On Monday, Monique had been absent all day, staying in her room or her morning room and completely avoiding Julia and ignoring the children.
On Tuesday, she sent Mrs. K to find Julia and invite her to the morning room for tea.
Ruby was, pointedly, not invited.
Julia appeared as requested, hoping to negotiate a truce. Monique was dressed in a pale pink blouse and cream tailored trousers with a pair of expensive matching pumps. Her dark brown hair was swept up in a neat chignon. Her smooth, high cheekbones shone with artfully applied blusher.
She regally inclined her head toward a chair covered in flowered chintz, which was, Julia guessed, her invitation to take a seat. The morning room, just as the drawing room, was decorated in ice blue and white but in this room it seemed only slightly less formal, no less cold.
Julia sat and Monique asked with feigned sweetness, “Tea?”
“No thank you, I don’t drink tea,” Julia replied.
Monique ignored her and poured tea into a dainty, china cup, added a wedge of lemon and handed it to her.
Julia held it, stunned into immobility by the woman’s rudeness.
“Let’s not misunderstand ourselves, you and I,” Monique said, sipping from her own cup and gazing dispassionately at Julia like she was something that crawled out from under a rock.
“Monique,” Julia started, in hopes of laying the tentative groundwork to heal relations, “I just want to do what’s right for those children and get along with you and with Douglas.”
“Douglas, my dear, is what I’d like to talk to you about.”
Julia tensed and Monique didn’t delay in explaining exactly what the tête-à-tête was about.
“Your brother, God rest his soul,” she touched her hand to her heart in false grief, “convinced my somewhat misguided daughter that he was worthy of her attention. But I shall tell you right now what I should have told him. He was not worthy of my family and you, particularly, are not worthy of my son. I know what kind of woman you are. I know what those pictures showed. I know your intentions. And I will not allow you to…”
But Julia was no longer listening to her. Monique had made a fatal mistake in her little interview. She could have attacked Julia, which would mean that Julia would have tried to react kindly or at least diplomatically.
But she should never have said a word against Gavin.
Julia put her cup down with such force that it clattered, stood up and stared down at the woman.
“Don’t you dare speak about my brother to me ever again, Monique. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” she whispered, her voice an enraged hiss.
For a moment Monique looked startled but she recovered quickly. “Should I remind you that it is my home you are living in, my sheets you are sleeping on, my –”
“I beg to differ but on the death of your husband, is it not true that all of that became Douglas’s? If you have an issue with me staying here, I’ll ask you to skip chats such as this and take it up directly with your son.”
And without allowing Monique to say another word, she’d walked out.
She’d been shaking with fury and when she exited the room she nearly ran into both Mrs. K and Veronika who, if she had thought about it at the time, were more than likely listening at the door.
She wanted someone to talk to (or more precisely someone to vent to) but Mrs. K looked at her kindly and Veronika gave her a shaky smile and they both scurried away as quickly as they could.
That meant, obviously, both of them were out as confidants.
She would normally call Patricia but her mother, she knew, would have lost her mind and flown out on the next available plane.
In a moment of temporary insanity, she considered calling Douglas.
Instead she phoned Charlotte.
Charlotte listened and before Julia could relate the whole story, her new friend interrupted with, “That woman is vile.”
For some reason, this comment made Julia relax.
“It was like a scene out of a bad soap opera,” Julia told her and couldn’t stop herself from laughing at the memory which, looking back, seemed ridiculous and exactly like a scene out of a bad soap opera (unfortunately, it wasn’t).