To make matters more chaotic, Barnaby and Cecily’s two daughters Araminta and Lucinda – now known as Lucie – had also turned up, Araminta complete with husband Rufus. The girls had been spoiled with material gifts as children, Florence had told her in letters over the years, always wearing the most expensive clothes, but sadly never really being given proper attention by their parents who’d treated their arrival in the world as an inconvenience, an irritating dampening of their social life. Perhaps as a result of this, Araminta and Lucie had developed into two types of extremes, clinging on desperately to what gave meaning to their lives; the former, Araminta, marrying a man with money and living an utterly indulged and pampered lifestyle while apparently not truly caring much about anything. And the latter – Lucie – turning her back on such ways and transforming into a hard-working socialist, marrying – out of love – a man with no money. She seemed to care rather a lot about the awful problems in the world, to the point where it almost made her ill.
Sister Veronica looked over at Araminta and Rufus. They were already on their third bottle of wine, opulent in their expensive clothes, their cheeks magenta, and their unchecked criticism in full flow. They were currently laughing at Coco’s dramatic departure.
‘It’s your fault for having children, old chap,’ Rufus was saying to Magnus as he reached for a new bottle. ‘I have no sympathy for you whatsoever. And to think, you could have been sensible and chosen a brat-free life like Minty and I. We can travel whenever we want, spend our money just how we please, and I’m planning to retire next year at the grand old age of forty-eight because I don’t have to work my fingers to the bone trying to save an inheritance for any blood-sucking offspring.’
‘Yes,’ Araminta said, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Exactly, Rufie. I personally can’t stand teenagers, they’re all so bloody moody. If we did have one they’d be packed off to boarding school until they were at least eighteen.’
‘Yup.’ Rufus gave a loud chuckle. ‘Then I’d go and collect them from the gates, shake their hand, say well done, and send them out into the world to make a living. There’s too much molly-coddling of children that goes on these days if you ask me. Doesn’t do them any favours. Stops them from becoming independent and actually getting off their arses to achieve anything.’
Magnus just stared at his glass of wine, saying nothing, his shoulders drooping.
‘I’m not bloody moody,’ Wilfred called down the table, shaking his hair from his eyes. Good Lord, Sister Veronica thought, looking at his untamed mop, that boy needs a haircut with urgency. ‘And I’ve achieved quite a lot, I’ve taken four GCSEs a year early and I got top marks in all of them.’ But Araminta and Rufus were concentrating on refilling their glasses and took no notice of him. Sister Veronica gave Wilfred an encouraging smile. She’d rather warmed to the fact-loving, serious boy, and couldn’t help silently agreeing with his prosaic assessments of his seventeen-year-old sister. But she must be careful not to laugh or smile at him if his comments became too extreme; no, that would never do at all. One must set a good example to these young people, she thought. Someone has to, for goodness’ sake.
‘No doubt you’ll be criticising me when Neil and the boys arrive, Rufus.’ Lucie’s eyes were sparking with anger as she leaned forwards towards her brother-in-law. Her outfit was more everyday high street than the boutique wear preferred by her sibling, Sister Veronica noticed, which probably reflected their incomes. ‘As per usual. But I actually love my children and believe in hands-on parenting. So make all the jokes you want when they get here but I don’t care, I’m going to carry on doing things my way. I don’t believe in all this tough love shit and healthy neglect you lot like to bandy around.’ Lucie’s husband Neil and children Ryan and Nathan were due to arrive at any time, their tardiness – Florence had explained – due to a rugby match in Milton Keynes that both boys had played in. ‘Anyway, you don’t even have children, so what gives you the right to dictate how they should be brought up?’
‘Oh God, Germaine Greer’s arrived,’ Rufus snorted. ‘Didn’t realise I was coming to a feminist rally.’
Araminta shrieked with laughter.
