the girls,’ said Paula plainly, waving away the offer of tea.
Miss Beaumont glanced down at a sheet of paper in front of them.
‘I understand Casey and Amelia are both doing quite well.’
Paula did her best to look troubled.
‘Yes, that’s true, but … it’s not easy being a twin.’
Miss Beaumont’s forehead creased slightly, perhaps perceiving a slight against the school.
‘Generally speaking, of course, my husband and I are very happy with the school,’ continued Paula carefully. ‘But lately we are getting a little concerned that your teachers seem to be – how shall I put this?–seeing the girls as one.’
Miss Beaumont poured milk into her tea from a tiny china jug and nodded thoughtfully. ‘Please. Expand.’
‘Well, the girls say their teachers have addressed them both by the wrong names on numerous occasions. Casey, Amelia. Amelia, Casey. Amelia particularly has been getting very upset about it, as she is the more sensitive of the girls, as I’m sure you know. I could almost understand it if they were identical twins, but, well, that’s not the case.’
Miss Beaumont was not a woman to get flustered by fussy parents. She fixed Paula with a baleful gaze. ‘Well, naturally I’m sorry for any distress,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to all the teachers concerned.’
Paula released a disappointed sigh. She had been rehearsing the sigh for two days.
‘Well, that would certainly be a start,’ she said. ‘But, really, I fear this is impacting on the girls’ personal development. My husband and I would be much more reassured if we could work out a way to try and stop this happening again.’
‘What did you have in mind?’
Paula took a breath. ‘Casey and Amelia should be separated, put in different classes,’ she said. ‘As soon as possible.’
Miss Beaumont’s brow creased. ‘Really? I understood that you wanted them to be together in class?’
Paula met her gaze without flinching. This was actually true. William had made a big deal about it when they had originally been accepted for the kindergarten class eighteen months earlier.
‘Secondly, I’m generally against moving a pupil into another class away from the friends she’s cultivated over the last year. Especially mid-way through the academic year.’
Paula examined Miss Beaumont’s face, looking for any trace of suspicion. Had any other parents heard of Princess Katrina’s arrival at the school and tried to get their child in the same class? But no, that was impossible. Word might have got out on the grapevine of Carlotta’s enrolment, but not even the admissions secretary’s sister knew which of the two Transition classes the royal child was going to be in. The beauty of twins, thought Paula with the smallest of smiles. With one of her beautiful daughters in each class, she would have all bases covered. Play-dates at the Princess’s palatial Seventy-Second Street town house were surely just a matter of weeks away.
‘Are you saying you can’t help us, Miss Beaumont?’ said Paula, introducing a note of challenge.
The headmistress shook her head.
‘Not at all, I’m simply saying I should talk to the teachers concerned and review the situation in a few weeks.’
She was as tough as old boots, thought Paula grimly. Fenella Beaumont had the inscrutable earnestness of someone that could not be bought; rather foolish of her, given the position of power she was in, thought Paula. Still, she had an ace up her sleeve.
‘A few weeks?’ she cried, adding a quaver of hysteria for effect. ‘Who knows what psychological problems might have set in by then? These are sensitive girls at a critical juncture in their development.’
Paula had, of course, anticipated Miss Beaumont’s objections and had spent many hours thinking of a way to combat them. She had thought of reporting that Amelia, the younger, quieter twin was being bullied, but that would involve accusation, names, and Paula had no intention of making unnecessary enemies of influential parents.
‘Miss Beaumont,’ she said, adopting the intonation of a political chat-show host, ‘you should know that we have already seen a child psychotherapist about these identity issues.’
She’d practised saying the words so many times that she now almost believed that Casey and Amelia had been to see a shrink. ‘Dr Hill is worried, very worried. In his professional opinion, the girls being in the same class, the name mix-ups; it’s all causing damage.’
She emphasized the word ‘damage’ and the implication was not lost on the headmistress. She might be British, but she still understood the litigious culture of America.
Fenella Beaumont exhaled slightly, her plump cheeks expanding like a goldfish’s.
She flipped open a class register and seemed thoughtful for a moment.
‘We do have one new pupil joining Transition B next term, but that’s cancelling out Lucy Kwong’s departure from the school.’ She looked up quickly. ‘Her father has been posted to Dubai.’
‘Well, if someone new is starting, perhaps another new pupil joining the class would make it easier for both of them,’ said Paula.
Miss Beaumont nodded. ‘I suppose that makes sense.’
She snapped the register shut and stood up, her gown billowing behind her as she rose. ‘I will see what I can do. For the welfare of the girls, you understand,’ she added with emphasis.
‘Thank you, Miss Beaumont. We believe Casey should be the one to move into Transition B,’ added Paula casually. ‘More buoyant, more confident. I think she will adapt to new classmates quicker than Amelia would.’
‘Yes, quite,’ said Miss Beaumont. ‘I certainly agree.’
Paula smiled. Beautiful, popular Casey. Her golden girl. The sort of child that everyone would want to befriend. Yes, she thought, with a soaring sense of triumph. Casey would be her entrée into the very highest society.
Brooke Asgill snatched up the phone and speed-dialled Kim Yi-Noon’s extension.
‘Kim, can you come through? We’ve got a crisis.’
It was eight thirty in the morning. Brooke hadn’t even taken her jacket off when she noticed the manuscript of her magical slush-pile discovery Portico sitting in the middle of her desk. It had a coffee ring on the cover plus a bright yellow Post-it that read: ‘Buy this. Cheap. Mimi.’
Kim came running into Brooke’s office. Ever since the editorial meeting, Brooke had been trying, unsuccessfully, to reach Eileen Dunne, Portico’s author. She seemed to have disappeared in a puff of green smoke.
‘Hi Kim, where are we on tracking down Eileen Dunne?’ She waved the Post-it at her assistant. ‘Just got this from Mimi; looks
