I think she enjoys tormenting me.
It has been bad enough this past year the few times when, for form's sake, I have had to visit my son at their house. Worse still when she was sent to Holloway and the Coleman name appeared in the papers. I was mortified, but it blew over more quickly than I had expected. My friends — my good friends — did not mention it, sparing me further embarrassment. I was just glad that James is not alive to see his name brought so low.
But the worst has been the emeralds. James's mother gave them to me the night before our wedding, with the understanding that I would cherish and preserve them, to pass on to my own son's wife. In those days such an understanding was unspoken. It would never have occurred to me to do anything other than wear the emeralds proudly and pass them on willingly when the time came. It could never have occurred to any of us Coleman women to desecrate them as Kitty has done.
She wore them to my annual May party, with a dark green silk dress cut far too low. I knew immediately what they were, even if the necklace itself was not familiar to me. I would have known my emeralds anywhere. She saw me recognise them as well. Poor Richard standing next to her had no idea. Emeralds are in a woman's realm, not a man's. I shall never tell him.
I did not make a scene — I could not in front of everyone, and I would not do so to please her either. Instead I waited until the last guest had gone. Then I sat in the dark and wept.