‘I know you don’t really like being the centre of attention. If it all gets a bit much, I can go and smoke my cigar near the fire alarm and we can make them all go away.’
‘Mum seems to be enjoying herself,’ smiled Jennifer, looking across the dance floor to where her mother was talking to Bryn Johnson and even laughing.
David gave a soft conspiratorial laugh, as if they both understood how hard Sylvia was to live with.
The band started to play ‘The Shadow of Your Smile’, and Jennifer listened wistfully to its lyrics.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said her father, stopping dancing. ‘She came.’
‘Who?’
‘Your aunt. Your aunt Donna.’
Jennifer turned round to follow her father’s line of sight. A blonde woman was standing at the French doors that led from the house to the terrace. She was taller than Sylvia, but still slim, although an obvious boob job made her look very top heavy. Her hair was a harsher shade than her mother’s elegant do, but there was no mistaking that the two women were related.
‘Did Mom invite her?’ said Jennifer with surprise, wondering if her mother’s mood had really improved that much.
‘I did,’ said David with an expression that told her he was wondering if it had been such a good idea.
‘And you’ve told Mom . . .’
‘Not exactly,’ said her father with a frown. ‘Look. I have no living family any more. Neither does your mother, with the exception of Donna. I just thought it was important that you meet. Your mother might not have any desire to see her sister, but Donna is still family, and now you’re twenty-one, it’s up to you to make those sort of decisions yourself.’
‘What are we waiting for, then?’ said Jennifer, giving her father a grateful squeeze, both excited and nervous about speaking to her aunt.
Donna’s expression melted into joy and relief when she saw them. She took Jennifer’s face between her hands and beamed.
‘Look at you,’ she said with a note of sadness.
‘Thank you for coming,’ said David. ‘Is your husband with you?’
‘Frank’s probably still outside gaping at the size of the house,’ she said with a strong Southern accent.
‘I didn’t know you were married,’ said Jennifer.
‘We don’t know a lot about each other’s lives,’ Donna said regretfully. ‘I think that’s why your father invited me this evening.’
‘Where’s your mother?’ asked David briskly. He was the most poised and confident man she knew, but Jennifer detected a reticence in his voice. It was just like her father to want to mend the rift between his wife and her sister, but they all knew that Sylvia might react unpredictably to the situation.
They both glanced around but could no longer see her.
‘I’ll go and find her,’ said David. ‘Jen, you show Donna around the party.’
‘Wow,’ said Donna, rooted to the spot. ‘I knew it was going to be lovely, but this place . . .’
‘We didn’t buy it,’ said Jen modestly. ‘It’s been in our family for years. My great-grandfather bought it and everyone else has just tried to keep it going ever since.’
‘Lordy, the pressure’s on you then, the next generation, to keep it all going.’
Jennifer smiled uncomfortably. She’d never really considered it before, but perhaps there was a financial imperative in her mother’s belief that Connor was perfect for her. Jennifer knew that her father had struggled throughout the recession; she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed that they didn’t live quite as lavishly as they once had.
Only five or six years before, Casa D’Or had had a full-time staff of five. Marion’s parents, Jeffrey and Dolores Wilson, were the chaffeur and cook respectively; Marion was an unofficial sous chef and housekeeper; a gardener and estate manager were also on the payroll. But when the Wilsons retired, replacements were never recruited, and over time, the other members of staff also disappeared, a state of affairs that was in sharp contrast to the Gilbert family, who in addition to a fully staffed house north of the city had homes in Lyford Cay and on the Côte d’Azur as well.
Jennifer didn’t want to dwell on all that tonight and linked her arm through her aunt’s to show her around.
Donna was as warm as her mother was cool. As they walked around Casa D’Or, swapping stories about their lives, Jennifer wondered why she had always been portrayed as such a family cautionary tale. The reasons for Donna and Sylvia’s estrangement had always been unspecified. There were rumours of drink and gambling, but speaking to her aunt about her job as a restaurant supervisor in Pensacola and her travels around the world on the cruise ships, Jennifer could just see a nice ordinary lady whose only weakness – as she explained herself when she told Jennifer that her new husband Frank, circulating somewhere around the party, was in fact her fourth – was her poor taste in men.
Jennifer took Donna upstairs for the best view from the house. Her parents’ master suite had the biggest terrace, with sweeping views of the grounds, but feeling sure that her mother would be annoyed at anyone going into her room uninvited, she took Donna to the top floor, into her favourite part of the house.