Jenna put the book aside crossly.
‘Parents abandoning children still goes on,’ said Jason softly. ‘It wasn’t just them Victorians.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that – I was talking about Lord . . . Oh, love. You must wonder all the time who your dad was. Is. Is or was.’
‘Ah, no, not really.’ He put his head on the pillow and gazed up at the subtly spotlit ceiling. ‘I’m over all that now.’
‘But you wondered?’
‘Of course, when I was younger. I mean, it didn’t mark me out or anything. Half my mates never saw their dads. But most of them knew who the bugger was, at least. They had a photo, or a teddy bear from before they split, or something. I had nothing.’
‘And your mum never gave you a clue?’
‘Oh, forget it, she was hopeless. Every time she got pissed she’d be hinting that he was some kind of big deal, then she’d sober up and change her mind and tell me it could be one of half a dozen blokes. She always had some bloke on the side, usually a married one. She wasn’t very popular with the other mums, to say the least.’
‘She said something after you got out of jail. Something about how it would all come out one day,’ recalled Jenna.
‘She was tanked up, Jen. I’m sick of hearing it. Anyway, I don’t care if my father was Mickey fucking Mouse. He’s irrelevant. He’s nobody. He’s nothing.’
‘I doubt he was Mickey Mouse,’ said Jenna gently, stroking his forehead. ‘You haven’t got the ears.’
‘No, but I didn’t inherit my talents from my mum. So perhaps it was Banksy. What do you reckon?’
‘That would be the publicity coup of the decade.’
She lay down beside him, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. It had been a long, hot, busy, interesting day.
‘Maybe he’ll come out of the woodwork once I’m famous, like,’ said Jason. ‘Wanting his cut. He can fuck off.’
‘You’ve made up your mind you’re going to be, then?’ said Jenna. ‘Famous, I mean.’
‘If it happens, it happens. I don’t care about fame, but I want to paint for my living, no matter what. I want to be with you, and I want to earn it. I’m not going to be any rich woman’s pet poodle.’
Jenna laughed tiredly.
‘You’re anything but that.’
‘More like a tiger, eh?’ he said, turning his face to her with a lascivious wink.
‘Not tonight, Josephine. I’m exhausted. And tomorrow you learn how to walk the walk and talk the talk.’
Chapter Nine
JASON LOOKED UP at the handsome red-brick building in the heart of South Kensington and said, ‘They like flowers here, then.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jenna, motioning him up the steps. ‘They do courses in flower arranging here. Incredibly expensive, but meant to be very good.’
‘That’s not what I’m here for, I take it?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So . . . what am I here for?’
They had reached the top step. A large brass plaque, so shiny they could almost see their reflections without any distortion, revealed the building’s function.
‘Margery Mountjoy College of Etiquette.’
‘What the fuck’s a college of etiquette?’