'SHE'S A Wh.o.r.e!' yelled Cynthia. 'You know, like Lucy's mother.' She nodded across at me.

I gasped. 'Urn, well actually, can I just say, my mother is not a wh.o.r.e. You've said that before, but I think you've got her muddled up with someone else.'

Cynthia laid her hand on mine. 'I admire your loyalty, my dear, truly, but I think you'll find financial transactions did take place. I remember old Roddy McLean emerging from her rooms in Cadogan Square looking quite startled and sh.e.l.l-shocked, poor man. I'm sure he had no idea what he was getting himself into and-'

'Stop it!' Rose's voice rang out shrilly. She got to her feet, trembling. 'Stop it!' She breathed. 'Oh my G.o.d, this family! Doesn't anyone have an iota of sensibility? Doesn't anyone have any idea what I might be going through, how I might be feeling?'

'Are you not feeling well?' Violet peered anxiously. 'You do look awfully pale.'

'Of course I'm not feeling well! I've just heard that my only boy, my-'

'Because if you're really not well,' Violet raised her voice importantly, 'I shall ask Marcia Wainwright to take me to the races tomorrow. I have to go, you know, I bred that horse. And he's the favourite. It's very important I see him run.'

Rose fought for composure. 'Violet,' she hissed, 'I've said I'll take you to the races tomorrow, and I will, but we're not discussing horses at the moment. We're talking about my son!'

have to introduce you to the trainer,' said Violet doubtfully.

Rose gaped. 'Is that a problem?' she demanded, exasperated. 'Well . .' Violet paused. Frowned at her, perplexed. 'Who are you?'

Rose stared at her. 'ARRRGH!!' she shrieked suddenly, and lunged for the poker by the fire. She sprang towards her, brandishing it wildly.'Mummy, no!' Lavinia and I rushed forward in unison. 'Rose, you're upset,' I soothed, restraining her, taking her arm. 'Lavinia, don't you think your mother should lie down?' 'Of course I'm f.u.c.king well upset!' Rose shrieked, drop ping the poker with a clatter and rounding on me suddenly. 'Mummy!' gasped Lavinia, horrified.

Rose shook me roughly away. 'Of course. And you're the cause of it!' Her eyes glittered with rage.

I stepped back, stunned. 'Me?'

'You brought that girl into this house, to my lovely party,' she trembled, 'in my lovely rose garden, knowing who she was. Knowing what she was. You let me introduce her to all my friends, you let me make a fool of myself by telling them all she was the daughter of Lord Belfont-'

'Well, she is the daughter of Lor-'

'Yes, but she's a great deal more than that, isn't she, Lucy?' she demanded, shaking with anger. 'And you kept very quiet-about that, didn't you? And then you introduced her, most specifically, to my darling boy. To Hector! Not content with taking one son from me, you wanted to take another!'

'Now Rose.' Sir David moved forward, 'I really think that's unreasonable. I don't imagine Lucy-'

'Quiet, David!' she ordered. He pursed his lips. Frowned at his shoes.

'And then,' she went on in a quavering voice, 'then you let me invite her to stay in my house for the night, where G.o.d knows what atrocities went on, under my roof. Oh yes, heaven only knows what foul practices were played out that night, what promises in return for favours she extracted from him. And now he's lost to me for ever.' She gave a strangled sob.

'And you engineered all of that. I'll never forgive you for that Lucy, never!'

Her pale blue eyes were huge as they fixed on me, her face, bloodless and quivering with emotion. She gave me one last, defiant stare, then turned and ran from the room

Chapter Eighteen.

I woke up the following morning and immediately felt sick. The full force of Rose's invective came flooding back and I sat bolt upright in bed, wishing to G.o.d I still smoked, so I could at least fumble around on the bedside table for some Marlboro Lights and suck the life out of one of them. Instead, I put my face in my hands and groaned.

'Ooooh nooo ... ' I parted my fingers, and stared bug-eyed at the floral duvet. How awful. She must hate me! Well, clearly she hated me, and blamed me, too, for everything. For the whole dreadful debacle, and in a way - I flushed with horror and raised my face from my hands - in a way, she was right. I had known about Rozanna, but then again - I agonised, narrowing my eyes at my bedroom wall - then again, Rozanna was a friend. Was I supposed to jettison her, refuse to know her, just because my circ.u.mstances had changed?

Should I have disowned her, down here in conservative, rural Oxfordshire, even though I'd socialised with her in London? In vibrant, cosmopolitan London, where anything went and where she lived in the same house, for heaven's sake, so it would have been rude not to? And had introducing her to Hector been wrong, too? Hector was a grown man, for pity's sake. I couldn't be held responsible for his actions, surely? I slid my legs miserably out of bed and hobbled off to the shower like some rough beast crawling out of its cave.

