anyone. I’m saying it the way it is. You started something. Finish it. You’re going to go through with this marriage, Genevieve. Colin Garrett is a catch most girls would kill for. He’s attractive, he’s rich—or he will be, he always makes the best-dressed list, he’s more ‘in’ than ‘out’ in all the glossies. He’s ideal. I just love the way he kisses my fingertips every time he sees me. Bellisima, Angelina! he always says.”
“Why don’t you just tell him to shut up?” Genevieve continued angrily. “His mother won’t be unhappy. I know in my heart she doesn’t think we’re suited. I think she thinks I might desert her darling boy sometime in the future. Like you deserted Daddy.” Her voice quivered pathetically.
Angel tilted her head back, staring at the elaborately decorated plaster ceiling. “I didn’t desert your father, Genevieve. I just moved out. I’ve never met a man so needy in my whole life. I found his love for me suffocating, his insistence on a ‘home life’. The three of us doing things together. God, how dreary! Possessiveness can be pretty awful.”
Angel stood up in a torment. “You’ve upset me, Genevieve,” she said. “What a lousy thing to do. I accept you’re uptight. It’s certainly not unheard of. I strongly advise you have a glass of warm milk and go to bed. When you wake up in the morning you’ll feel entirely different.” She turned to face her daughter, who somehow looked fourteen years old. “Now, Toby will be here shortly. I don’t want to hear any more of this. I can’t deal with it. I don’t know either why you can’t stand the idea of Blaine’s paying for it all?”
“That’s because you’re a sponger, Mamma. You’re good at it.” Genevieve lifted her head, pinning her mother’s gaze. “But I’m going to hold it against you forever.”
“Are you?” Angel exploded, sweet voice rasping. “How dare you speak to me like this, Genevieve, you sanctimonious little twit. Blaine and I have been working together for years. He’s a very complex character, is your hero. He hasn’t approved of anything you’ve done these last couple of years yet he’s more than happy to pick up all your bills.
“Oh, yes, darling, don’t look so shocked. It might have been my deepest darkest secret, but Blaine has helped out a lot. Why not? He really did think you were a great little kid and he’s notoriously difficult to please. And you’re a Courtland. That’s a huge thing in your favour. Blaine was happy to keep you in the appropriate manner.”
Genevieve felt like a hand was squeezing her heart. “You asked him?”
Incredibly Angel became almost jovial. “Not at all. He just did it. You were the entrancing little ‘honey chile’. But I expect by now he’ll be happy to let someone else shoulder the burden.”
A deep vivid rose stained Genevieve’s golden skin. She looked up, her eyes as dark as the ocean, aware as she had never been before in her life deep inside her mother some odd malice moved. “Don’t say any more, Angel,” she begged. She, too, stood up, straightening her shoulders. “With any sort of luck after tomorrow we mightn’t have to see one another again.”
Angel heard the finality in her daughter’s voice. “Dear, oh, dear, what a silly thing to say,” she gushed. “I love you, Genni. I’m very proud of you.” She swept forward to pat her daughter’s face, wondering why when she was so pretty herself she always felt jealous of Genni’s hair, her eyes, her mouth, the radiant smile never much in evidence these days, the lovely teeth. God she even wished she was taller, then she wouldn’t have to diet so rigorously.
“The last thing in the world I want is for you to be unhappy, Genni,” she said tremulously, ready to shed a few tears. “Trust me, darling, you’re suffering from prenuptial nerves. It’s normal, not a catastrophe. Colin is so nice. Such fun, and he’ll be drowning in money. I’ve been responsible for you for so long you should feel some responsibility for me. I know tomorrow you’re going to make us all very proud. It’s my dream, honey.”
After her mother had left in a flurry of breathless giggles, hanging on to Toby Slocombe’s arm, Genevieve went in search of Emmy. Emmy was still sitting in front of the television in the small room off the library, watching an old movie, a half-eaten box of Belgium chocolates Genevieve had bought for her on her lap, short plump legs resting on an ottoman.
“Hello, darling girl.” Emmy looked up to smile; her pleasure diminishing as she saw the anguish in Genevieve’s expression. “Going to watch this with me?”
Despite herself Genevieve was amused. “God, Em, you must have seen this movie a hundred times?” She recognised Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint. North by Northwest.
“Better than the ones they make these days,” Emmy snorted. “Wasn’t he just the handsomest man?”
“He surely was,” Genevieve agreed. “Bisexual, I gather?”
“That’s just talk.” Em snatched up another chocolate. “He was a real man. Anyway, what’s wrong with you? You look like you need a stiff drink when you should be looking blissfully happy.”
Genevieve sat down, gripping her hands. “That’s just it, Em. I’m not happy.”
A pause, then Emmy said, “I was wonderin’ when you were going to realise it.” She used the remote control to switch off the television. “Want to talk about it?”
“I just tried talking to Angel,” Genevieve muttered abruptly.
“I imagine that didn’t go too well. It’s a damn shame the way your mother has been pressuring you to marry Colin.”
Genevieve shook her white-gold head, her hair caught back in a single thickly braided rope. “Don’t blame Angel, Em. I did it myself.” Genevieve lifted her beautiful eyes. “What do you really think of Colin, Em?”
Put on the spot Emmy finally owned up. “I’m with Blaine,” she said, not wishing to add she thought Colin Garrett nowhere near good enough for her darling Genni. Such a good girl. A lovely girl. Never given an ounce of trouble. Emmy would have found another position years ago only for Genni.
“Forget Blaine,” Genevieve whispered, tears starting to her eyes. “He’s been awful to me.”
“But we can’t forget Blaine, poppet,” Emmy said. “Come on, admit it. You love him, hate him, whatever. He’s always been there for you. Yet I have the feeling both of you are still only tapping into what you really mean to each other.”
Genevieve inhaled a deep lungful of air. “He’s a tyrant. Bloody-minded. He has too much power. Angel just told me he’s paying for the wedding, I suppose the wedding dress, the bridesmaids’ dresses, the flowers, the photographers, the church, the marquees, the mountains of food, the drink, the lot.” She turned her violet eyes on Emmy, who knew a great deal more than she ever said.
“And that’s upset you?”
“Upset me?” Genevieve nearly gave way to a primitive urge to scream. “It’s devastated me. I wonder what else my mother is capable of? I suppose he’s paid for everything for years.” She bit her lip hard, realizing she was on the verge of crying.
“Blaine really cares about you, Genni,” Emmy pointed out very gently. “He may be a little short with you from time to time but he’s always had your best interests at heart.”
“Isn’t that nice! He frightens me,” Genevieve suddenly admitted in a wobbly