‘She’s always been like that, haven’t you, Luce?’ she said. ‘Always taking life a bit too seriously. Like the short hair by the way, did you choose convenience over style with that one?’
‘Well at least I don’t look like a drunk pig who’s been stuffed into a corset,’ Lucie spat back. ‘Alcohol does contain so many calories, don’t you find, Araminta?’
‘Girls, girls, settle down.’ Giles’ eyes were amused, as he leaned forward towards his nieces, his huge belly pushing against the table. ‘I like watching a cat fight as much as the next man, but it’s Christmastime, hey? I once held a party for my staff at the Cheval Blanc Villa, you know, the elite hotel owned by that Saudi businessman Ahmad? He’s a good friend of mine actually. I could tell you some stories about the devilish things we’ve got up to together in the past but I won’t as ladies are present.’ His laugh was filled with undisguised smuttiness.
Sister Veronica shifted in her seat, purposefully not looking at him, correcting the positon of her knife and fork on her plate loudly.
‘Two of the secretaries got into an actual fist fight on the dance floor,’ Giles said. ‘It was beyond hilarious. They were sloshed, of course. I’d been feeding them Dom Perignon all evening, had to get them all sozzled as that’s part of the fun of the whole thing – seeing who will end up with who at the end of the night. Apparently, one had told a joke that the other had taken offence to. My goodness, you should have seen them go at it. Blood was drawn, it was fantastic – I can’t tell you how us chaps enjoyed watching it unfold. I actually took bets on who would win. Ah, that really was a great night.’ He broke off again to chuckle. ‘But now it’s nearly Christmas, so let’s hold back on the fisticuffs until at least Boxing Day shall we, ladies?’ He looked around at the assembled company, a wicked grin breaking out across his meaty face.
Maud giggled, while staring into the middle distance.
‘You two always annoy each other,’ she said. ‘Don’t you, girls?’
Great Saints, Sister Veronica thought, watching Maud. What a pointless comment. Will no one tell these two grown women to shut up and act their age? They both must be in their forties. It’s like a zoo here, everyone braying and snorting whenever they please. Give me the convent dinner table any day. Even putting up with Sister Irene’s Bible quotations is better than listening to this spite and bile being thrown around by adults, who frankly, should know better.
‘I see you’ve had the place redecorated, Giles. Yet again.’ Cecily cleared her throat and looked around her, pursing her lips. ‘Not to my taste, if I’m honest.’ Sister Veronica briefly raised her eyes to the ceiling. Here we go again, she thought.
‘Well, business is doing brilliantly at the moment.’ Giles smiled, enjoying his sister-in-law’s disapproval. ‘The profits of Beresford’s Breaded Wonders just keep flying in. And Flo likes to keep the place looking bright, don’t you, darling?’
‘Sorry?’ Florence took a moment to respond as she lifted her gaze from the table. ‘What did you say, Giles?’ She didn’t hear a word her husband had just said about his secretaries fighting, Sister Veronica thought. Probably used to listening to stories like that. I don’t know how she puts up with him, arrogant fool.
‘I’m so glad the fish finger business is booming,’ Cecily said, her mouth puckering. ‘You must be proud, Giles, to have built up such a worthy empire over the years.’
‘I am top of my game at the moment.’ Giles licked his lips, ignoring Cecily’s digs as much as he was ignoring his wife’s sickly countenance. ‘Never been better, in actual fact. No thanks to the idiot manager I fired last month, he was dragging his feet and I don’t need any dead wood on the team. You should have seen the look on his face when I gave him his marching orders, thought the spineless wimp was actually going to blub.’