As I peeled off my rather damp T-shirt golly, anyone would think I was the one having the menopause I glanced at the clock. Nine o'clock. What? I peered incredulously. No! Crikey, it was. I must have overslept. And the boys must have had their breakfast already and gone out to play, because apart from the throbbing of my head, it was awfully quiet. I turned the shower on full blast and lifted my face up to the torrent, hoping to wash away the guilt and the pain, but knowing full well that much of the pain stemmed from a monumental hangover, due to a grotesque over-indulgence last night.

After Rose's walk-out, everyone had been terribly sweet, rushing to ply me with drinks, making me sit down and patting my hand, telling me how she was just upset and could fly off the handle like that, but that it didn't mean anything, really it didn't. I have to say, I'd felt genuinely shaky and gulped down all the gin and sympathy they could offer. David had been very kind, bustling off to see Rose first and giving her a sleeping pill, but then coming back and sitting beside me, explaining that Rose was terribly overwrought, and actually, had secretly hoped for a much better outcome from our mission to London. She'd been full of optimism, even though everyone had told her to expect the worst, and that her diatribe was just disappointment talking.

'Shrieking, more like,' I'd muttered, sinking into my gin.

'I know, I know, but don't hold it against her,' he'd advised. 'It's all hot air. She doesn't think things through, you see Lucy. Says things before she's even considered them.' 'You think?'

'I'm sure.' He'd smiled, seeking to rea.s.sure me.

I shivered now in the shower, even though it was warm, remembering Rose's glacial blue eyes glaring at me. And how on earth were we supposed to carry on, I wondered, in such close proximity to each other? What sort of modus vivendi were we supposed to adopt, now I knew she despised me? I'd voiced this sentiment to Lavinia last night, who'd pooh-poohed it, saying it was all a storm in a teacup and would soon be forgotten, but I'd seen the worry on her face, too. Sensed the tension in her voice as she'd tried to convince me.

So stupid, I thought, with awful, dawning realisation as I scrubbed away furiously, to get myself into this situation in the first place. Hadn't it occurred to me I might fall out with my in-laws? Blimey, Ned hadn't got on with them, and he was their son: whatever had made me think I'd be able to handle them? Jess had warned me, everyone had warned me, and oh G.o.d, now that was the b.l.o.o.d.y telephone!

I rushed out, swearing and dripping, to answer it.

'h.e.l.lo?' I gasped, grabbing a towel en route and wrapping it around me.

'Lucy? Hi, it's Kit, here.'

'Kit?' I went blank for a second. Sat down damply on the bed. Then I jumped up with a start. 'Oh! Oh G.o.d Kit!'

'I just wondered, only I was sort of expecting you at about quarter to and it's five past now. But if it's a problem,' he hesitated, 'well, maybe we should make it a bit later or something. If it's too much of a rush for you. Say half-nine?'

Suddenly I felt horribly hot. Christ my job!

'N-no! I'll be there. It's not a problem at all, Kit, it's just, well one of the children . . I glanced guiltily at the Calpol bottle by the bed, 'one of the children was sick this morning. I'm just sort of sorting it out. There's a bit of a mess, and of course I should have rung, but well, I'm on my way.'

'Oh, that's great,' he said with evident relief. 'I thought for an awful moment you'd changed your mind. And it wouldn't matter, normally, it's just that I need to go to Cheltenham today. There's an auction I want to get to, but I don't have to be there till lunchtime, so . .

'Kit, I am so sorry. Of course I haven't changed my mind. Give me five minutes to sort myself out and I swear to G.o.d I'll be there. I promise!'

I put the phone down, horrified. Christ! My first day at work how could I have forgotten? I clutched my head. My first, normal day, at a normal job, in the normal, outside world and 'MAX!!! BEN!!!' I shrieked, rushing wildly to the door. 'WHERE THE h.e.l.l ARE YOU?'

I charged downstairs like a maniac and tripped over a dumper truck Max had kindly left on the bottom step, landing smack on my forehead on the wooden floor. I lay there for a moment, seeing stars real stars gasping with pain. After a moment I got up, and abandoning the towel, limped, yelping and wincing in agony, holding onto furniture, towards the ironing basket, over by the washing machine.

'Clean pants,' I moaned, crouching down and riffling through it, my head hurting like h.e.l.l. 'Please let there be pants.' Then: 'MAX!! BEN!!' I yelled over my shoulder.

Oohhh . no, that hurt. I paused and clutched my head. Don't shout, Lucy, don't shout. Pants, I prayed, tipping thebasket upside down, oh pants, please be here, but actually, I knew they wouldn't be, because I'd spotted them all in the dirty washing yesterday and meant to do something about it.

