Behind Every Lie(18)

I unglued my tongue from my sandpaper throat. “Thank you. It’s lovely to be here.”

“Mummy, is this a castle?” Eva whispered.

“This is Mrs. Ashford’s house.”

Eva smiled shyly and held up Barnaby. Rose knelt in front of her, shaking first Barnaby’s, then Eva’s hand. I immediately liked her for it.

“Hello, Eva,” she said. “You may call me Rose if you like.”

“Like the flower?” Eva asked.

Rose laughed. “Exactly like that! Now!” She straightened and clapped her hands. “Let me show you around. Laura appears to be hiding. She thinks it’s jolly good sport. But hopefully we’ll find her as we go.”

Rose walked quickly through the house, her movements fast, excited, her hands flapping around her face like small birds. We followed Rose through an arched doorway that framed a formal living room with a white-stone fireplace, white couches, silvery drapes, and a series of framed black-and-white photos. More sitting rooms with equally luxurious decor followed, then the bathrooms and the designer kitchen.

“Your home is truly stunning,” I said.

“Thank you. I did nothing to deserve it, I’m afraid. It’s been in my family for ages. When my father passed a few years back, we moved in and renovated rather than selling.”

A small, thin man wearing a navy suit and round wire-framed glasses bustled into the entry.

“Darling.” Rose held a hand out to him. “This is Katherine, our new nanny. Katherine, this is my husband, David.”

“Ah, Katherine.” David smiled politely and shook my hand. His hand was small for a man, the bones of his knuckles sharp under pale skin. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

He glanced at a flashy silver watch on his wrist. “I must dash, I’m afraid. I’m rather late. I have a client arriving at the gallery this morning.”

He slipped a black overcoat on and quickly vanished outside. Rose sighed, seeming irritated. She smoothed her hair over one shoulder, but a flame-red lock escaped, brushing the skin of her neck.

She looked up and caught me staring. I flushed and dropped my gaze, feeling exposed, as if I had been caught naked.

“I shall paint this morning,” she announced. She glanced over her slim shoulder. “Now, where is Laura? That cheeky little monkey should be around here somewhere.”



* * *



The morning passed in a whirl of childish games: coloring, playing dress-up, and learning letters, numbers, and animal sounds. Laura and Eva got along splendidly, so it was a pleasant morning indeed. I made sandwiches for lunch, and when I found the girls they were lying next to each other on their stomachs in the playroom, their legs kicking in the air as they colored.

“What’re you drawing?” Laura asked.

“A bear,” Eva said shyly.

“You can’t draw a bear inside a house, silly!” Laura giggled. She was rather more outgoing than Eva, the leader in their imaginative play.

I left their sandwiches and returned downstairs with a cup of tea and a sandwich for Rose. I found her at the back of the house in a glass conservatory that had been converted into a painting studio. Paint-splattered canvas throws covered the floor beneath a handful of oversize easels and a cluttered wooden desk with an array of half-empty acrylic paint tubes scattered across it. The room overlooked a vine-shaded terrace, beams of light falling directly onto the paintings.

Rose had changed into overalls and sat on a stool in front of a painting, her hair damp and sticking to her forehead. The painting was appalling, a truly pretentious mess of large, colorful blobs splattered in geometric patterns against a black background.

“I brought you a cuppa.” I held the mug out to her. “And a sandwich, if you’re hungry.”

Rose accepted the tea but set the sandwich aside.

“Thank you, that’s very kind. Look!” She gestured at the painting and moved to stand next to me. “What do you think?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t claim to understand art. I’m rubbish at that sort of thing.”

“Even better! I’ll get an honest opinion.”

I cleared my throat, pretending to study the canvas. “It’s … transformative. The colors are alive and so … revelatory.”

Rose was silent for a moment, then she giggled. Soon her giggles had turned into great belly laughs, so infectious that I too began laughing. Before I knew it, we were both howling, as if we’d known each other for ages.

“Oh, Katherine!” She wiped her eyes. “Transformative. You are entirely too much! I absolutely adore you!”

“In retrospect, I should have stuck with ‘it’s lovely,’?” I said wryly. “Truly, I know nothing about art.”

“Here, sit.” She waved at the bench that circled the conservatory, and we sat next to each other. Without her makeup, she looked very young and also a little brittle, as if she would break if a fly landed on her. She was far too thin, her clavicles sharp, her cheekbones jutting out from her face like arrows. Honestly, she looked like she could use an extra sandwich and perhaps a rather good shag.

“How are the girls?” she asked.

“They’ve had lunch and are coloring.”

“Lovely. Thank you. Where are you from, Katherine? I can’t quite place your accent.”