Maud smiled at Giles, focusi
ng her gaze on him, apparently finding his egotistical self-image very acceptable.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Lucie said, turning towards her uncle. ‘Neil and I are actually vegetarians. I have told you and Auntie Florence this several times, but no one ever seems to listen and bother to prepare suitable food. And the boys are pescatarians. Although I never buy them fish fingers, only fresh salmon and sea bass. Just thought it worth mentioning. Again. I obviously only ate the veg today. I’ve brought a frozen nut roast with me, and I’m going to ask Mrs Hardman to cook it for my family on Christmas Day.’ Sister Veronica watched Araminta roll her eyes at this piece of news. Rita Hardman, Florence had explained to Sister Veronica, was a local woman from Little Ashby who’d been with the family for years. She was clearly going to have her work cut out feeding this mob on the twenty-fifth. If nothing else, Sister Veronica thought, she was going to enjoy piling on a few more pounds during her stay.
‘You’re such a fucking hippy, Luce,’ Araminta slurred, draining her fourth glass. ‘Maybe that’s why you’re so miserable, you need a nice fat juicy steak to cheer you up.’
‘Rare,’ Rufus snorted. ‘Literally dripping in blood, to get her iron levels back to normal.’
‘Or you could just donate some of your fat to me,’ Lucie said, her voice a snarl. ‘The pair of you have enough blubber to coat a school of whales.’
Sister Veronica stood up, smoothing down her habitually worn long-sleeved shirt and tweed skirt. Like all the nuns in her convent, she hadn’t donned a habit for years.
‘Thank you all for a lovely evening,’ she said, placing her napkin in a neat heap to the left of her plate. ‘The food really was excellent, I’ll have to tell Mrs Hardman when I see her, and I hope you all enjoy the pudding. I’m afraid I’ve developed a headache, so if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go and find a quiet corner to rest in.’ And I can’t stand another minute of this obnoxious tittle-tattling, she added to herself, taking care to keep her expression bland. She was, after all, a guest, and had been brought up with enough manners to know how to behave in company, unlike many of the heathens present. But in her mind she was there for Florence and no one else, and from now on intended to limit her exposure to the rabble’s endless tiresome conflict as much as possible.
‘I’ll come with you.’ Florence pushed back her chair and stood up, as various sentiments were called from around the table.
‘It’s like having Mother Teresa staying with us,’ Sister Veronica heard Rufus whisper loudly as she exited the room. ‘At least we can swear properly now.’
Maud’s silly chuckle annoyed her more than Rufus’ words.
She exhaled as she walked down the oak-panelled corridor, glancing over to her cousin, her skirt’s waistband feeling significantly tighter than it had earlier.
‘I’m so sorry, V,’ Florence said, using her old pet name for her, looking back. ‘That lot are a damned nightmare, I know they are. They’re always the same when they get together, snapping, backbiting, trying to outdo each other. It’s so embarrassing but none of them seem to care. I never know what to do about it, they don’t listen to a word I say. If I try to intervene and introduce some good manners they just make fun of me. And God knows where we went wrong with Coco, I sometimes think she needs a good slap.’
‘Sometimes a good hard shock works wonders,’ Sister Veronica murmured. ‘Although teenage girls seem rife with hormones these days, more so than when we were young. Don’t fret too much, Flo, there’s no reason why Coco won’t grow into a fine young lady eventually. And it must be hard for her, her parents fighting so much. Perhaps it’s having more of an effect on her than anyone realises.’
Florence shook her head. She seems to be shrinking as she walks, Sister Veronica thought, taking in her cousin’s bowing shoulders, and stooped back. She looks so much older than me now. What on earth is wrong? It can’t just be the ghastly relatives.
‘Flo, listen,’ she said, stopping in the big hall in front of the old oak front door. She looked around, checking they were alone. ‘Why did you really invite me here? I can see something’s bothering you, but I can’t help you unless you tell me what it is.’
Florence also stopped, bringing her pale, puffy gaze to meet Sister Veronica’s.
