“Yes—she is strange. I like strange things.”
“I do not like her at all,” I said curtly.
Jinny sat on the edge of a table, poking into a box of chocolates.
“Why don’t you like her, Mummy?”
“Because she is a bad woman.”
“Oh no, surely you are wrong. She is Papa’s oldest friend.” She popped a sweet into her mouth.
“Who told you that?”
“She did herself—and besides, I know—I have known a long time. She was his first romance, his—what do you call it,—his calf love.”
I burst into harsh laughter. My laugh sounded to me ugly and terrible. Jinny’s face went pale; I crossed to the window.
“What else did she tell you?” I asked with my back to her.