The Death of Mrs. Westaway(64)

She stopped, suddenly realizing the dangerous path this reading was leading her down.

Abel’s expression had lost its mocking amusement, and behind him, Hal saw Edward stir uneasily; she bit her lip, wondering if she had already said too much.

To cover the moment of confusion, Hal turned over the next card. It was the ten of swords, and Hal saw Abel push his chair back a little from the table, cross his legs defensively. Something was very wrong here—she could feel the tension emanating from him, and she knew she had to tread carefully, for she had stumbled on something she didn’t understand and it was in danger of blowing up in her face.

“This . . . this is the present,” she said slowly. “The problem you’re wrestling with at the moment. It concerns . . . a betrayal—”

She broke off. Abel had stood up and pushed past her, not waiting for the end of the reading.

“I’m sorry, Hal,” he flung over his shoulder, “but I don’t think I can do this.”

The drawing room door slammed shut behind him.

“Oh God.” It was Edward, his face white and anguished. He shot a look at Hal, something between anger and upset. “Thank you very much,” he said, and then yanked Abel’s chair out of the way and ran after his partner into the hallway. “Abel!” Hal heard from far down the corridor as his feet receded. “Abel, come back!”

Mitzi looked first at Ezra, then Harding, and blew out a long breath.

“Oh dear.”

“What?” Hal looked around the circle of faces, dismay rising in her. “What did I say?”

“You weren’t to know, Harriet,” Mitzi said. She got up, and picked up the chair that Edward had toppled in his haste to follow Abel. “Although quite why Abel reacted like that I don’t know. . . .”

“What Hal said was completely general,” Ezra said. “If Al hadn’t reacted like a hysterical teenager—”

“Go to bed, children,” Mitzi said firmly. There was a chorus of protest from Richard, Kitty, and Freddie, which she quelled by adding, “Just this once, you can take your phones up with you. I’ll come to collect them at lights out. Go!”

She waited until the children had left the room, dragging their feet, and then shut the door behind them and turned to Hal.

“Harriet, I wouldn’t normally gossip about this, but I think at this point it’s better that you know. As far as I understand it, Abel proposed marriage to Edward last year, but then . . .”

She faltered and looked across at Harding, who threw up his hands as if to say Don’t look at me! You started this.

“But then it turned out Edward had been fucking some woman for about four years,” Ezra finished, rather brutally. “There. I’ve said it. That is what happened, isn’t it?”

Mitzi nodded, rather sadly.

“Yes, that’s my understanding too. I had a rather confused conversation with Edward about it last year when he was drunk, where he tried to represent it as some sort of wild oats, but really of course the time for all that is well past. It’s one thing to do that sort of thing as an eighteen-year-old, quite different when you’re a fortysomething man in a long-term relationship. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I think they went through a really very rocky time. I had thought it was all sorted out, but evidently this brought up some painful memories. You weren’t to know, Harriet.”

“Oh no,” Hal said wretchedly. She put her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry. I wish I hadn’t done this.”

“It was my fault,” Ezra said. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have asked you to read. I’m sorry, Hal.”

“You keep calling her that,” Mitzi said lightly. Her effort to change the subject was a little forced and obvious, but Hal welcomed it nonetheless. She held out the tin, and Hal gathered the cards together and slipped them inside. “Is it a nickname?”

“Yes,” Hal said. “It—it’s what my mother used to call me.”

“You must miss her enormously,” Mitzi said. She put out a hand, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Hal’s ear. To her horror, Hal felt tears welling up inside her. She turned away, pretending to search for a stray card, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in her throat and blinking away the swimming tears in her eyes.

“I—I do—” she managed. Her voice was croaky, despite her efforts.

“Oh, Hal, darling, come here,” Mitzi said. She held out her arms, and almost in spite of herself, Hal found herself swept into a hug.

It was incredibly alien—Mitzi’s slim, wiry frame, no taller than Hal’s own; the scent of her perfume and hair spray strong in Hal’s nostrils; the painful impression of her chunky necklace against Hal’s ribs. But there was something so simple, so instinctually maternal about the gesture, that she could not bring herself to break away.

“I just wanted to say,” Mitzi whispered into her ear, not trying to hide what she was saying, but meaning it for Hal rather than for general discussion, “that you were a complete darling to say what you did earlier, about the deed of variation. Whatever you decide—and you mustn’t let yourself get swept up in all this nonsense, or to feel responsible for what your grandmother did—it was very noble of you to think of it.”

“Thank you,” Hal managed. Her throat felt stiff and hoarse, and she let her fingers rest on Mitzi’s shoulders, half wanting to free herself, half unable to stop herself from hugging her back.