Liz felt she must compliment Aarav on the individual Yorkshire puddings and the custard which was superbly made, if not to her taste anymore – well not in Goa anyway.
“Well done Aarav,” she complimented him when she visited the kitchen after dinner.
“As long as Madame O’Malley is pleased,” Aarav answered formally, leaving Liz feeling that something was being left unsaid and surprised at his calling her O’Malley in full.
Anjali and Aarav ate together when everything was cleared up from Madame’s dinner. “So,” Aarav said in a very disappointed voice. “After all this time I find that what Madame really wants is an English menu.”
“I wonder,” Anjali replied enigmatically and would be drawn no further.
Liz didn’t understand herself anymore. Alex was technically an excellent lover, yet Liz felt lonely when he rolled away from her after lovemaking. Lonely and somehow empty, she needed to be held tenderly, and found herself with silent tears rolling down her cheeks, unable to cope with her own emotions of sadness.
The more Alex thought about it, the more sense it made. He could stay with Liz in Goa. With modern communications he could keep in touch with his other authors by email and three or four visits a year to England would suffice. Using his laptop he emailed his thoughts to his colleague in England and the reply was encouraging. Gradually he was taking over things at Villa O’Mal – that name would have to change for sure, he decided. Villa Wylde (his surname) had a much better ring to it. He extended his stay to a month, then another month, and by then Liz had completed her first draft of the book, which was now due to be sent to England for editing. It was, Alex thought, her best book to date although he didn’t tell her this – just that it was good but needed a fair amount of editing. It wasn’t that he wanted to put her down, but consciously or subconsciously he certainly wanted to have a hold on her.
Liz emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis. She greeted Anjali on her first morning’s freedom with a hug. Alex was still sleeping. He had been almost aggressively passionate last night and Liz wondered if she was heading for an early menopause, because she neither enjoyed it nor actually – and not for the first time with Alex – did she climax. Alex had started hinting that she was frigid and had it not been for remembering her time with Philip and her marriage to Steve she might have believed him.
There was a seed of doubt growing within her. She felt she was being manipulated these days; she hardly saw the staff whom she had regarded as friends as well as staff, and when she did it was almost as if they avoided her. Ashok wouldn’t look her in the eye. Aarav she never saw and his menus had undergone a most, to her, unfortunate change. As for Anjali, she seemed to have lost her sparkle. She had always been respectful, but they had laughed together in the past and even on occasion wept together.
With a look up the broad staircase that Liz had just walked down and with a sense of urgency in her voice, Anjali spoke very quietly. “Madame O’Malley, a word please, in private.” To Liz’s astonishment, she led the way to her own bedroom with its sitting room off. She almost pushed Liz into a chair and sat down opposite. Liz was thoroughly mystified – Anjali never sat down with her mistress despite Liz begging her too on occasion.
Anjali cleared her throat. “Madame O’Malley, I need to talk to you privately – it is very important.” As if on cue they both heard Alex calling her from the hall. Liz looked at Anjali and saw a certain fear there. Liz put her finger to her lips and tiptoed to the door silently turning the key. She turned back with a smile and was about to say something jokingly – for she still felt the situation was odd enough to be comical – when she realised Anjali was crying. “I’m sorry, Madame. I’m sorry.”
For a few moments, Liz thought Anjali must have done something very wrong. “It doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t – whatever it is you know I will stand by you.” Anjali cried even more, stuffing a handkerchief into her mouth to subdue the sound. Liz heard Alex again, he sounded angry this time.
The sound of his voice seemed to finally spur Anjali into conversation. She began at the beginning, telling Liz how Alex had changed everything. Menus, the running of the house, Ashok and driving, the stables, the garden. Liz was stunned and horrified in equal proportions. How could all this have happened under her nose? How gullible, how foolish she had been – even within herself she had known something was wrong. Her rides had changed, at first subtly, now they were like “hacks” through Hyde Park. The menus, how she had hated the food of late. Stodgy puddings she hardly touched but Alex enjoyed. Anjali so quiet. Ashok so withdrawn. What a fool she had been, an unmitigated fool. She was kneeling on the floor with her arms around Anjali. “It is over,” she said softly. “He will leave today.”
