Every Sunday, Mama would dress us in our Sunday best and take us to the Church. Father would never come with us. He used to rise early, dress and leave before we were awake. He would come home long after supper, dressed in his own Sunday best. Mama always told us that he liked to go to the Church early, to pray in private before mass, but I never saw him there.
Then, when I was fifteen, he woke me early one Sunday. He told me to dress quietly, and then left me without a word. I met him in the hallway, and he took me to a house in Mayfair without saying a word. Inside, there were drinks and cards and women. Oh, the women. Never before had I seen such exquisite creatures.
He never spoke a word to me about it, and I have never gone to mass on a Sunday again.
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