Chapter 5
As the taxi drives away, the front door opens and two smiling, sensibly dressed women descend the stone steps. ‘You must be the new student,’ says one of them. ‘I’m Miss Honeyball, the school principal, and this is my deputy, Miss Catley.’
They walk up the steps into an oak-panelled front hall hung with sepia photographs of uniformed nannies, and oil paintings of Victorian and Edwardian women.
There’s also a suit of armour which, Oxana can’t help noticing, is wearing a lime-green bra and knickers.
‘The girls,’ Miss Honeyball sighs. ‘They like to let off steam on Founder’s Day. ’
‘Is that today?’ Oxana asks brightly.
‘Poor General Gordon.’ Miss Catley sighs.
‘The royal warrant was issued when a Ruffley nanny was employed by Princess Tina, one of Queen Victoria’s granddaughters.’ Miss Honeyball beams. ‘And the rest is history.’
Miss Catley extends a hand. ‘It’s been delightful to meet you, Oxana, but I’m afraid I have to go and supervise first-year tea.’
‘Why don’t we go and sit down?’ Miss Honeyball suggests.
In the office, Oxana sinks into a chintz-covered armchair beside a basket containing a snoring dog. Her stomach seems to twist and contract, whether from distress or from hunger she’s not sure.
Once I’m settled in my room, I’ll ring Eve.
What happened at the club was really awful, much worse than I’d anticipated.
I knew she’d be upset, but I didn’t think she’d be quite that angry.
I know her moods. I’ve learnt to decode her signs.
And this wasn’t normal, ‘fuck you, Oxana’ anger, like when I’ve been routinely thoughtless or cruel.
This was much worse. The blood literally left her face.
It was despairing. Like, you and your lies and your selfishness will destroy me.
But what can I do? Am I supposed to fall to my knees and beg forgiveness?
To apologise, yet again, for being me? Sometimes I want to scream at her: you don’t know what it’s like to live with this absence, this void, this disconnection from feeling.
I wouldn’t even mind experiencing guilt.
Not permanently, of course. Just to see what it felt like.
Am I supposed to apologise? To seek absolution for wanting this assignment?
Because I’m not going to lie, the thought of it makes my blood race.
It’s like I told Eve: it’s who I am. There will be horror, but horror is my friend.
Without horror the world’s as flat and two-dimensional as painted scenery.
At the same time, I can’t live without Eve. With her, I’m fully human. Without her…
‘So, Oxana,’ Miss Honeyball says, leaning forward over her desk. ‘We have you for just a week, following which you will be taking up employment, ostensibly as a fully certified Ruffley Royal nanny.’
Oxana nods.
‘I’ll be honest with you, it’s not an arrangement I’m keen on.
The Ruffley Royal brand is celebrated worldwide.
We’ve been described as the Rolls-Royce of nanny schools.
Our girls are role models. We can’t allow just anyone to wear that lilac uniform.
We have to be sure that you’re… the right type. ’
‘Miss Honeyball,’ Oxana says, fixing the other woman with a guileless and unblinkingly innocent gaze. ‘I give you my word. I will make you and the school proud.’
Miss Honeyball frowns. ‘But who are you, exactly? Obviously someone important, given that your anonymous sponsor has made a substantial donation to the school. And you’re older than most of our girls.
’ She glances nervously around her, as if the walls might be listening.
‘Are you by any chance… a secret agent?’
Oxana’s tongue touches the scar on her upper lip. Her expression is suddenly serious. She summons up her finest, cut-glass English accent. ‘Miss Honeyball, can you keep a secret?’
‘I’ve kept a few, in my time.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t give you the details, and the work that our people do is never made public, but I give you my word that I will be acting in this country’s best interests.’
‘So you are a secret agent. How perfectly thrilling. My lips are sealed.’
Five minutes later Oxana throws her cabin bag onto her bed. She’s sharing her room with two other students, Georgie and Charlotte.
‘So what’s it like to be back here?’ Georgie asks, fixing Oxana with inquisitive, nut-brown eyes.
‘Actually, I did my original training in London,’ Oxana says. ‘Somewhere much less posh than this.’ The story that she’s agreed with Miss Honeyball is that she is a certified nanny who has come to Ruffley for a refresher course. ‘But my first job went… well, it went wrong.’
‘What happened?’ asks Charlotte, who’s pale and red-haired. Like Georgie, she’s wearing a lilac skirt and a dark blue cardigan embroidered with the school’s crest.
‘The husband,’ Oxana murmurs. ‘He… well, he was an actor, a film star, and he took a liking to me, and—’
‘Go on,’ whispers Georgie.
‘And… he told me he was in love with me—’
‘Oh my God,’ breathes Charlotte.
‘And I… I believed him, and his wife caught us, and—’ Oxana’s head slumps forwards and her shoulders twitch. ‘There was a terrible scene, and I had to leave.’
Georgie and Charlotte stare at her, riveted. An invisible signal seems to pass between them.
‘Can we ask… who it was?’ Georgie asks.
Oxana bites her lip and looks away. ‘I had to sign a legal form swearing never to say, but it’s definitely someone you’d recognise. A big star.’
‘And are you still…?’ Charlotte leans forward.
‘In love with him? I… I think I’ll probably always—’ A single tear runs down her cheek.
‘Oh, you poor thing.’ Georgie sighs. ‘Men, honestly.’
Charlotte looks at Oxana hesitantly. ‘If I was to show you pics of actors on my phone, would you like nod, if…’
‘I really can’t say anything,’ Oxana murmurs. She touches a tissue to her eyes. ‘But I suppose nodding’s not the same as saying.’
‘No,’ Charlotte says soothingly, busying herself with her phone. ‘It’s not the same thing at all. He’s British, right?’
Oxana nods, and a very few minutes later, glances at the screen and nods again.
‘Him?’ Charlotte says, her eyes widening. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.’
Georgie gazes open-mouthed at Charlotte’s phone. ‘What was it like? I mean—’
‘Like, in detail?’ Oxana asks.
Georgie and Charlotte nod wordlessly.
‘Well,’ Oxana looks at them in turn, and settles herself more comfortably on the bed. ‘It all started one evening. I’d put the children to bed…’