I panicked. Could I re-cycle some, I wondered. Or was that too revolting on my first day? Shake them out a bit, or hang on. I seized a pair of Ben's. They were I peered at the label aged nine to ten, and he was quite a big boy, so ... I stood up and put my feet into them. Got them up, actually, past my knees and up to my thighs. J-u-s-t about squeezed them over my thighs, but crikey. I wriggled hard. Young boys were very slim-hipped. And unless I really squished my bottom in, with my hands, at the back, like this, there was no way they were going to- 'AARGH!!'

I nearly fell over with fright. Coming up the garden path towards the plate-gla.s.s door, with a boy on each hand, was Jack. I froze, naked but for the vice-like grip of my World Cup knickers. Horrified, I grabbed a Royal Horticultural tea-towel, whipped it round me, and with my top half covered in herbs and spices and my bottom by a grinning David Beckham, I fled well, minced actually, totally impeded by the minuscule pants upstairs.

'What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?' I hollered, ripping them off behind the safety of my bedroom door. 'You don't just walk into my house like that. Who the h.e.l.l d'you think you are?'

'Sorry,' he said mildly, from the bottom of the stairs, 'but I found these two down by the lake. One's a bit wet.' It took a moment to sink in.

'Oh!' I threw on a dressing gown and flew downstairs. 'Oh G.o.d Max. Darling, did you fall in?' I rushed to him, sinking to my knees to hold him. 'Oh G.o.d, you're sopping! You are not to go down there alone!'

'It was only up to my waist, Mum, and I didn't really fall. I saw a trout, and was just sort of reaching for it, but Jack grabbed me from behind and made me come out. Mum, can we fish today?'

'No. No, absolutely not, I've got to go to work today! I completely forgot, should be there already. I need Trisha, I need her now!' I stood up, tore at my hair. 'Max, go and change. Ben, pa.s.s me the phone. The phone - quick. So I can ring Trisha!'

He narrowed his eyes. 'Why were you wearing my pants?' 'What? Oh, because I'd run out. I thought they might fit, but they didn't, OK? Now pa.s.s me the phone!'

He threw it at me. 'G.o.d, you're weird. What would you do if I wore yours?'

'Despair,' I muttered. 'Even more than I do already. Have you and Max had breakfast?'

'No.'

'Well, why not!' I shrieked, rounding on him. 'Quick!' I reached up to a cupboard and threw a packet of Frosties at him. 'I've got to go, Ben, understand? Now quick - eat!'

I was aware that I was panicking and that Jack was watching me. I took a deep breath. Turned to him and smiled.

'Thank you so much for bringing the boys back,' I purred, hoping to convey the right amount of grat.i.tude and dismissal. 'It was so kind of you.'

He inclined his head. 'Pleasure. Listen, I'm fishing myself today, so if you're stuck for someone to look after them-' 'No. No, thank you Jack, but I'm not stuck. I'd like Trishato have some quiet time with them. They haven't looked at a book since they left London, haven't played board games or anything like that, so thank you, but no.'

I was indebted to enough people round here, I thought, frantically punching out Netherby's number, without adding him to the list.

'Oh, hi Pinkie, is Trisha there?'

While I talked to Trisha, I turned my back rather pointedly on Jack, hopefully indicating that whilst I was grateful to him for hauling my child out of the river, his presence was no longer required. When I'd finished talking and turned back, I saw with relief, and a little guilt, that he'd gone.

'Oh great,' muttered Ben, as he brushed past me and stormed upstairs. 'Quiet time. Books with Trisha, instead of fishing with Jack. Really great, Mum, thanks.'

I stared at his back as he stomped upstairs.

'Yes! Because you know full well Ben, that I absolutely forbade you to go down to that lake on your own, and you went. With Max! And apart from anything else, a few quiet hours won't hurt you. Life is not all beer and skittles, you know,' I shrieked. 'Some day you'll find that out!'

'Oh really? Seems like it is for you. Seems like you're just jaunting off again, leaving us with the nanny. Just like you did yesterday, and the day before that. So much for family life. And you smell like a brewery Mum, too. Really pukey.' He slammed his door.

Did I? Horrified, I cupped my hands over my mouth and nose and breathed. Oh G.o.d, I did. How awful. And I still wasn't b.l.o.o.d.y dressed!

Twenty minutes later I was driving fast down the A41; wet hair, long denim skirt, sandals, no pants. A few more minutes saw me negotiating the lanes like a demon, and at half past nine, precisely forty-five minutes late, I performed an emergency stop outside Frampton Manor, gravel flying.

