The side of Jameson’s mouth twitched. “No,” he lied.
“WhatdidPenelope say?”
“OK,” said Jameson leaning in, finishing the last of his Shirley Temple and placing his crystal glass precariously on the lawn. “So Penelope’s mom isneverhome. Penelope has a nanny, like a person who lives with them, and this lady, from, like, Russia, takes care of Penelope, but she doesn’t even like her. And Penelope’s mom, Thisbe, is just, like, MIA! That meansmissing in action.”
Emma frowned. Across the lawn, she saw Penelope doing cartwheels in a very fancy smocked dress, her frilled underwear visible as she went around. Penelope had abandoned her shoes and lacy socks and the tight braids Sylvie had made for her were falling out. No one was taking care of this sweet girl? Emma was horrified, her righteousness perhaps enhanced by her cocktail, which maybe Angus had made a teeny bit strong. “Well,” she said, “some kids have nannies. Especially in New York City.”
“And the maybe Russian lady just watches inappropriate television all night and Penelope’s mom iswho knows wherein fancy clothes, and Penelope is all alone in her room and she held up a sign saying hi to the man across the alley or whatever it’s called but the man didn’t write a note back!”
“Like the Taylor Swift video,” murmured Emma, “but with a grown man. Oh, dear.”
“And Thisbe, the witch, she once had to stay in bed for a month because a doctor vacuumed out her stomach fat!” reported Jameson. “And!” said Jameson, his tattletale-with-a-tale energy rising. “Also thedogsjust sit inside all day! The maybe Russian lady, her name is Vladma, she literally takes the poodles down in an elevator to a lobby in a building and walks ten feet outside and makes them poop on the pavement and then goesback inside!”
“Vladma?” said Emma.
“Something like that. Maybe Velma?” said Jameson. “Anyway, we want to stay here, at Mumberton Castle, and then we can keep Penelope here, too. It’sher castle!”
“Oh, sweetie,” said Emma. “We can’t stay here. But I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“Mom,” said Jameson. “Guinness says his stomach doesn’t hurt here. I can learn about falcons and become a falconer. There’s like hundreds of rooms and Penelope said I can pick whichever I want, even though some are reserved for tourists, and she knows which ones are haunted and she needs a real mom.”
Emma felt a rush of gratitude. How had she thought everything was lost when she had this boy? “Oh, honey,” she said.
