“Oh, there’s absolutely no doubt about that,” Rosamunde agreed. “No one doubts his integrity, Antoinette.”
“What do the boys think?” Her face crumpled with anxiety. “Do they doubt their father? I’d hate them to think badly of him . . .”
“David and Tom want to honor his wishes, as you do. Josh . . .”
“Well, he’ll stand by his wife, of course. There’s no doubt who wears the pants in that marriage!”
“I do hope David finds a nice girl to settle down with,” said Rosamunde, changing the subject. “It would be nice to see the next generation of Framptons growing up here, now that David is Lord Frampton.”
“A title that carries great sorrow.”
“I can’t see David taking his seat in the House of Lords, can you?”
Antoinette climbed out of bed. “David just wants a simple life. How different my children all are from one another. David so laid back, Josh so aspirational . . .”
“He wasn’t, before he married Roberta.”
“Be that as it may, they’re very social. Out all the time at parties; I daresay they see something of little Amber. Then there’s Tom.” Her face softened, and she smiled tenderly. “Tom, so wild and so lost.”
“And now you have a stepdaughter,” Rosamunde added, rather enjoying the turn of events.
Antoinette reached for her trousers and sighed. “The irony is that both George and I so wanted a daughter.”
That evening Joshua and Roberta departed for London. Roberta planted a cold little kiss on her mother-in-law’s cheek before climbing into the front seat of the shiny black BMW 4x4 and crossly belting up. Joshua looked worn down.
“I’ll let you know when we’re meeting,” said Antoinette, kissing her son warmly.
“Yes, Mum, fine,” he replied, wishing the whole business of Phaedra and the will would just disappear. He knew he was going to get an earful all the way up to London.
“I’m going to ask Phaedra to come and stay one weekend. I’d very much like you and Roberta to be here.”
He shrugged helplessly. “I’ll do my best, Mum.”
“I know you will. Drive carefully.” She watched him climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine with a roar. He waved solemnly and motored off into the dusk.
“Ridiculous woman,” said David, after they had gone.
“Ridiculous weak man,” Tom added mischievously.
“I agree with Tom,” said Rosamunde. “I blame Josh for letting her get away with that sort of spoilt behavior.”
“He should whip her into submission,” said Tom jovially.
“I wouldn’t go quite that far,” Rosamunde replied with a chortle. “But I do think she’s being very mean-spirited. If Antoinette is big enough to accept Phaedra, then Roberta should just toe the line and keep her opinions to herself. She shouldn’t forget she’s a married-in.”
“She’s never considered herself just that, Rosamunde,” Tom reminded her.
They settled down for supper in the kitchen, after which David would return to his house at the other side of the lake, and Tom would stay the night with his mother and leave for London in the morning. Rosamunde, being a spinster and having little to get home for besides her quartet of beagles, had set up residence with her sister for the foreseeable future. In her hometown in Dorset there was little on offer besides Bible groups, bridge nights, and the local Women’s Institute, where ladies met to sew, bake, and socialize. All to be avoided like measles, she thought resolutely. Here she felt needed and useful, two things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“I confess I’ve dreaded reading the will,” said Antoinette, taking out of the Aga the cottage pie that Mrs. Gunice had left for them. “I put it off. But now the funeral is over, I’m left no option but to face it.”
“It’s very final, isn’t it,” Rosamunde agreed sympathetically. “But you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. It’s only money.”
“I thought that if I avoided the whole thing, I could prevent it happening, somehow. I could pretend George was still here.” She put the pile of plates on top of the Aga and stood back to let everyone help themselves.
“Are you going to ask Phaedra to join us when we read the will?” David asked, digging the spoon into the steaming potato crust. Even the mention of Phaedra’s name gave him a forbidden thrill.
Antoinette looked at her sister. “I suppose I have to ask her, don’t I?”
“You don’t have to,” Rosamunde replied, sitting down at the table. “But I think you should. If she’s George’s daughter, it would be correct. I suspect Mr. Beecher will insist upon it.”