Page 98 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

‘She’s all right,’ said Marie, working on the countess’s shoes. ‘A bit full of herself, if you ask me. And her hair’s coarse as a pony’s – nothing to write home about. Nice skin, though.’

‘Yeah,’ said James. ‘She can ring my bell any time she likes.’

Marie gave him a scornful look. ‘You can dream about it.’ She yawned. ‘They keep late nights here.’

‘Yeah, but at least some of ’em speak a bit of English. It makes a difference. That butler, Stefano—’

‘Major domo,’ Marie said. ‘That’s what they’re called abroad.’

‘Whatever he is. I had a good chat with him yesterday. He says English servants go down a treat over here. Everyone wants ’em – snob value, apparently.’

‘You stick with his lordship,’ Marie advised. ‘You wouldn’t last five minutes anywhere but England.’

‘Huh!’ James said, hurt. ‘What about you, then?’

‘Oh, I reckon I could make it here. I’m quick to learn. And I like the place.’

James was alarmed. He didn’t want to be left on his own. Broken English wasn’t enough for a gregarious man. ‘You’re not jumping ship?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ she said.

Nina hadn’t spoken to her aunt about university: it seemed too remote a dream. And the reality of taking a teaching job was looming ever closer. Aunt Schofield hadn’t said anything, but Nina felt she ought to make some preparation. She visited Miss Thornton and talked it over with her, asked her what would be the best way of seeking a post. Miss Thornton told her her education was good enough for a girls’ school, and said she would ask around and let her know if she heard of a place. She quizzed Nina about her new interest in archaeology, and suggested some books. ‘I think you know everything,’ Nina said admiringly.

Miss Thornton laughed. ‘A little about most things,’ she said. ‘Just enough to appear to know a lot more – which is the teacher’s great trick, Nina, my dear. Always keep one step ahead of your pupils … and their parents.’

Meanwhile, Nina was busy, and happy, enjoying the last of her freedom. Apart from working for the library, she was studying the basics of Egyptology, and spending a couple of mornings a week at the British Museum. Aunt Schofield had many charitable schemes, and she helped her every day with the correspondence. And her friendship with Lepida was flourishing. There were summer courses at the university, and they went to some lectures together, compared notes, shared reading lists. Nina found Lepida’s orderly mind a great help – she was a good sounding-board. They went for walks together in the parks or along the river, and to one or two concerts.

Nina was becoming a regular visitor at the Morris home. She liked Mrs Morris, Isabel, who was a motherly soul, and enjoyed the relationship between the three of them, which seemed attractively egalitarian to one brought up to strict discipline. Henry ‘Mawes’ Morris was an extraordinary man: an artist, illustrator, and drawer of cartoons for Harlequinade, the satirical magazine. He had an original mind, a puckish sense of humour, and many talents: Aunt called him a polymath. He could draw and paint, play the piano, write songs, had collaborated on a comic play that had done very well in a London theatre, and had been in his youth a top-class cricketer and yachtsman. He liked to talk and to laugh, but had occasional ferocious bouts of temper when things went wrong, which scared Nina at first. But they never lasted long, and were not directed at anyone in particular, more at the perversity of a Fate that dropped objects in his way on which to stub his toes.

Nina was soon persuaded to model for him. ‘I’m always looking for willing bodies,’ he told her. ‘Bel and Lepida are so bored by it, though they put up with me, bless them.’ She never knew what she would have to do next: pose with a tennis racquet as though taking a shot, sit at a tiny table with a glass in her hand being in Paris, straddle a bicycle (scolding from the housekeeper about oil on the carpet), hold an inside-out umbrella and pretend to be struggling against the wind. Often it would involve dressing up in something hired from a theatrical costumier. It was all great fun. Aunt Schofield did not take Harlequinade, and she had to go to the library to see herself magically transposed into a cartoon. She loved the idea that people all over the country would be looking at her image without knowing in the least that it was her. She was immortalised – but anonymously.

As well as using her for his paid work, Mawes, as he insisted she call him (everyone did), was painting a serious portrait of her, sitting on a high stool by a window and gazing out pensively. ‘That’s it,’ he would say sometimes. ‘That expression of melancholy – that’s what I want.’ He never asked why she was sad. Sitting gave her time to think, and nothing to interrupt the thoughts. It was better, she thought, to keep busy – but she would always oblige him.

He thought it was going to turn out well. ‘I might send it in to the Exhibition at the Royal Academy next year,’ he said.

There were lively dinners at the Morrises’, too – with as much talk but more laughter than at Aunt Schofield’s gatherings. From his yachting days Mawes knew the King, who was a tremendous fan of his work. He had met many people of influence, while his journalism brought him together with people from all walks of life, politicians, courtiers, bankers, sportsmen, actors, writers. Mawes seemed to know everyone: you never knew who might be at the table.

One day while she was sitting for him he said, ‘I met a fellow the other day who claims an acquaintance with you, Nina. He recognised you from that high-wind cartoon, you remember the one, and asked me about you. It was at a gentlemen’s dinner in Manchester Square. Name of Cowling. Do you remember him at all?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Nina said.

‘Really? I thought he must be mistaken,’ said Mawes. ‘Industrialist – frightfully big in boots and shoes, apparently. Couldn’t think where you might have met him.’

‘It was at a ball at Dene Park,’ Nina said. ‘He was in a party that came with the King. I danced with him.’

‘Ah, yes, he is one of the King’s coterie,’ said Mawes. ‘Well, that explains it. He sent his compliments and so on. You seem to have made quite an impression on him.’

Nina smiled. ‘I don’t remember saying very much. Mostly I listened while he told me about himself.’

Mawes smiled mischievously. ‘That’ll do it every time! If females knew how powerful being listened to is, none of us would have a chance. We’d fall like ninepins.’

Giles seemed in no hurry to leave Florence. He had disappeared into the world of academe – and, in particular, the archaeological section of it – and Kitty hardly saw him. It was left to Lucia to entertain her, and take her about the famous city to see the sights. More museums and art galleries. Lucia was very knowledgeable, and at least did not spend as much time on each exhibit as Giles tended to. Even so, Kitty’s feet ached in concert with her head. There seemed to be an inordinate number of churches in Florence, but Kitty was glad of them: at least it was cool inside, and out of the glaring sun. She could even contrive to sit down for a while, and if Lucia wondered at the time she was willing to spend in rapt contemplation of a statue of the Blessed Virgin, she made no comment.

One morning Lucia said to her, ‘What would you like to do today, my dear?’

Kitty smiled dutifully. ‘Whatever you like. Had you something planned?’

‘I think it’s too hot for the Boboli Gardens. There’s the Strozzi Palace – we haven’t seen that yet.’