We That Are Left by Clark Clare

We That Are Left by Clark Clare

Author:Clark, Clare [Clark, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


When her father telephoned the flat Jessica demanded to know what was wrong. Her alarm made him irritable. He told her brusquely to be quiet and listen, that he meant to be up in London the next Thursday and that he wished to have dinner with her and Phyllis.

‘Phyllis is home?’

‘She arrives tomorrow.’ He ignored Jessica’s protestations that Thursdays were not convenient. He said that he would prefer to have dinner in the flat where they would be able to talk privately, without interruption.

Jessica supposed it was something to do with Ellinghurst. Ever since Cousin Evelyn had delivered his verdict she had tried not to think about what would happen to the house when Father died. It was one thing having Lettice and her grub babies at Ellinghurst, quite another selling it as a school. At least the Yorkshire Melvilles were family. If they lived at Ellinghurst it would still be their house, or nearly theirs. She would visit them when she wanted and everything would be almost the same. But a school? There would be lessons in the Library and Prize Giving in the Great Hall. When she thought of hordes of screaming ten-year-olds rampaging along the corridors it made her feel sick.

The maid agreed to work an evening shift. Jessica left the food to her and Nanny. Her father never noticed what he ate. She asked Nanny to arrange for whisky and gin to be delivered, to make sure there were candles and flowers and wine and a fire laid in the dining room. She told Nanny to have the bill sent directly to her father.

Gerald was put out when she told him she would not be able to see him but Jessica only laughed and told him he was not the only one with other business to attend to.

‘And no, it isn’t any of your business what my business is,’ she said and she smiled into the receiver at his silence on the other end of the line. The pleasure of piquing his jealousy made up just a little for two whole weeks without dancing or drinking champagne.



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