‘Oh, V, there is something actually,’ she said, her mouth trembling. ‘I’m so sorry, I did really want to see you, catch up like old times and all that. But something terrible has been going on and I didn’t know who to turn to. I racked my brain and tried to think of the most trustworthy person I know, and if I’m completely honest you were the only person who sprang to mind. You’re the only person I know who has a thoroughly good heart. And I can’t talk to any of these idiots.’ She gestured back down the corridor towards the dining room. ‘For obvious reasons. None of the selfish lot of them have ever been any good at giving advice, apart from Wilfred, and he’s still a child. Maud’s pretty harmless, and Lucie’s not too bad when you get her away from Araminta. Those two always bring out the worst in each other. But I can’t talk to her, not about this.’
Sister Veronica smiled. Now we’re getting somewhere, she thought.
‘Florence, I’m glad you think I might be able to help,’ she said gently. ‘Now why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you.’
‘Right.’ Florence breathed out, her eyes a shade brighter. ‘Well, you see–’
DING, the doorbell rang.
Voices could be heard outside.
Sister Veronica smiled at her cousin’s frustrated expression.
‘Why don’t you answer that, Florence? We have all evening to talk,’ she said. ‘I promise we’ll make some time later, I’ll make sure of it.’
‘I’m so sorry, V, it must be Lucie’s Neil and the boys.’ Florence walked over to the door. ‘There’s always something going on in this house at the moment, I never get a moment’s peace.’ She arranged her face into a dutifully welcoming expression, undid the bolts, turned the key and opened the door.
The most stunning young lady Sister Veronica had ever seen stood quietly on the doorstep, dressed in an elegant Chanel suit. Behind her was a man who was wheeling two suitcases towards the door, and to the right of her, holding on very tightly to her hand, was a frightened-looking young boy.
‘Ophelia,’ Florence breathed, seeming momentarily thrown. ‘How lovely to see you. I’m so sorry, my dear, I forgot you were arriving this evening. Do come in.’
‘I phoned this morning and spoke to Giles. He said it would be fine for us to arrive a day earlier than we’d planned,’ the young woman said in perfect tones. ‘I just presumed he’d pass the news on to you?’
‘He probably did, and it probably escaped my head for the merest second.’ Florence smiled, ushering the party in towards the warm. ‘You know what us old ladies are like, memories like sieves. Of course it’s fine for you to arrive today, Ophelia. Please, come in and make yourself at home.’
Sister Veronica absentmindedly stepped to one side as the new guests made their way into the hall. For a moment, she became lost in thought as she gazed at the faint bluish-purple bruise around Ophelia’s eye. The girl had tried to hide it with make-up, of course, but the mark covered a large area and its colours were too deep to be fully hidden for long. Florence, now busy bustling around and bending down to welcome the little boy, didn’t seem to have noticed it, or wasn’t showing any signs of doing so. With a rush of cold air, the man who’d arrived with Ophelia swished the cases inside and closed the door.
‘Oh, Veronica, let me introduce you to Ophelia and Sam.’ Florence smiled as she stood up, arms outstretched around the pair. ‘Ophelia is our niece, my brother Tarquin’s daughter, God rest his soul. And I’m very pleased to introduce you to my darling cousin, Sister Veronica,’ she said to Ophelia. ‘And this,’ she said, nodding to the tall man now training his dark eyes onto Sister Veronica, ‘is Digby.’
2
Sister Veronica met the hooded gaze of the man standing before her. His eyes really were the blacke
st she’d ever encountered, which was funny really because when you observed them properly they were actually a dark hazel colour. But on first sight, they appeared to resemble the hollow black holes of a skeleton. Come now, Veronica, she had a quick word with herself. Just because you’ve spotted a bruise on Ophelia’s face, doesn’t mean you should immediately jump to any conclusions. There might be a perfectly good explanation for the injury, she may have hurt herself in an accident, walked into a door, or something else equally innocuous. Give poor Digby a chance before you start comparing him to a dead body. For goodness’ sake, don’t give in to this awful feeling of doom you’ve been having, just try and help the family have a nice Christmas together.
The Tormented Page 2