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They’re all there. The cook. The laundress. The under-housekeeper. The sous-chef. Even the gardeners. Sitting on the sofas, a bottle of grappa open on the table between them. Out of uniform, too. Stefanie is actually in pyjamas and a dressing-gown.
‘What the hell?’ she asks. ‘Seriously? What is this? A party?’
They all turn at once, and it’s only then that she realises that they’ve been sitting in silence. That they’re looking at her as though her hands are dripping blood.
Tatiana almost stumbles. But she’s well trained in not showing surprise. Her game face is legendary, at least in her own head.
‘Hello,’ she says. And she speed-dials her father with a single swipe of her thumb. Waits until she’s sure it will have gone to voicemail – he never answers the phone when he’s at a party; answering the phone is for staff, he says – before she puts it to her ear.
‘Daddy?’ she says. ‘There’s something going on at the house. Don’t come back here.’
From behind her, a hand snakes over her shoulder and snatches the phone. She turns to see Paulo, his face black like thunder.
‘I’ll take that, thanks,’ he says.