Anjali looked up – the tear-stained face wreathed in a sudden smile. “Oh, Madame O’Malley I thought perhaps you wouldn’t believe me.” Liz believed her, she herself had been undermined on a personal level. He had questioned her response in bed. It was him who was the arrogant bully, she pulled herself up short. She left Anjali’s room through the garden door and when Alex spotted her she was apparently strolling through the garden. “Here you are, Liz. Where have you been? Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
“No,” she answered sweetly. “I was just enjoying the serenity of my garden.” He didn’t appear to note the emphasis. “Let’s have breakfast,” she continued smiling at him brightly.
“I have a surprise for you, Liz.”
“What a coincidence. I have one for you too!” Something in her tone made him look at her sharply but she was smiling.
They walked into the dining room where Liz ate chopped fruit as usual. Pineapple, watermelon and papaya with a few pomegranate seeds. That and coffee was what she enjoyed most at breakfast. To keep Alex company she occasionally had an egg, but this morning she declined.
Alex finished his second soft-boiled egg and said, “I can’t wait any longer. Liz, I have a very important question to ask you – then you can have the present.” He thought Liz looked at him a bit strangely but he assumed it was curiosity, fascination or excitement. There was an expectant hush. “Liz I want you to marry me.” He held up his hand when he saw she was about to speak. “I’ve arranged everything. I can live here and just go back to England two or three times a year. I can take all your worries and stress away – and here, look.”
He jumped up and went to a package in the corner. “Here is an engagement present.” Still stopping her speaking she sat appalled. What monster had she created? The wrapping was off, he held the “engagement” present triumphantly above his head. She looked in total disbelief. “Villa Wylde, your new name, or it will be soon.”
Liz stood up. She had never felt so angry, her voice sounded cold even to her. “You have gone too far Alex.” He tried to interrupt, this time she stopped him. “I have one request, please go upstairs and pack – I want you out of my home and my life forever both personally and professionally.”
He looked dumbfounded. “But Liz you need me!”
“I neither need or want you, you have done enough damage. I will hear no further discussion. There will be a taxi here for you at ten o’clock, you have exactly half an hour,” she said, looking at her watch as she spoke.
Liz swept out of the room and went to her study for the first time, locking the door behind her. There was a light tap on the door. Liz took no notice. “Madame O’Malley, it is me, Anjali.” Liz opened the door and locked it once the woman was inside.
“He will be gone in half an hour. If he is not ready I want Ashok and two of the garden boys to make sure he gets into the taxi. If he isn’t packed then throw his things into a bag and throw it into the taxi after him,” Liz said.
Anjali beamed, but could hardly bring herself to speak. She let herself out of the study and Liz relocked the door. It wasn’t as if she was frightened – she just couldn’t bear to ever see him again. She saw the taxi from the
window. She saw Alex, suitcase in one hand, laptop case in the other. The sound of the wheels on the gravel indicated he was gone and she emerged from her study determined to rebuild the relationships and happiness at Villa O’Mal.
chapter 34
Philip had never been so glad to see the end of the long summer holiday. Admittedly the canal cruise had been good and they, father and sons, seemed to grow closer again. They fished – usually unsuccessfully – from their canal boat. They worked as a team at the locks, one of the trio handling the lock gates, one guiding the boat into the lock and the third using a boating hook to fend the boat away from the lock walls to prevent damage.
At lunch time, they ate huge quantities of baguette with cheeses and salads, washed down with local wine for Philip and generally lemonade for the boys. In the evenings they would tie up near a village or small town and, following delicious aromas, would track down a restaurant. Jack was allowed occasional glasses of wine, whilst Jamie, in true French fashio, was allowed a watered-down version.
