Free The Empty House by Rosamunde Pilcher

the garden, the chestnut tree, the children's swing.
    "Yes, it was ghastly. I feel filthy and a revolting child spilt orange juice all over me." The house was silent. "Where are the children?"
    Lady Keile began to lead the way upstairs to the drawing-room. "They're out with Nanny. I thought perhaps it would be better. They won't be long, not more than half an hour. That should give us time to get this all thrashed out."
    Treading behind her, Virginia said nothing. Lady Keile reached the top of the stairs, crossed the small landing and went in through the drawing-room door and Virginia followed her, and, despite her anxiety of mind, was struck, as always, by the timeless beauty of the room, the perfect proportions of the long windows which faced out over the street, open today, the fine net curtains stirring. There were long mirrors, filling the room with reflected light and these gave back images of highly polished antique furniture, tall cabinets of blue and white Meissen plates, and the flowers with which Lady Keile had always surrounded herself.
    They faced each other across the pale, fitted carpet. Lady Keile said, "We may as well be comfortable," and lowered herself, straight as a ramrod, into a formal, wide-lapped French chair.
    Virginia sat too, on the very edge of the sofa, and tried not to feel like a domestic servant being interviewed for a job. She said, "There really isn't anything to thrash out, you know."
    "I thought I must have misunderstood you on the telephone last night."
    "No, you didn't misunderstand me. I decided two days ago that I wanted the children with me. I decided it was ridiculous, me being in Cornwall and them in London, specially during the summer holidays. So I went to a solicitor and I found this little house. And I've paid the rent and I've got the keys. I can move in right away."
    "Does Alice Lingard know about this?"
    "Of course. And she offered to have the children at Wheal House, but by then I'd committed myself and couldn't go back."
    "But Virginia, you surely can't mean that you want them without Nanny?"
    "Yes, I do."
    "But you'll never manage."
    "I shall have to try."
    "What you mean is that you want the children to yourself."
    "Yes."
    "Are you sure you aren't being a little . . . selfish?"
    "Selfish?"
    "Yes, selfish. You're not thinking of the children, are you? Only yourself."
    "Perhaps I am thinking of myself, but I'm thinking of the children too."
    "You can't be if you intend taking them away from Nanny."
    "Have you spoken to her?"
    "I had to, of course. She had to have some idea of what I understood you wanted to do. But I hoped I would be able to change your mind." "What did she say?"
    "She didn't say very much. But I could tell that she was very upset."
    "Yes, I'm sure."
    "You must think of Nanny, Virginia. Those children are her life. You must consider her."
    "With the best will in the world I don't see that she comes into this."
    "Of course she comes into it. She comes into everything that we do. Why, she's family, she's been part of the family for years, ever since Anthony was a tiny boy . . . and the way she's looked after those babies of yours, she's devoted herself, given her life to them. And you say she doesn't come into this."
    "She wasn't my Nanny," said Virginia. "She didn't look after me when I was a little girl. You can't expect me to feel quite the same about her as you do."
    "You really mean to say you feel no sort of loyalty towards her? After letting her bring up your children? After virtually living with her for eight years at Kirkton? I must say you fooled me. I always thought there was a very happy atmosphere between you."
    "If there was a happy atmosphere it was because of me. It was because I gave in to Nanny over every little thing, just to keep the peace. Because if she didn't get her own way, she would go into a sulk that would last for days, and I simply couldn't bear it."
    "I always imagined you were the mistress of your own home."
    "Well, you were