‘Leave my house this instant!’ the Duchess said. Not a woman to be easily put off, Charlotte stood her ground. ‘He’s going to give me a child,’ she said. ‘I am desperate.’ Gregor, who was drunk, had by this time retired upstairs. Charlotte ran up to search for him, closely followed by the Duchess. They entered the master bedroom where Gregor lay fully dressed on top of the bed snoring, his cardigan worn through at the elbows, his hair and beard wild and matted. ‘I’m not having you discussing the conception of a child in our bedroom,’ the Duchess said firmly. ‘He’s 73 and, as far as I am aware, impotent. You need to find a proper man.’ ‘I’m not leaving until he keeps his word,’ Charlotte said, starting to climb on the bed. The Duchess caught hold of her left foot, preventing her from lying next to Gregor. As Charlotte struggled to free herself, the Duchess noticed through the open window one of the gardeners dead-heading the roses. ‘Juan’, she called. ‘Juan…could you come up here a minute? I need your help with something.’
Simon Collings
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