At two pm we were ready. The tea table was laid out, balloons blown up, ball pool filled (yes, Lavinia had brought a ball pool) and anything small and breakable removed to safety. The entertainer, Miss Magick, had set up her stall in a corner of the big living room.
‘Is she really meant for children’s parties?’ I whispered to Lavinia. We watched the slender woman in the long, clinging black dress swishing her waist-length platinum blonde hair as she laid out crystals on the purple satin cloth she had placed over a table. ‘I was rather expecting a green wig and trick washing machine.’
Lavinia stifled a giggle.
‘I know what you mean, but she came highly recommended. Apparently, she’s sort of two for the price of one: once she’s finished with the children’s act, she’ll read tarot cards for the adults.’
I was saved from having to think about this by the doorbell: our first guest.
The little partygoers arrived thick and fast and soon Lando’s beautiful house was a melee of overexcited children and parents who seemed determined to renege all control over their offspring and make straight for the bar and a good gossip about who might be getting a divorce in January. I appointed myself cloakroom monitor and tried to make orderly piles of adult and children’s coats, tugging all the sleeves of the latter the right way out. I didn’t spend four years getting a teaching degree for nothing. Lavinia was supervising the ball pool, although this seemed to involve more getting in and chucking balls at the children with evident enjoyment than actual supervision. Pilar was cloistered in the kitchen, claiming she was putting the final touches to a tea I thought was all organised, but I couldn’t blame her; this was definitely not her circus. Xander was being the perfect host to the parents, and had already swiped a few car keys, replacing them with the card of the local taxi company, which was going to have an early Christmas with all this business. William and Daphne had excused themselves for an afternoon at a five-star hotel in town, and who could blame them? Bunny, to my great surprise, had set up a little art station in a corner and was doing rapid sketches on demand for the children to colour. No request seemed to faze her, and she had some colour in her cheeks for the first time in days. I hoped she was feeling better both physically and mentally. Lando had yet to put in an appearance. Most of the guests must have arrived, I decided, and was about to go and ask Miss Magick to get started, when the doorbell rang again. I opened up and there was a very tall woman dressed in a voluminous patchwork coat and carrying a rather incongruous and extremely expensive Hermès handbag. At her side was a small and miserable-looking little girl.
‘Hello, are you here for the party? Come in.’
I stood aside and the woman swept past me, dragging the child behind her. She removed both their coats and handed them to me. It was all I could do not to bob a curtsey.
‘Are you in charge?’
‘Er, sort of. Hello, I’m Penny, welcome.’
The woman stretched her taut lips a fraction by way of a greeting.
‘Penny, I’m Chakra and this is Sèvres.’
I glanced down at the small girl standing next to her. She was pale, with very long, loose hair which could do with a brush running through it. She wore wide-legged trousers in a fabric that looked rather like hessian, with an embroidered tunic top, far too thin for the chilly December day. I smiled at her, but she didn’t react at all, just stared glassily back at me. I turned back to her mother.
‘What an unusual name.’
‘Like the porcelain? Do you know?’
I had a stern word with my eyebrows, which wanted to flick upwards in irritation. I had dealt with enough patronising mothers in my time not to let this latest one get to me.
‘Yes, the porcelain, itself named after the town. It’s a very pretty name.’
She glared at me now, as if I had suggested popping to the deed poll office and changing it to – oh, I don’t know, something sensible and unremarkable that other children were called and everyone could both pronounce and spell.
‘Anyway,’ she went on icily. ‘Sèvres has a very specific diet – she doesn’t eat any gluten…’
‘Oh dear,’ I said, genuinely concerned. I have had some children in my classes with horrendous allergies. ‘Is she coeliac?’
‘No, there is nothingwrongwith my daughter. She doesn’t eat gluten, or sugar of any description, and all her food must be organic.’
Oh. One of those. My heart went out even further to the little waif drooping next to her hideous mother.
‘I see. Well, I haven’t organised the food, but I can find out about the organic thing and help her avoid gluten and sugar.’
She glared at me as if I had suggested cutting little Sèvres a few lines of coke to enjoy during the party.
‘Oh no, she won’t be eatingyourfood. I’m giving you everything she will eat; please see to it that she is given it.’
She reached into the voluminous bag and produced two glass boxes with bamboo lids, which she pushed towards me.
I took the boxes.
‘Aren’t you staying?’
She looked surprised.
‘Yes, of course I’m staying.’
