Philippa tilts her head and smiles. ‘Can I make a suggestion? Some practical magic?’
Eve looks at her suspiciously.
‘Do you like reality TV shows?’
‘God, yes.’ She finds a tissue and blows her nose.
‘Tom’ll be out this evening. Lord knows where, not my business. So why don’t you help me get our dinner ready? Then we can crack open a couple of cans of Guinness and watchLove Is Blind?’
Eve stares at her gratefully. ‘Honestly, there’s literally nothing I’d rather do.’
‘Beef and potato pasty suit you?’
‘Sounds lovely.’
Philippa goes to the fridge and takes out two plump, pastry-covered ovals. ‘I make these myself. See the crimping along the side? If you buy pasties in the shops, the crimping always goes clockwise. If you ever see a pasty with counterclockwise crimping, like these, you’ll know it’s been made by a witch. Still hungry?’
Eve smiles. ‘Starving.’
5
It’s shortly after 6p.m. when the taxi pulls up outside Ruffley Hall. Oxana climbs out and looks around her. It’s a warm evening, bathed in golden light. She’s standing outside a spacious Georgian country house. Attractive, but distinctly institutional in character. Beyond it, the land slopes downwards towards a tennis court and a lawn around which uniformed young women are pushing white baby strollers. In the distance, beyond fields and trees, is the dark glint of the River Thames. To the west, just visible, is the town of Pangbourne.
As the taxi drives away, the front door opens and two smiling, sensibly dressed women descend the stone steps. ‘You must be the new student,’ says one of them. ‘I’m Miss Honeyball, the school principal, and this is my deputy, Miss Catley.’
They walk up the steps into an oak-panelled front hall hung with sepia photographs of uniformed nannies, and oil paintings of Victorian and Edwardian women. There’s also a suit of armour which, Oxana can’t help noticing, is wearing a lime-green bra and knickers. ‘The girls,’ Miss Honeyball sighs. ‘They like to let off steam on Founder’s Day.’
‘Is that today?’ Oxana asks brightly.
‘Yes.’ Miss Honeyball indicates one of the portraits. ‘That’s Gwendolyn Hope. She founded the Ruffley School of Nursemaids in 1889, shortly after the death of General Gordon at Khartoum.’
‘Poor General Gordon.’ Miss Catley sighs.
‘The royal warrant was issued when a Ruffley nanny was employed by Princess Tina, one of Queen Victoria’s granddaughters.’ Miss Honeyball beams. ‘And the rest is history.’
Miss Catley extends a hand. ‘It’s been delightful to meet you, Oxana, but I’m afraid I have to go and supervise first-year tea.’
‘Why don’t we go and sit down?’ Miss Honeyball suggests.
In the office, Oxana sinks into a chintz-covered armchair beside a basket containing a snoring dog. Her stomach seems to twist and contract, whether from distress or from hunger she’s not sure.
Once I’m settled in my room, I’ll ring Eve. What happened at the club was really awful, much worse than I’d anticipated. I knew she’d be upset, but I didn’t think she’d be quite that angry. I know her moods. I’ve learnt to decode her signs. And this wasn’t normal, ‘fuck you, Oxana’ anger, like when I’ve been routinely thoughtless or cruel. This was much worse. The blood literally left her face. It was despairing. Like, you and your lies and your selfishness will destroy me.
But what can I do? Am I supposed to fall to my knees and beg forgiveness? To apologise, yet again, for being me? Sometimes I want to scream at her: you don’t know what it’s like to live with this absence, this void, this disconnectionfrom feeling. I wouldn’t even mind experiencing guilt. Not permanently, of course. Just to see what it felt like.
Am I supposed to apologise? To seek absolution for wanting this assignment? Because I’m not going to lie, the thought of it makes my blood race. It’s like I told Eve: it’s who I am. There will be horror, but horror is my friend. Without horror the world’s as flat and two-dimensional as painted scenery. At the same time, I can’t live without Eve. With her, I’m fully human. Without her…
‘So, Oxana,’ Miss Honeyball says, leaning forward over her desk. ‘We have you for just a week, following which you will be taking up employment, ostensibly as a fully certified Ruffley Royal nanny.’
Oxana nods.
‘I’ll be honest with you, it’s not an arrangement I’m keen on. The Ruffley Royal brand is celebrated worldwide. We’ve been described as the Rolls-Royce of nanny schools. Our girls are role models. We can’t allow just anyone to wear that lilac uniform. We have to be sure that you’re… the righttype.’
‘Miss Honeyball,’ Oxana says, fixing the other woman with a guileless and unblinkingly innocent gaze. ‘I give you my word. I will make you and the school proud.’
Miss Honeyball frowns. ‘But who are you, exactly? Obviously someone important, given that your anonymous sponsor has made a substantial donation to the school. And you’re older than most of our girls.’ She glances nervously around her, as if the walls might be listening. ‘Are you by any chance…a secret agent?’
Oxana’s tongue touches the scar on her upper lip. Her expression is suddenly serious. She summons up her finest, cut-glass English accent. ‘Miss Honeyball, can you keep a secret?’