I know who you are and youre not one of us, she seemed to be saying. And you never will be one of us, however hard you try.
And so Greta cultivated the boy but remained at a distance from the mother. Sometimes when Lady Anne had one of her recurring migraines and lay upstairs silent with a white flannel over her head and her white bedroom curtains drawn against the sun, Thomas and Greta would walk on the beach and look for amber. Greta knew all about amber because shed read a book about it.
Sometimes Sir Peter and Lady Anne would be invited out for lunch or dinner at the house of another well-connected family, and Greta, Thomas, and Mrs. Martin, the housekeeper, would remain behind. It was on one such Saturday that the first trouble happened. It was the birthday of Mrs. Martins sister, and the housekeeper was taking Thomas with her to the party in Woodbridge. Thomas enjoyed these visits. Mrs. Martins brother-in-law owned a seagoing boat, and Thomas had already extracted a promise that he would be taken out night fishing when hed reached the golden age of fifteen, only five months away.
By midday Greta was alone in the House of the Four Winds. She finished typing out the corrections to a speech that Sir Peter was to give at the party conference the following week and then went out into the front hall. There was not a sound anywhere except the murmur of the sea as she climbed the stairs to Lady Annes bedroom and closed the door softly behind her.
Greta stood in the center of the room watching herself in the freestanding mirror as she slowly and deliberately undressed. It was the third time that she had done this, and each time it gave her greater pleasure. Now she carefully opened the top drawer of an antique chest and took out three or four pairs of Lady Annes silk underwear, setting to one side a lavender sachet embroidered by the lady of the house. One by one she tried them on, pressing the white material against her body until at last she settled on the sheerest, thinnest pair of all and turned her attention to the closets containing Lady Annes dresses.
Greta stood in the center of the room watching herself in the freestanding mirror as she slowly and deliberately undressed. It was the third time that she had done this, and each time it gave her greater pleasure. Now she carefully opened the top drawer of an antique chest and took out three or four pairs of Lady Annes silk underwear, setting to one side a lavender sachet embroidered by the lady of the house. One by one she tried them on, pressing the white material against her body until at last she settled on the sheerest, thinnest pair of all and turned her attention to the closets containing Lady Annes dresses.
Her green eyes sparkled as she passed the material between her fingers and raised it to her nose. As she breathed in deeply, it was almost as if she was holding Lady Anne close to herself. Turning, she laid out five of the dresses across the wide bed and slowly tried each one on. Her erect nipples visible through the fabric of each dress and the faraway look in her half-closed eyes told their own story. She was too absorbed to notice the sound of the front door opening down below, and she didnt hear the footsteps on the stairs as she pulled a lemon silk brocade dress over her head. She only knew that she was not alone when she looked in the mirror to admire herself and saw Thomas standing in the open doorway behind her.
One of Gretas greatest qualities as a personal assistant was her calmness under pressure.
Its almost unnatural, Sir Peter had told his wife only the previous weekend when they were lying in the bed across which Lady Annes evening dresses were now draped. Its like there are all these boats being tossed about in some terrible tempest out there in the bay and shes in her own boat in the center and the storms having no effect on her at all. Shes one in a million, Annie. I bet that some of the other M.P. s would pay a kings ransom to get hold of her, but then, shes completely loyal. Thats another of her qualities.
Yes, I see what you mean, Lady Anne had replied. It is unnatural. She must have worked very hard to become what she is.
Now, at this moment of crisis, Greta remained just as calm as her employer would have expected. Only a slight shudder indicated her awareness of the boys presence. Thomas, however, stood rooted to the spot and his cheeks flushed crimson. His eyes were fixed on the reflection of Gretas full breasts in the mirror, with the rose-red nipples clearly visible as the buttons on the front of the yellow dress remained undone right down to the waist.
Greta looked evenly at the boys reflection in the mirror but did nothing to hide herself.
Youre looking at my breasts, Thomas. There was a purring note in Gretas voice that the boy had not heard before.
No, no. Im not.
All right. Youre not. Greta laughed, pulling the front of the dress together. My mistake.
Youre wearing my mothers dress. The one she said was like spring daffodils. And youre in her room. Why are you in her room?
Well, Thomas. If you sit down a moment, Ill try to explain it to you.
