Colette’s face darkened at the memory. She had adored Denise and her going had had a lasting impact on her.
‘Maybe I was a little minx because I had reason to be,’ she said irately, shooting a look at her father who could have come to her defence but was keeping out of the discussion. ‘And don’t forget you and Dad were never at home. You were too busy with the Firm! I couldn’t compete with that,’ she added tartly.
‘Don’t be like that, Colette. You know we always gave you the best of everything. How ungracious of you,’ reproved her mother coldly.
‘The best of everything except your time. So stop getting on to me about Jazzy. I spend more time with her than you did with me.’
‘You know, Colette, sometimes you just have to let things go. It’s the same thing over and over with you,’ Jacqueline said wearily. ‘Who else do you know got a car for their eighteenth birthday, and a year off, with a generous allowance to travel around Europe, and then had their fees paid for an expensive London college? Certainly not Hilary, or Rowena, or any of your other friends. That all came from our hard work. Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know. Your father and I started off with nothing . . . nothing! And when we go you will be a millionairess, so build a bridge and get over it, Colette. I’m heartily sick of this “poor little me, I was neglected growing up” emotional blackmail nonsense you go on with! It’s utterly offensive and unwarranted,’ Jacqueline exploded, pushed to her limit.
Colette stared at her mother whose face had a blotchy crimson hue. Jacqueline never lost control of her temper. One of the reasons she was a superb barrister in the courts. She could never be goaded.
Des kept his eyes on his plate, annoyed at the way the conversation was going. He must remind his wife to tone it down a bit. She didn’t want her inheritance left to charity, which could very well happen if she pushed her mother far enough. Des had great plans for Colette’s inheritance.
‘When do you start working on Wall Street, Des?’ Frank changed the fraught topic of conversation with practised ease, warily noting his daughter’s dour expression.
‘I’ve to fly over on Tuesday for a few days. I’ll know more then.’ Des shucked an oyster into his mouth. ‘Superb quality,’ he remarked smoothly, glad the fracas was over.
‘Fresh off the boat,’ Frank replied with faux joviality, thinking how dare that pushy social-climbing upstart imply that Frank and Jacqueline would not serve anything but the best. It was far from oysters for lunch that Des Williams was reared.
‘I’m looking forward to bringing Colette to taste the best clam chowder ever in Harbor Square in Nantucket. The Tavern, I think it was called. The seafood on the East Coast is excellent quality, of course. I was at a clambake in the Hamptons two years ago – never tasted anything like them. So succulent. Have you ever been to that neck of the woods?’ Des eyeballed Frank. Mr Know-It-All was not going to get the better of him.
‘Er no. New York, Chicago and New Orleans are our haunts. But I tell you the jambalaya and filé gumbo and crawfish pie down in New Orleans are sensational! Have you ever tried them?’ his father-in-law batted back.
‘I wouldn’t be a fan of pastry with fish. It takes from the delicate flavour, I find. The same with filé.’ Des speared a prawn and dipped it into the Marie Rose sauce. ‘I would be more of a purist.’
‘Interesting,’ said Frank. ‘I would find that the Marie Rose sauce quite overpowers the prawns but clearly that’s not the case with you. I find prawns so delicate that even a soupçon of Tabasco or garlic can overwhelm the taste. I—’
‘Well we hope to take a summer rental in the Hamptons, or Nantucket or Cape Cod, so you’ll have to come for a week or two,’ Colette interjected hastily, wishing her father and husband would stop trying to outdo each other. It was always the same. They were decidedly childish, she thought crossly, glaring at her husband who was scowling at Frank’s masterly put-down. He glared back at her.
‘Of course we’ll come visit. I believe it’s a very picturesque part of the States.’ Frank topped up Colette’s glass and went to top up his son-in-law’s.
‘Not for me, thank you, Frank. I have a lot of work to do when I get home. I try not to drink too much at weekends.’ Des placed his palm over the glass. ‘But you go right ahead.’
Frank’s nostrils flared at the implied insult.
‘Will you rent out the flat?’ Jacqueline made an effort to be polite after her outburst.
‘We haven’t discussed that yet, either,’ Colette said snootily.
‘You’d get top dollar. It’s a prime location. And within walking distance of Kensington Palace – the Princess Di factor will bump up the rent. Go to one of those high-end letting agencies,’ Frank said authoritatively.
As if we wouldn’t think of that ourselves, thought Des derisively. Prat!
‘If we rent it out we won’t have a base in London,’ Colette pointed out.
‘Stay in a hotel.’ Her father helped himself to some smoked salmon.
‘We’ll see.’ She would make up her own mind about what she wanted to do with her home without her parents sticking their oar in. Frank had been put out when she had inherited the flat from his sister. He had planned to make a very fine profit from the sale of it, if Beatrice predeceased him, which he was sure she would because she was ten years older
