There it is: the plain truth of it, the wound she nurses in her heart.
At last, something cuts through. He recoils.
‘I do not forget her.’
‘Forgive me my mistake, your wedding nuptials were so distracting I did not notice your grief.’
Yes, she is cruel, maybe they are all correct and she is a monster. But she no longer cares. Let her be the Devil, let her be mad, she will suffer and die either way.
‘Did you ever love Mother?’
George’s mouth trembles. ‘Of course I did. In my way.’
Ah. And whatwaywas that?
‘You judge so quickly, but you love different people for different reasons.’
‘You did not love her as you love Claudine.’
He gives an almost helpless shrug. ‘Claudine is a force of nature. Once she has fixed upon something it is pointless to try to stop her.’
‘And she fixed upon you.’
‘I know you do not believe me, but I truly hoped that one day you could be happy for my happiness. I have done my best to be a good father to you, but when you have your own children you will understand that it is not a straight-forward thing.’
She is sour all through, sick with bitterness. ‘Is it being a good father to throw your only child out to suit yourself?’
It is hurt for hurt’s sake. She does not know what she wants him to do with this, only that she cannot bear it all being buried within her. She must get it out, and onto anyone who will take it.
‘Odette,’ he says, half a warning, but can find no further words.
Nor can Odette. She is worn through. What else can she say to make anyone listen?
The train rattles into a tunnel, and they are cocooned in the dark with only the gas lamp. The window becomes a mirror of their mirthless faces.
No one is going to listen.
Claudine could confess before them all, and still no one wouldlisten to a word.
The train draws into the station, and the conductor proceeds along the platform, bellowingall change. Their compartment door is yanked open, and the chaotic noise blares in on them. George has not said where they are going, so she follows him, curled around her own pain like it’s a fragile thing cradled in her arms.
The platform is narrow and overfull, passengers waiting for a delayed train on the line opposite, their own train disgorging more people than should be possible. They are buffeted and pushed by the tides, until they are trapped in a slow-moving crush for the stairs.
George seems to have drawn back into himself, gathering himself up, standing a little taller, straighter. Perhaps she has made it easy for him now, to do what dirty work is needed.
‘We have agreed that it is better if you do not stay in London.’
‘You mean to keep me at Herne House?’
‘No. We have arranged for you to spend time at a spa town in Austria.’
‘A spa town,’ Odette repeats.
‘For a rest cure. I am told it is an exceptional place and has brought many young women into better health. You will stay in Suffolk for a few days while we make the necessary arrangements, then you will be escorted to the Continent. Claudine has found a well-regarded ladies’ companion to accompany you.’
In the distance, the chug of an oncoming train grows louder, the first billow of steam rolling beneath the station awning.
She is struck then by the understanding that, without her mother, there is nothing holding her family together anymore. She has no family, no home. Perhaps it was always an illusion, a staged scene they all took their places in, but now the canvas has been destroyed, the paints spilt. Her father knew this, and he hastaken off his costume and walked away. There is only Odette left, in some cheap costume jewellery, stiff with pain from holding her position.