Greta picked up two of the dresses from the bed, and gestured for the boy to sit in the space that she had cleared, but he didnt move from the doorway.
You shouldnt be in here. You dont belong in here.
No, I dont. Youre quite right. But Thomas, try to understand. I dont have beautiful clothes like your mother does. I cant afford them like she can. And I didnt think it would do any harm if I tried them on just to see what I looked like. It doesnt hurt anyone, does it?
Its not right. They belong to my mother.
Yes, they do. But I wasnt going to steal them. I wouldnt be trying them on in here if I was going to do that, now, would I?
She wouldnt want you to have them on. She wouldnt want you in here. I know she wouldnt.
All right, perhaps she wouldnt, said Greta, changing tack. Perhaps she would be upset if she knew. And then she might get one of those horrible migraines. No one wants that, do they, Thomas?
Thomas did not reply. His lower lip trembled, and he looked like he was going to cry. Greta pressed home her advantage.
Wouldnt it be better if we didnt tell her? Then no one would get hurt. What do you say? It can be our secret. Just you and me.
Greta put out her right hand toward the boy, thus allowing the yellow dress to fall open again, exposing her breasts.
Thomas took a step backward, but Greta reached over and took his hand, pulling him toward her.
In the years that followed, Thomas always recalled this moment as one of the most significant of his childhood. It was a turning point of sorts. An end and a beginning. Certainly his memory chose to preserve the scene in extraordinary detail. Closing his eyes as an adult, he could recall his mothers room with the sea breeze coming in through the half-drawn curtains; the sun shining on the rich mahogany chest with its top drawer open; the mass of clashing colors on the bed where Greta had laid out his mothers clothes; the bright red sleeve of a gown that his mother had worn at Christmas cutting across the white of her pillow like a wound. And closer to him was his fathers personal assistant: raven hair and green cats eyes, yellow dress and full, exposed breasts with red nipples, which gave him a sense of urgency hed never felt before. He was repelled and attracted all at the same time. And the mirror had been between them. They had seen each other in the mirror before she turned and began saying things. Things about his mother that he didnt want to hear.
She took his hand, and he felt sure that she was going to place it on her breast. The breast that he could now see again so full and close. And he knew that that would make a secret between them that he could never break.
Thomas dragged his eyes away from Greta and focused on the first thing he saw. It was the white flannel on the edge of the sink in the corner of the room, the one his mother used to cover her eyes when she had her migraines.
Thomas wrenched his hand away from Greta, and the force of his action took him out into the hall.
No, he said, and all his being was concentrated in the one word.
Greta flinched, but whether from the hurt to her hand or the force of his response, Thomas didnt know. The shudder was certainly gone from her face as soon as it had appeared, and she laughed softly.
I was only shaking your hand, Thomas. You certainly have got an active imagination. Your fathers right about that.
There was no time for Thomas to reply. At the bottom of the stairs the front door was closing behind Mrs. Martin.
What are you doing up there, Thomas? I told you the presents were in the kitchen. Come on or well be late.
Greta and the boy exchanged one final look, and then he turned and was gone.
If that bloody old housekeeper hadnt forgotten her sisters stupid presents and sent the boy back for them, I might not be here today, Greta thought to herself as she allowed her husband and the chauffeur to escort her to the courthouse door.
Thomas had waited until the weekend was over to tell his mother. And Greta had never had to discuss the incident with Lady Anne. It was Sir Peter who raised the subject with his personal assistant midway through the following week, and he did so in an uncomfortable, almost apologetic way that made her feel slightly sick. She, of course, had had time to prepare her response.
All morning her employer had been coming in and out of her room on one pretext or other. The ground floor of the London house had been converted into offices the year before, and Greta worked in the front room. A printer and fax machine stood on an elegant oak sideboard, while Greta sat at a circular walnut table in the center of the room amid computer screens and telephone lines. Her employer circled the table, nervously clearing his throat.
All morning her employer had been coming in and out of her room on one pretext or other. The ground floor of the London house had been converted into offices the year before, and Greta worked in the front room. A printer and fax machine stood on an elegant oak sideboard, while Greta sat at a circular walnut table in the center of the room amid computer screens and telephone lines. Her employer circled the table, nervously clearing his throat.