A frown creased her brow. Why was it she had the feeling there should have been a fanfare attached to that announcement?
Donald was looking at her with stunned eyes. ‘You aren’t what I was expecting,’ he blurted out, and received a scowl from his father, a warning look from his mother, and a ruddy hue coloured his cheeks as he muttered an apology.
So she had been right about the weakness about the chin. Donald Spencer was nowhere near as self-confident as his parents. She instantly felt a sympathy for him. ‘You aren’t what I was expecting either,’ she smiled.
‘Did Uncle Jeffrey talk about us, then?’ he wanted to know.
How could she say never? She had had no idea Jeff even had a nephew, let alone who Charlie was. How Sir Charles must have hated being called that. And how Jeff would have loved to taunt him with it! Jeff had loved to tease, had a warped sense of humour that she shared, a sense of humour she hoped was going to get her through this.
‘Sometimes,’ she compromised.
‘But you never felt impelled to meet any of his family?’ once again it was Lady Spencer who asked the probing question.
Callie sensed reprimand, and bristled resentfully. ‘As you never felt compelled,’ she returned waspishly.
The other woman’s mouth twisted mockingly. ‘You are hardly family, Caroline,’ she drawled insultingly.
Callie blanched, the shaft going home. ‘No, I’m not, am I?’ she said stiffly.
Lady Spencer looked down her haughty nose at her. ‘You see, we feel—’
‘Tea, my dear,’ Sir Charles interrupted as the maid wheeled in the tea-trolley, almost thankful for the interruption, it appeared to Callie.
‘Please sit down, Miss Day,’ Lady Spencer invited graciously as she took charge of the silver teapot. ‘Cream or lemon?’ she looked up to enquire.
A spark of rebellion entered Callie’s eyes, the gold flecks instantly more noticeable. It was obvious that this family thought she was something rather unpleasant that had momentarily entered their lives, and that they also expected her not to even have the social graces.
‘Is it fresh lemon?’ she asked coldly.
Her hostess looked affronted. ‘Of course.’
‘Then I’ll have lemon,’ she accepted abruptly, moving back from her perched position on the edge of the chair to lean back against the soft leather, so that Lady Spencer had to bend forward to give her the steaming cup of tea. ‘Thank you.’ Her tone was still curt.
‘Sandwich, Miss Day?’ Donald Spencer held out a plate to her, tiny squares of bread arranged invitingly on the delicate china. ‘These are salmon, and these cucumber,’ he pointed out.
Of course, what else? ‘Thanks.’ She took two of the tiny sandwiches, wondering if she was actually supposed to eat them. No one really lived like this, did they? It was so unreal, so—so pompous.
‘We were talking about the accident, Caroline.’ Lady Spencer spoke again, looking at her enquiringly from beneath arched brows as Callie choked on her sandwich. ‘Donald, pat her on the back—gently!’ she instructed after the first painful thump landed in the middle of Callie’s back.
‘I’m all right,’ she choked as Donald went to hit her again, sitting on the arm of her chair to do so. She blinked back the tears and swallowed hard. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.
Lady Spencer nodded regally. ‘Donald, don’t sit on the arm of the chair like that,’ she said waspishly.
He at once moved back to his own armchair. Just like an obedient child, Callie thought with a shake of her head. Donald must be about thirty, his late twenties at least, and yet he still seemed to live here with his parents, something she found unbelievable for a man. Perhaps he had a home of his own in London, was only here for the weekend as she was, although she doubted it. Donald had the look of a devoted son, too much so in her opinion.
It had been the mention of Jeff’s accident that had sparked off her choking and coughing fit. Why did this woman persist in talking about it? Jeff was dead, no amount of talking could bring him back, as could no amount of crying, although when she was alone she couldn’t seem to stop the latter.
Her head went back, her chin held at a proud angle. ‘We weren’t talking about the accident, Lady Spencer,’ she said distantly, ‘you were. I really have nothing to say about it. Jeff is dead, that’s all there is to say.’
‘Jeff is Jeffrey,’ Sir Charles told his family dryly.
Callie’s eyes flashed. ‘I never knew him as anything other than Jeff.’
‘Of course you didn’t, my dear,’ he soothed. ‘Perhaps you would like to go to your room and rest, you look a little pale.’
‘The mourning colour always does that to blondes, darling,’ his wife told him in a bored voice.
Callie flushed. ‘I didn’t wear this suit because I’m in mourning.’