others, down in the worst possible way. This day should have been a test of her capabilities in organizing the children’s schedules. Instead, they’d headed off on an unplanned jaunt into the middle of nowhere and missed important activities. If she had been Pierre, she’d have been livid, too.
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered.
She didn’t dare tell Pierre outright how the children had tricked her, even though she was sure he suspected it. If she did, they might end up suffering the brunt of his anger.
A gong sounded from the dining room and Pierre glanced at his watch.
“We will talk about this later. Get them ready for supper now. Quickly, or the food will get cold.”
Quickly was easier said than done. It took over half an hour, and more tears, before Marc and Ella were bathed and in their pajamas. Thankfully, Antoinette was on her best behavior, and Cassie wondered if she was feeling overwhelmed by the consequences of her actions. As for herself, she was numbed after the catastrophe the day had become. Half drenched from bathing the children, she had no time for a shower. She pulled on a dry top and the welts on her arms flared up again.
They trooped disconsolately downstairs.
Pierre and Margot were waiting in the small lounge next door to the dining room. Margot was sipping a glass of wine while Pierre refilled a brandy and soda.
“Finally we are ready to eat,” Margot observed tersely.
Supper was a fish casserole, and Pierre insisted the two older children serve themselves, although he allowed Cassie to help Ella.
“They must learn etiquette at an early age,” he said, and proceeded to instruct them on the correct protocol the whole way through dinner.
“Put your serviette in your lap, Marc. Not crumpled on the floor. And your elbows must stay in; Ella does not want to be poked in the side while you are eating.”
The stew was rich and delicious and Cassie was starving, but Pierre’s haranguing was enough to put anyone off their food. She restricted herself to small, delicate mouthfuls, glancing at Margot to check she was doing things in the correct French way. The children were exhausted, unable to comprehend what their father was saying, and Cassie found herself wishing that Margot would tell Pierre that now was not a good time for nitpicking.
She wondered if dinners had been any different when Diane was alive, and how much the dynamic had changed after Margot’s arrival. Her own mother had kept a firm lid on the conflict in her quiet way, but it had erupted uncontrollably when she had gone. Perhaps Diane had played a similar role.
“Some wine?” To her surprise, Pierre filled her glass with white wine before she could refuse. Perhaps this was protocol, too.
The wine was fragrant and fruity, and after just a few sips she felt the alcohol suffuse her bloodstream, filling her with a sense of well-being and a dangerous relaxation. She put her glass down hurriedly, knowing she couldn’t afford any slip-ups.
“Ella, what are you doing?” Pierre asked, exasperated.
“I’m scratching my knee,” Ella explained.
“Why are you using a spoon?”
“My nails are too short to reach the itch. We walked through nettles,” Ella said proudly. “Antoinette showed Cassie a shortcut. I got stung on my knee. Cassie got stung all over her face and arms. She was crying.”
Margot banged her wineglass down.
“Antoinette! You did that again?”
Cassie blinked, surprised to learn that she’d done it before.
“I…” Antoinette began defiantly, but Margot was unstoppable.
“You are a vicious little beast. All you want to do is cause trouble. You think you are being clever, but you are just a stupid, mean, childish girl.”
Antoinette bit her lip. Margot’s words had cracked her cool shell of composure.
“It’s not her fault,” Cassie found herself saying loudly, wondering too late if the wine had been a bad idea.
“It must be really difficult for her dealing with—” She stopped herself hurriedly, because she’d been about to mention their mother’s death, but Ella believed a different version and she had no idea what the true story was. Now was not the time to ask.
“Dealing with so much change,” she said. “In any case, Antoinette didn’t tell me to take that path. I chose it myself. Ella and I were tired and it looked like a good shortcut.”
She didn’t dare look at Antoinette while she spoke, in case Margot suspected collusion, but she managed to catch Ella’s eye. She gave her a conspiratorial glance, hoping she would understand why Cassie was siding with her sister, and was rewarded with a tiny nod.
Cassie feared that her defense would leave her on even shakier ground, but she had to say something. After all, she knew what it was like growing up in a fractured family where war could erupt at any moment. She understood the importance of an older role model who could offer shelter from the storms. How would she have coped without Jacqui’s strength during the bad times? Antoinette had nobody to stand with her.
“So you are choosing to take her side?” Margot hissed. “Trust me, you will regret doing that, just as I have done. You do not know her like I do.” She pointed a crimson-manicured finger at Antoinette, who started sobbing. “She is just the same as her—”
“Stop it!” Pierre roared. “I will not have arguments at the dinner table—Margot, shut up now, you have said enough.”
Margot leaped to her feet so suddenly her chair overturned with a crash.
“You are telling me to shut up? Then I will go. But don’t think I have not tried to warn you. You will get what you deserve, Pierre.” She marched to the door but then turned back, staring at Cassie with undisguised hatred.
“You will all get what you deserve.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cassie held her breath as Margot’s angry footsteps retreated down the passage. Glancing around the table, she saw she wasn’t the only one shocked into silence by the blonde woman’s vicious outburst. Marc’s eyes were saucer-wide and his mouth was tightly closed. Ella was sucking her thumb. Antoinette was scowling in wordless fury.
With a muttered oath, Pierre pushed back his chair.
“I’ll deal with it,” he said, striding to the door. “Put the children to bed.”
Relieved to have a job to do, Cassie stood up, glancing at the plates and dishes littering the table. Should she clear the table, or ask the children to help? Tension hung in the air as thick as smoke. She wished for a normal, everyday family activity like washing up to help dissolve it.
Antoinette saw the direction of her gaze.
“Leave everything,” she snapped. “Someone clears up later.”
Forcing cheerfulness into her tone, Cassie said, “Well, then, it’s bedtime.”
“I don’t want to go to bed,” Marc protested, swinging his chair