They returned to Paris all determined that things would continue as happily, but it was not to be – Jutta saw to that. She and Philip were invited everywhere as a couple these days. Jutta, very carefully and apparently not saying anything at all, let it be known by innuendo that she, in the not too distant future, would be living at the embassy.
She was aware that people pointed to her at social events. “The British Ambassador’s fiancée,” she had heard on one occasion. She was delighted, though cross that Philip was moving so slowly. They had, of course, slept together. He was, in her opinion, an okay lover but too conservative for her rather more exotic tastes. However, that was not a problem. She could always go elsewhere for the “extras” as she liked to think of them.
Philip tried to tell her about the holiday she had missed but she didn’t seem particularly interested so he stopped talking about it. What she did want to talk about was the continual and constant rudeness of his sons. “I don’t see it,” Philip said.
She smiled cynically. “Of course not Philip, they are perfect in front of you, but when you are not there – the things, the hurtful, terrible things they say…”
He spoke to them and they completely denied everything their father mentioned. She had been very specific, he mentioned those things. Both boys denied saying or doing any of the things they were being accused of, but they realised they were not being believed.
It was actually Jamie’s idea. “He needs to hear her say the things she does, how can we work that Jack?” he said, appealing with total confidence to his older brother.
“Jamie I always knew you were brilliant.” Jamie looked bemused. “Listen,” said Jack, and told Jamie “The Plan”.
“Do you think it will work?” Jamie wondered dubiously.
“It’s got to – it is our only chance.”
The following morning there were two rather unusual conversations. “Dad,” Jamie said over breakfast. “I need to talk to you about a rather personal matter.” Philip raised his eyebrows.
“Really Jamie, well I’m listening?”
“Oh no,” Jamie said quickly. “Privately please.” Philip looked mystified and a concerned look crossed his face. The boys were not exactly in his good books at the moment, but his younger son had a worried look on his face that Philip could not ignore. “I have a busy day, how about six p.m. in my study? I shall be leaving at seven with Jutta.”
“That’s perfect,” Jamie grinned, then, remembering he was meant to be worried, added, “I mean that’s perfectly okay with me. Thank you, Dad.”
*
The second conversation was conducted in German. Jack had never been so pleased that his language skills would be put to such special use. She certainly would not recognise his voice over the telephone because she would not anticipate him speaking German to her.
“Fraulein Weidenfeller?”
“Yes,” she answered abruptly.
“Ah Fraulein Weidenfeller the British Embassy here. The Ambassador has requested that you arrive one hour earlier than arranged. He has a surprise, I understand he wishes to share with you.”
“Who are you? Why is a German working at the British Embassy?”
“Actually, Fraulein Weidenfeller, my mother is English and my father German, but as I was educated in England, I joined the British Diplomatic Service. I am the Ambassador’s new personal assistant. I look forward to meeting you,” Jack continued smoothly. “You are, I believe, to become the Ambassador’s wife.” There was a gasp at the other end of the telephone. Jack cursed himself – perhaps he had gone too far.
He need not have worried. Jutta was so sure of herself that she presumed the new personal assistant had been taken into Philip’s confidence. She almost purred down the telephone, “Tell the Ambassador I shall be at the embassy promptly at six.”
“Auf wiedersehen Frau Weidenfeller,” Jack said quietly, putting down the telephone.
His brother, who had been listening to the entire conversation, whooped with delight. “We’ve done it! We’ve done it!”
“That is only part one,” Jack said seriously. “Let’s hope part two goes as smoothly.”
It was a long day for the two boys. Philip was ready to see Jamie at a quarter to six so Jamie had to hide until six p.m. for fear of spoiling “the plan”. Promptly at six p.m., the embassy bell rang and as per instructions from Master Jack, the butler showed Fraulein Weidenfeller into the salon. Jack was standing under the portrait of his mother, which he had been looking at before she arrived as if to draw strength from it.