I flew inside to find Kit, trying not to pace around the hall, but clearly agitated and ready to leave, even down to the jingling of his car keys in his hand, jacket on.

'Sorry!' I gasped, steadying myself and clutching the back of a chair. 'So sorry, Kit, you go go. Everything will be fine, I promise. I've got your mobile number if I need you now go!'

He grinned. 'It's OK, I'm not that desperate. Get your breath back and I'll just quickly show you a couple of things.' He moved across to a desk in the corner. I scurried after him.

'Fax is here, and answerphone too, should you need it, and if anyone buys which I have to tell you is highly unlikely for G.o.d's sake don't forget to put the cheque details on the back. Oh, and give them a receipt. There's a book of them over there.' He pointed.

I nodded, panting, clutching my side. 'Right. And ten per cent for trade?'

'Absolutely, or anyone else who claims to be for that matter, since they all do these days, but I have to tell you, sales are unlikely. Most of your time will be spent taking telephone enquiries and sending photographs of stock, a pile of which are in here.' He pulled out a drawer. 'They're all numbered.'

'Right. Brilliant.'

'So. That's all fairly straightforward. It's Rococo that's the problem.'

Rococo? I blinked. Oh G.o.d, Rococo. At the mention of hername, a coffee-table levitated, and from under it, Rococo emerged, shaking it off her back. She gazed mournfully at me and wagged her tail slowly, droopy-eyed. I have to say, she didn't seem quite so keen to stick her nose up my skirt and suggest hot s.e.x as she had on our first meeting.

'Not well?' I queried.

Kit shrugged. 'Just not herself. I took her to the vet yesterday and he said she's a bit below par. It may be that we have to adjust her insulin.'

'Insulin?'

'Oh yes, didn't I tell you? She's diabetic. Has to be injected twice a day.'

'Oh! By me?'

'No no, I've done it this morning and I'll do it again tonight, but what I would like you to do, and what the vet suggested, is to test her urine. It's quite simple. You just syringe some up with this pipette, three times a day, drop a bit on here,' he showed me a piece of litmus paper in a tray, 'and record what colour it goes. D'you think you could handle that?' He looked at me anxiously.

'Of course,' I said, looking down at the pipette rather nervously. 'Has she been, you know, done yet, or-'

'First thing this morning, yes, and I haven't let her out since because I wanted her to store up some more, if you see what I mean. If you take her out after I've gone, she's bound to go. All right?'

'Fine,' I said faintly. Then, realising he was looking to me for rea.s.surance, I squared my shoulders. 'Fine,' I a.s.serted. 'Now Kit, you go. I'm conscious you've been waiting for me and you'll be late, so just go. Rococo and I will be fine.'

'Great.' He relaxed and smiled with relief, and I thought how attractive his slim, intelligent face was when he smiled. It quite lit up.

'Thanks, Lucy, this is such a lifeline to me. I've been rather tied to the wretched place. It's wonderful to leave it with someone I trust'

I smiled up into his flecked, hazel-green eyes, the colour of bird's eggs, and thought how refreshing it was to be thought well of, for a change. To be considered trustworthy and responsible. Yes, this was just what I needed.

'Right,' I said briskly, folding my arms and following him smartly to the door. 'Now don't you worry. You whiz off to Cheltenham and get bidding. What have you got your eye on today, by the way?'

'Oh, the most wonderful console table. Napoleonic, and in fabulous condition if the photo's to be trusted. Look.' Eyes shining, he whipped a catalogue out from inside his jacket. It fell open on a colour photograph.

'Oh,' I drooled. 'What heaven. D'you know, we had one of those at Christie's once, it was stunning. Went for a fortune of course, but, actually,' I peered at the estimate, 'this reserve isn't bad . .

'Exactly,' he said excitedly, rolling the catalogue up again and stuffing it in his pocket. 'So maybe it's a fake, or maybe half the world will be there and it'll go sky high, or maybe, just maybe, I'll be the only one to spot it's the genuine article, and return home the proud owner of a cut-price, eighteenth-century console table!'

'How exciting,' I said, and meant it. I remembered the thrill of the auction room, the buzz that went round Christie's whensomething dramatic happened, when the press were all there, when an Old Master, or an Impressionist painting was sold. 'I wish I was coming with you.'

He turned at the door. Regarded me for a moment. 'D'you know, so do I.' There was a silence. 'Anyway,' he collected himself, 'I must be away. Have fun, Lucy, and don't work too hard. See you at about six.'

What a nice man, I thought as I shut the door behind him. I moved to the window and watched him drive off out of the gates, making sure I couldn't be seen. A very nice man. And with such a sad past, too, like so many of us.