Douglas was not like Tammy at all. He wouldn’t consider lowering himself to a girl born to and raised by a divorcee. Douglas vacationed on the Riviera. Douglas flew to Paris in a private jet for a one hour meeting. Douglas’s gorgeous but stoic face was printed in magazines (normally while escorting catwalk models or Hollywood starlets or debutantes sporting hairstyles that cost more than Julia used to earn in a week).
Julia walked to the enormous windows and stared at the dormant garden, still thinking of Douglas, the man with whom she was now forced to live for at least the next twelve years.
Unlike his mother, he was always courteous to her, often gallant and sometimes fleetingly friendly, but never warm. She learned not to be concerned by his demeanour, that, she soon discovered, was how he treated everyone and was quite like his father’s behaviour (for the short time she knew Maxwell Ashton before his untimely death). Douglas’s cold indifference was legendary, he rarely smiled and even more rarely laughed.
After he came back from whatever he was doing those two years, something had changed in him. He had a strange, yet magnetic, sinister quality. She couldn’t put her finger on it but whatever it was made him no less attractive, in fact, this mysterious allure, including his remoteness, added to his appeal. He used to be quiet, watchful, you could almost, but not quite, forget he was in a room and then be startled when you caught him watching you.
And Julia had caught him watching her a great deal, probably wondering (undoubtedly somewhat clinically) how she had managed to insinuate herself into the Ashton Family Fortress.
Once he’d come back from his Disappearance (made notable in her mind with a capital “D”), even if you hadn’t seen him enter a room, you knew he was there. His very presence was forceful and the moment he cut his dark eyes to you, Julia could think of no other way to describe it, except, oh my.
Julia knew, though, that her ex-husband had been the beginning and the end of dealing with those kinds of men, handsome, arrogant and entirely self-centred. She’d rather be alone for the rest of her life than endure even a smidgen of the heartache Sean had bestowed on her or the relentless days of piecing together your life and self-confidence when they were gone.
“Dinnertime! Come on children, it’s all served up. Get it while it’s hot.”
Mrs. K had walked into the drawing room. The room was enormous, could easily and comfortably fit thirty (maybe even forty) people. Decorated in ice blue and white, unflinchingly formal with three gigantic crystal chandeliers running the length of it, it was chilly, even with the fire that now burned in its colossal grate.
The kids had headed to that room straight after tea. Not to the warm leather-couched entry, or the slightly more comfortable, book-lined library or the definitely more suitable billiards room or lounge.
“Grandmother Monique says kids are seen and not heard, the drawing room is the farthest away from Grandmother’s morning room and Uncle Douglas’s study,” Lizzie had explained while Julia tried not to show any reaction, least of all her extreme, albeit exhausted, irritation.
They all quietly trooped into the dining room. Quiet, Julia was learning quickly, was very important not only for the children but also the staff. The young Russian girl so excelled in it that Julia had been startled by her twice. Veronika drifted about like a ghost.
The dining room, Julia thought while entering it, was the most extravagantly appointed room in the house. The walls richly covered with embossed paper that was created to look and feel like leather and was hand painted in deep moss green, black and rich bronze with accents of gold. The room not only held a long, shining walnut table that seated eighteen but also had two semi-circular windows along one side that held tables that each sat an additional four apiece and an enormous fireplace in which Ruby could set up house.
Mrs. Kilpatrick had gone all out, as best she could without forbidden fattening sauces and delicious desserts. Halved avocados filled with succulent shrimp to start then fillet steaks, steamed broccoli, Brussel sprouts, boiled potatoes and carrots and to end, a fruit parfait separated with layers of thick, rich, honey-sweetened Greek yogurt.
Julia and Mrs. K both tried to make it into an event and the food, even without butter, salt or sauce to season it, was still delicious.
“You’re a wonder,” she told Mrs. K with all honesty when the older woman whisked the dishes away.
“One does one’s best. Now, it’s one hour of television or computer and then you know what to do,” she told the children who rushed to have their very short bit of fun.
“An hour?” Julia asked once the children left, her irritation growing.
“Lady Ashton doesn’t want their brains turned to mush by telly or computer games,” Mrs. K explained.
Julia’s lips tightened at the very idea that three grieving children were not given an opportunity to lose themselves in pleasurable pastimes, but she held her tongue and nodded.
If she heard one more word about what Grandmother or Lady Ashton did or did not want, her exhaustion and jetlag would cause her to lose her ever-loving mind and she’d scream the house down. Something which, she understood, would not help her impossible, inconceivable situation one bit.
After the children’s short hour of fun, Mrs. K and Julia put them to bed, first Ruby and then Willie and Lizzie.
Sitting on Lizzie’s bed, Julia tucked her in tight all the way down her sides just as she knew Gavin used to do because that was what Patricia used to do.
“I’m happy you’re here, Auntie Jewel,” Lizzie murmured sleepily, but even tired, she didn’t sound happy at all.
“I’m happy too,” Julia lied, bent forward and gave her niece a kiss on her temple.
Julia rose and crossed the room but stood uncertainly at the door for several moments after she’d turned out the light, completely at a loss of what to do for the girl. She wished Gavin was there to tell her but, of course, she wouldn’t have had to do anything if he was.
With a heavy heart, she went to find Mrs. K.
“I’m off to the husband,” Mrs. K. announced when Julia arrived in the kitchen and saw that Mrs. K was putting on her coat. “Breakfast for the children is at seven o’clock. They have to leave no later than seven thirty. I expect you’ll have a lie in tomorrow, you must be done in.”
Julia looked at the clock. It was ten after nine. If Mrs. Kilpatrick was here in time to feed the children by seven, she was working incredibly long hours.
“I’ll be at breakfast, Mrs. K,” Julia, resolute, told the housekeeper and something in her tone made Mrs. K’s head come up.