At precisely one minute past six, Jamie knocked on the study door. Earlier, Jack had opened the interconnecting door between the two rooms about an inch. “Where is the Ambassador?” Jutta asked Jack. “Your father!” Philip, in the study, thinking he had heard Jutta, started up from his desk. Jamie came round and laid a restraining arm on his father’s. “Dad, this is my time with you, remember?” Philip sat back in his chair with half an ear to a rather strange conversation that seemed to be taking place in the next room.
“Why are you so horrid to us, except when Dad’s there of course?” Jack’s question was heard clearly in the study. “Because I can’t stand you or that little brother of yours,” Jutta replied. Philip made as if to stand and once again Jamie laid a restraining arm.
“But this is our home,” Jack said.
“Not for long, little boy. I will soon be Philip’s wife, and as far as I am concerned you can stay at school, you certainly won’t be welcome here.” Her tone was cutting and as frigid as it always was with them. “Now, where is your father? I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“You think my father will marry you?” Jack asked quietly.
“I have him in the palm of my hand, he will marry me very soon and you will be out!”
Philip had heard enough. He walked into the room, leaving a grinning Jamie behind him. “Jack,” said his father. “Leave us.” Jack joined his brother in the study, making sure the door was still slightly ajar. “Jutta, you will leave this embassy immediately. Our relationship is over, I am horrified that I believed you over my sons – you have done so much damage it is unforgivable. What is more, I shall see that in future you are not included in this or any other embassy’s functions, so, knowing your ambitious nature, I suggest you find another capital city, but I hope for his sake you don’t find another fool.”
He rang the bell over her protestations and denials and she was shown out of the embassy for the last time.
chapter 35
It had taken time to get Villa O’Mal back on an even keel again. Ashok felt he should no longer drive Liz, so she had to make up reasons that meant he had no option but to. In a strange way, Alex had done her a favour where Ashok was concerned, for once he got over the worry about driving her she noticed he actually was a steadier and more thoughtful driver than before.
A
arav had to be cajoled back into his former style of cooking, which he happily returned to once he understood what had taken place. Liz started enjoying his cooking again and to make him feel better she threw a series of luncheons and dinners encouraging him to be as adventurous as he liked. He had developed an interest and delight in Chinese cooking, and lotus stems in honey became not only a favourite of Liz’s but of guests too, who hoped it was to be on the menu when they came to dine. Chicken wonton soup, followed by chicken in chilli and honey was another favourite. Nina, too, was back in the kitchen having, unbeknownst to Liz, been banished from the house.
Anjali was the first to recover. Realising that Liz needed support herself, she rallied, and the house seemed to give a sigh of relief and settle down again.
As for Coco and Guinness, once more they cantered along the beach. Liz seldom bothered with saddle and bridle, meaning all three of them could swim in the sea. She felt renewed and cleansed and life became good again.
The letter from Kathy when it arrived gave her quite a jolt. It enclosed an article supposedly written by the literary agency but in fact, Liz quickly recognised Alex’s style. Alex had supposedly been interviewed about new and existing authors. In it he said, “Of course Liz O’Malley is a ‘has been’” and they were no longer her agents and extremely unhappy with her latest submission.
Liz had seldom been so angry. She telephoned England and spoke to the senior partner of the literary agency. In no uncertain terms, she explained how she had thrown Alex out of her house and refused to let him handle her book. The senior partner promised that the matter would be put right but she had little or no faith in his protestations and informed him she would be taking her business elsewhere.
It was the article that was actually a turning point for her. An American publisher who had long admired her work contacted her by email. He was representing a large and highly reputed publishing house and, at his request, Liz promptly sent him a copy of her latest novel. Three days later she was offered a contract of such immense proportions that she had to sit down rather rapidly.
The Portuguese House Page 17