Читать книгу The Other Wife: A sweeping historical romantic drama tinged with obsession and suspense - Juliet Bell, Juliet Bell - Страница 21

Betty

‘Come and sit by me, Eliza.’ Betty squeezed onto the seat next to Mrs Mason. ‘That’s right. Sit by your mummy.’

Betty did as she was told. She didn’t remind Mrs Mason that she was not really her mummy. Or that her name was really Betty. She had learnt that Mrs Mason didn’t like it when she did that. Mrs Mason liked to have her close by, and liked to be called Mummy. She liked hugs and kisses. And if Betty did all those things, she was given treats and pretty clothes. And she could avoid Mr Mason and his son. That was something else she had learnt in the past weeks, or was it months? It was best to stay away from them.

Mrs Mason opened a magazine on her lap, circling one arm around Betty to keep the magazine open in front of them both. The magazines Mrs Mason bought had pictures of women who looked like Mrs Mason, living in houses that looked like the Masons’ house. She liked to show Betty the pictures and tell her about what was in style and what was out. Today the magazine was open at a recipe page. ‘We need to pick the dessert for Mr Mason’s dinner on Friday. There are important people coming. What do you think?’

Betty peered at the pictures before thrusting a stubby finger at the one that looked the most chocolatey.

Mrs Mason scanned the text. ‘Golliwog Biscuit Cake?’

Betty nodded.

‘And will you help make it?’

‘Yes.’

Mrs Mason tickled Betty’s tummy. ‘Good girl. I’ll let you lick the bowl.’

Mr Mason strode into the room. ‘Is our son home yet? Where’s Richard?’ He stopped. ‘Why do you always have that little thing sitting right on top of you? She should be making herself useful.’

Mrs Mason pursed her lips. ‘She is. She’s helping me plan supper for Friday evening. We’re going to make Golliwog Biscuit Cake.’

‘Don’t be stupid, woman. You can’t serve that to my guests. Make a proper dessert.’

Betty shrank back a little, trying to hide behind Mrs Mason like she always did when Mr Mason was home.

‘Is Richard home?’

Mrs Mason glanced at the clock. ‘He should be here any minute.’

The front door clicked open right on schedule, and she heard the Masons’ teenage son stomp into the hallway and then into the front lounge. His habitual slouch straightened instantly when he saw his father.

‘I thought Richard should join us on Friday night.’

The boy grew another few inches.

‘He needs to start learning the business and meeting the right people.’

Mrs Mason frowned. ‘Isn’t he a bit young?’

‘Let me decide what’s best for our son. He’s ready. You’d keep him in nappies if you had your way.’ He strode towards the door. ‘And you’ve got your pet now if you want something to baby.’

Mr Mason marched out of the room and a few moments later the front door swung open and closed again. Richard’s demeanour shifted as soon as his father was out of the house. He slumped onto the couch, swinging his legs up onto the cushion.

‘Richard, don’t put your feet on the cushions.’ Mrs Mason’s voice quivered as she murmured the instruction.

Richard laughed at his mother’s feeble attempt to tell him off. ‘You don’t tell my dad what to do.’

‘He’s the man of the house.’

‘And one day I will be.’ Richard laughed as he stood up again and headed towards the door. ‘Let me know when dinner’s ready.’

The lounge room fell into silence after the door slammed behind him. Mrs Mason patted Betty gently on the head.

On Friday evening, Betty was sent to her room early. Mrs Mason gave her banana sandwiches and a couple of golliwog biscuits that she’d bought ready for them to bake into a cake. They’d do that tomorrow, and the cake would be just for them, not for Mr Mason’s guests. She sat up in bed, leaning on the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest with the covers over her legs. She munched on her biscuit, dropping crumbs on the sheets. She wasn’t at all sleepy.

Her room was right above the front door. She wriggled to the end of the bed and reached to crack the window open a little bit. She could hear people arriving. The men all had big, brash voices like Mr Mason. The women were quieter. She tried to remember. She didn’t think Daddy was loud and brash. Had Mummy been quiet?

She couldn’t remember. She thought that Mummy did used to shout sometimes. She thought that sometimes Mummy used bad words that made Daddy frown. Betty could remember Daddy’s big, strong hands, and his deep, warm voice, but she couldn’t remember Mummy properly anymore at all. Betty screwed her eyes closed and tried to bring Mummy’s face into her head. It was almost there, but, when she tried to look closely, the image blurred and wafted away.

The voices outside the front door had subsided to just two now. Mr Mason and Richard. Betty opened her eyes and listened.

‘Now, these blokes own some of the biggest properties in the state. These are important people and they need to know that we’re men they can do business with. You understand.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Right. So tell me again. Who are you sitting next to?’

‘The old guy. Rochester.’

‘Less of the old. He’s only a few years older than me.’

Betty thought she heard Richard snigger, and the noise was followed by the sharp crack of Mr Mason’s hand across his son’s face.

‘You’ll take this seriously.’

‘Sorry, Father.’

‘The Rochesters are important people, and I’ve heard they’re not happy with Halligans. So you’re going to charm him. He’s got a son not much older than you. He’ll inherit the property one day, like you’ll inherit all this. That’s what we want Rochester to see – that we’re a nice, respectable family business that he can trust for years to come.’

‘Yes, Father.’

There was another short moment of quiet. ‘Now, get your face cleaned up and get inside.’