“Mother, we were in London for an art opening. Julia tripped, I caught her, the photographer got lucky. Did you come all the way back from the Mediterranean for this?”
His words and tone made her actions sound ludicrous.
She tore her angry gaze away from Julia who was visibly shaken. Julia looked from Monique to Douglas then back to Monique.
For her part, Monique looked to be trying to decide the veracity of his words. She also looked at him and then Julia.
He looked annoyed, which he was. Julia looked stricken and offended.
And he noted passingly, rather glorious.
Even standing there, barefoot, wearing snug-fitting jeans and an equally snug-fitting chocolate brown t-shirt that said “Eat at Ed’s” in pink on the front, she somehow appeared to match Monique in panache. Even injured and caught off guard, there was something almost regal about her that even Monique, with her wealth of aristocratic background and good breeding, couldn’t match.
Douglas tore his gaze away from Julia and watched as his mother made her decision. Perhaps believing Douglas, perhaps realising that her opponent may not be as much of a pushover as she anticipated, perhaps sensing she wouldn’t have Douglas’s support, she backed off with ill-grace.
“That,” Monique answered Douglas belatedly, her tone no longer icy but now airy, “and Beatrice was getting on my nerves. I forgot I can only stand the woman for hours at a time, why I thought I could spend three weeks with her is beyond me.”
Deciding to give up her tirade, without another word, she turned and began to walk away, as usual without any kind of greeting, asking after Douglas, who she hadn’t seen in weeks, or inquiring about Julia, who had moved an ocean away from her home to take up the care of Monique’s grandchildren.
“Mother,” Douglas called, his voice so unyielding even Monique stopped and turned.
“Yes, my darling?” she replied.
He stared at his mother and saw her eyes glittering with malice. Her words were uttered in a sugar sweet tone that he knew from years of experience she didn’t mean. He’d been enduring her faux motherhood for thirty-eight years and he’d always been able to ignore it. For some reason, today, he found it grated.
“I think there are a few things you should say to Julia,” he informed her.
Her eyes narrowed and she tried to stare him down. Instead, he calmly sat, picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, watching his mother the whole time.
Once he replaced the cup in its saucer, he quirked an eyebrow to her.
His mother sighed dramatically, giving in with anything but good grace.
“Welcome to Sommersgate, Julia. My apologies for the misunderstanding.”
She looked Julia up and down and her expression showed she found what she saw lacking. Then, without another word, she walked out of the room.
Douglas sighed.
Then he turned his eyes to Julia, who was staring after Monique, her face a mask of pure incredulity.
“Sit down, Julia,” he commanded quietly.
For once, she did as she was told.
“What… was… that?” she asked, her voice horrified.
“I’m afraid the gloves are off,” Douglas explained, watching her.
Her eyes moved to him and he saw they were huge and uncomprehending. She looked at the paper in her hands and then threw it on the table as if it burned. She lifted a shaky hand to pull her hair away from her face and took a deep breath.
“It’ll be okay,” she murmured as if trying to convince herself. “It’ll all be okay.”
Douglas watched her as she tried to fool herself. This time, with him standing beside her, she emerged virtually unscathed. Given her mental state, she was, he knew, no match for his mother’s callous, unrelenting venom. Even if she had exhibited fire and spirit, she was exhausted and still coping with the loss of her brother and Tamsin. She’d be torn apart within a week; he’d give it two at the most.
And somehow understanding this went beyond annoying him.
Ten minutes ago, knowing that Julia and his mother and this arrangement would be difficult was a simple inconvenience, something he understood that he needed to control.