Whiteout - Ken Follett [41]
The others began to notice her, and slowly the room fell silent. At last, Stanley turned around. “Ah! Toni!” he said, jumping up from his seat, and Miranda was struck by how pleased he looked. “Kind of you to drop in. Kids, this is my colleague, Antonia Gallo.”
The woman smiled as if she thought there was nothing more delightful than a big quarrelsome family. She had a wide, generous smile and full lips. This was the ex-cop who had caught Kit stealing from the company, Miranda realized. Despite that, Stanley seemed to like her.
Stanley introduced them, and Miranda noticed the pride in his tone. “Toni, meet my daughter Olga, her husband Hugo, and their children, Caroline with the pet rats, and Craig the tall one. My other daughter Miranda, her boy Tom, her fiancé Ned, and Ned’s daughter, Sophie.” Toni looked at each member of the family, nodding pleasantly, seeming keenly interested. It was hard to take in eight new names at a time, but Miranda had a feeling Toni would remember them all. “That’s Luke peeling carrots and Lori at the stove. Nellie, the lady does not want a chew of your rawhide bone, touched though she is by your generosity.”
Toni said, “I’m very glad to meet you all.” She sounded as if she meant it, but at the same time she seemed to be under strain.
Miranda said, “You must be having a difficult day. I’m so sorry about the technician who died.”
Stanley said, “It was Toni who found him.”
“Oh, God!”
Toni nodded. “We’re pretty sure he didn’t infect anyone else, thank heaven. Now we’re just hoping the media won’t crucify us.”
Stanley looked at his watch. “Excuse us,” he said to his family. “We’re going to watch the news in my study.” He held the door for Toni and they went out.
The children started to chatter again, and Hugo said something to Ned about the Scottish rugby team. Miranda turned to Olga. Their quarrel was forgotten. “Attractive woman,” she said musingly.
“Yes,” Olga said. “About, what, my age?”
“Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, yes. And Daddy’s lost weight.”
“I noticed that.”
“A shared crisis brings people together.”
“Doesn’t it just?”
“So what do you think?”
“I think what you think.”
Miranda drained her glass of wine. “I thought so.”
1 P.M.
TONI was overwhelmed by the scene in the kitchen: adults and children, servants and pets, drinking wine and preparing food and quarreling and laughing at jokes. It had been like walking into a really good party where she knew nobody. She wanted to join in, but she felt excluded. This was Stanley’s life, she thought. He and his wife had created this group, this home, this warmth. She admired him for it, and envied his children. They probably had no idea how privileged they were. She had stood there for several minutes, bemused but fascinated. No wonder he was so attached to his family.
It thrilled and dismayed her. She could, if she allowed herself, entertain a fantasy about being part of it, sitting beside Stanley as his wife, loving him and his children, basking in the comfort of their togetherness. But she repressed that dream. It was impossible, and she should not torture herself. The very strength of the family bonds kept her out.
When at last they noticed her, she got a hard look from both daughters, Olga and Miranda. It was a careful scrutiny: detailed, unapologetic, hostile. She had got a similar look from Lori, the cook, though more discreet.
She understood the daughters’ reaction. For thirty years Marta had ruled that kitchen. They would have felt disloyal to her had they not been hostile. Any woman Stanley liked could turn into a threat. She could disrupt the family. She might change their father’s attitudes, turn his affections