What the Nanny Saw by Fiona Neill Page B

Nick strolled over, holding another bottle of wine. Even Malea came away from the cooker to see what was going on. Only Ali hung back.
    “What’s wrong, Foy?” demanded Tita.
    “Can’t you see?” said Foy, pushing the photograph into her hands.
    Everyone crowded round. Foy’s face was flushed, but when they tried to reconcile its familiar features with the photograph in his hand, it became apparent that something was wrong. The face in the picture had become a smudge. It was as though Foy’s face had overflowed so that his aquiline nose and jaunty chin merged into each other. The eyes, no longer blue, were in the wrong place. Foy’s face was almost indistinguishable from Mrs. Thatcher’s, who had undergone a similarly radical transformation. The surface had concertinaed in parts, and the corners had curled.
    “It’s got damp,” said Bryony in wonder. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”
    “Maybe there’s a leaking pipe?” suggested Nick helpfully. “Or did someone leave the window open?”
    “It’s the only picture that’s been damaged,” said Foy.
    “Such bad luck, Foy,” said Jake, and for once he wasn’t taken to task for calling his grandfather by his first name.
    “Smell it,” urged Foy.
    Bryony leaned forward and sniffed deeply, and then immediately recoiled. She passed the photograph back to Nick, who tentatively smelled the surface and swallowed a couple of times, as though trying to prevent himself from retching.
    “What does it smell of?” demanded Foy.
    “Urine,” said Nick in disgust.
    “Someone has pissed all over me,” shouted Foy. His eyes flashed accusingly around the room.
    “It must have been the twins,” said Tita.
    “How could they reach the photograph?” Foy rounded on her.
    “They could have stood on the loo seat,” suggested Nick.
    “It was probably part of a game,” said Izzy. “They’re always trying to see who can pee the farthest.”
    “It’s just bad luck that you were used for target practice,” said Bryony.
    “When did they do it?” demanded Foy. “It must have been today.”
    Ali, who had been rooted to the same spot by the sofa, realized that all eyes were on her.
    “It wasn’t me,” she said nervously.
    “Of course we know it wasn’t you,” said Bryony in exasperation, “but you’ve been monitoring the twins all morning. When could they have done it?”
    “I’m not sure,” said Ali, looking over at the twins. They were whispering together in their strange language.
    “Stop it,” shrieked Bryony. “Speak normally. Stop all this weirdness.”
    “What are they saying? What are they saying?” Tita repeated, until Foy suggested it wasn’t helpful to ask.
    “We didn’t do it,” they said in unison.
    “Ali, I want you to get to the bottom of this,” said Bryony. It wasn’t clear to Ali whether the severity of Bryony’s tone was to instill fear in the twins, who were standing on either side of her, boiled sweets stuck in their cheeks, or to appease Foy, who was demanding immediate retribution.
    “Yes, of course,” said Ali, wondering how on earth she was going to conduct such an inquiry.
    Nick’s BlackBerry started to ring. He glanced down at the screen.
    “Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” he said, looking relieved to have an excuse to leave the room. “It’s about the deal. The numbers are so complicated it takes the whole weekend for the computer system to crunch them.” Then he left, and as far as Ali could remember, he didn’t come back.
    •   •   •
    “Sum ergo edo,” Foy said, and smiled, invigorated by the arrival of food, his outburst seemingly forgotten. “I think, therefore I’m hungry.” Malea set down the salmon en croute on the kitchen island, and Foy leaned over to savor the smell. He gave a hyperbolic sniff and extolled the virtues of her cooking until Malea retreated in embarrassment back to the stove, where she began serving small portions of asparagus onto plates.
    “All the