Genevieve brushed a long ash-gold tendril from her face. “He was kindness itself to me.”
“You mean when you were a little kid,” Angel scoffed, jealous of Blaine’s affection for her daughter to this day.
“A little fatherless kid. I loved Blaine with all my heart,” Genevieve admitted, frightened somehow by the depth of her own emotion.
Angel gave a hard laugh. “Well, that’s all gone by the board. You two have had a very difficult relationship for years now. The arrogance of the man! He has always interfered. You’d think he was your guardian, not me. Remember the time I wanted you to be a model. You could have been right up there at the top. An international career. You had everything going for you, but no, Blaine insisted you go on to university.”
“I was a straight-A student, Angel,” Genevieve reminded her. “I didn’t want to be a model.”
That struck Angel as irrelevant. “It’s the best career a beautiful girl could possibly have. Such an exciting, glamorous life.”
“So you say. It wasn’t for me.”
Angel’s pretty mouth puckered. “So working at the State Art Gallery is better?”
“I have a Fine Arts Degree. I’m quite a good artist myself. I’m learning all the time. I’m regarded as a valuable addition to the team. All of this fades into the background now, Angel, I can’t go through with this marriage.”
That struck Angel as shocking. She burst into faintly hysterical laughter. “Not a chance you’re getting out of it,” she cried loudly. “Blaine will drag you down the aisle if he has to. Don’t forget there’s the honour of the Courtland name at stake.”
Genevieve’s violet eyes burned. “I’m only a cousin, Angel. Third cousin. I don’t really count.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, my girl.” Angel began to fiercely swing an evening-sandalled foot. “This would be the most appalling breach of social etiquette. It’s unthinkable.”
“Except if I go through with it I’ll be making the most hideous mistake of my life,” Genevieve said in a voice thin with despair. “Please listen to me, Angel. I feel so alone. Shaking inside.”
But Angel was furious with her. “Who the devil are you, Genevieve?” she shouted. “Who are you really? You’re certain of it? Why now. Why didn’t you just leave it until tomorrow morning? Climb out the bathroom window. I know you’ve seen that movie with Julia Roberts. Jumping on horses. You’ve got cold feet. All brides have cold feet. A little surprise for you, darling. You simply cannot let any of us down. You’re emotionally fragile, like your father.”
At that Genevieve’s violet eyes flashed into brilliant life. “Damn you, Mamma,” she said. “Damn you for leaving my father in the first place. Isn’t it enough that he’s dead? You’re going to defame him?”
“Now just hang on a minute,” Angel hissed. “I’m not defaming 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