Settling behind the writing desk, Lord Royce took a deep breath. ‘Let me begin by saying, how grateful my daughter is for everything you’ve done to help her through this terrible time. As you know, she is very distressed and unable to manage these affairs. However, she wished me to convey her gratitude.’
‘Thank you, your lordship.’
‘Naturally, this event has meant that changes have to be made. Now is a time when my daughter needs the support of her family. This little experiment,’ he looked around at the modest drawing room, ‘in independence is over. She will be moving back to the main house with all possible speed.’
Eva swallowed. ‘I should be pleased to continue to serve them and you, sir, wherever they go.’
‘How accommodating. However, all my kitchen and cleaning staff requirements are already met. I’m sure you understand.’
He slid an envelope out from behind the blotter on the desk. ‘I think you will find my daughter has been extremely generous in both her severance and her letter of recommendation.’
He held the envelope out.
Eva stared at it.
‘I would be happy to work in any capacity. For example, I have looked after little Grace for some months now. I would be so . . . so very pleased to continue . . .’
The look on his face was a mixture of both irritation and disdain.
‘My granddaughter will, of course, have a proper nanny,’ he clarified pointedly. ‘A professional qualified to educate a young lady of her class.’ Rising, he held the envelope out again. ‘Arrangements have already been made. Your services are no longer required.’
Eva took the envelope. She could neither see nor hear clearly.
‘I can do anything, your lordship,’ her voice was just above a whisper, ‘anything, at all . . . I will work in the kitchens or laundry . . .’
‘Why?’ His expression changed. He came closer.
Eva looked up. ‘I’m sorry, sir?’
‘Why?’ he repeated. ‘You have money, references. Oxford has many opportunities. Why do want to stay here so badly?’
‘You . . . you misunderstand me, sir.’
‘Do I?’ His voice was icy. ‘Your eyes are a very unusual colour.
‘Sir?’
‘I’ve only seen eyes like that once before. They are almost exactly the same colour as Grace’s.’
Eva felt her body go rigid. She tried to say something but her mouth just opened, gaping soundlessly.
‘You’re not who you pretend to be, are you?’ His face hardened. ‘I always knew that some day there’d be trouble. I expected blackmail. But I didn’t expect anything like this.’
Again, Eva tried to swallow, her throat tightening like a fist, but made no reply.
‘If I were to ring the Home Office, I believe I should have no difficulty in verifying your true identity. What is it you call yourself? Celine? Do you realize the seriousness of traveling on forged papers? You could be arrested as a spy, or simply deported.’
‘I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,’ she managed.
‘Don’t you? Would you care to bring your papers to me for examination?’
Tears stung the backs of her eyes; Eva bit her lower lip hard, to hold them back, and shook her head ‘no’.
‘I didn’t think so. You have two days to leave this country. After that, I shall notify the authorities. And please don’t misunderstand me, there are no lengths I won’t go to remove you if you defy me.’
He moved towards the window again, his back to her, watching Grace playing on the front lawn.
There was a movement just outside the drawing room door. Then the faint sound of footfall on the stairs.
‘I had a son once.’ He spat the words out, edged with bitterness and hatred. ‘He died too. Of drunkenness, debauchery and disease. The only decent thing he ever did was for his sister. Do you really think that I’m going to allow some cheap French tart to destroy my daughter’s last remaining happiness?’
Paris, Spring, 1955
‘Madame Munroe? Madame Munroe?’
Grace blinked, looking up into Madame Zed’s face.
Madame Zed got up, went into the kitchen and poured her a glass of water. Then she set it on the table next to her.
Grace stared at the glass. She could see it, but it was as if she couldn’t place its purpose.
‘What happened to her?’ she asked after a while. ‘She was dismissed. Do you remember that?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I remember vaguely being at my grandparents’ home. That we seemed to stay there forever. A woman named Mrs Press looked after me. She was older, with thick white hands. I used to think they were made of lard. My mother always told me my father died of a heart attack.’