way?’
‘Far from it. Chloe said she can’t wait to meet you. She’s pregnant too, you see, and madly jealous because she’s going bananas trying to find a nanny – or at least one who won’t break the bank or run off with Nicholas! But if she tries to poach you, beware, Mum!
She’s
expecting twins. And, by the way—’
She broke off as her mobile rang. ‘Stephen? … it’s OK, I can talk…. Oh, I see. I’m extremely sorry to hear that.’
Having seen Amy’s look of despondency, Maria prayed that nothing dire had happened. She wasn’t to know, however, since her daughter told the caller that she was moving to another room, to ensure total privacy. And, as she made her way towards her mini-office, Hugo drifted in, looking equally snazzy in a striped silk dressing gown.
‘Morning,’ he yawned, pouring himself some orange juice, before filling the coffee percolator.
Maria itched to do it for him, but that, too, might be classed as ‘fussing’. Besides, she always felt slightly daunted by her son-in-law. When Amy first announced she was in love with an engineer, Maria had imagined a down-to -earth mechanic and was thus unprepared for the suave, well-spoken Cambridge graduate, already working as project manager on a huge, upmarket shopping mall. Even now, she hardly knew him, apart from his outward shell. His confidence and competence were so different from her own self-doubt; his unqualified success a reproach to her hapless early life.
Apart from his one-word greeting, he hadn’t spoken another syllable and she feared he might resent her presence in the house, especially on his precious Sunday off. Yet it was he, in fact, who had phoned her after Amy’s mini-crisis and begged her to come immediately. Like Amy, he was busy, though, and, indeed his mobile was now shrilling, too, so she tactfully retreated to what Amy called ‘the granny-flat’. If she had nothing else to do, at least she could pass the time trying to find a suitable outfit for a stylish London lunch party.
‘Delicious chicken,’ Maria enthused. ‘You must let me have the recipe.’
‘Ask Waitrose,’ Chloe laughed. ‘I never cook – can’t see the point, with their “Gourmet Entertaining” range. All you have to do is heat it up – which even I can manage!’
‘So that paté wasn’t yours?’
‘God, no! I wouldn’t have a clue as to how to make a paté. All three courses are courtesy of Waitrose. Though I sometimes ring the changes by buying M&S. They’re pretty good as well.’
Good, maybe, Maria thought, but much more economical to buy a whole chicken, make the casserole from scratch – and several other meals as well – and have the liver, giblets and carcass to use for a nourishing soup.
‘So how does it feel,’ asked Julian, the tall, distinguished-looking barrister, sitting on her right, ‘to be here in the capital, rather than in a village in the wilds?’
‘Well, I haven’t seen much of it yet – although we came here today on the underground and I was amazed by how crowded it was. When I lived in London in the sixties, the tube was almost empty on a Sunday. I was also struck by all the different nationalities and hearing every language under the sun. That’s another big change from forty years ago.’
‘Still, I envy you being around then,’ Deborah chipped in – an elegant and ultra-skinny female, who looked as if she might snap in half. ‘Or weren’t the Swinging Sixties quite as swinging as they say?’
‘I think it depended on who and where you were. I happened to be at art school, so my friends were pretty bohemian.’ She wouldn’t admit what an outsider she had felt – a devout Catholic and a country cousin, with only mediocre talent and none of her fellow students’ vaunting ambition and self-belief. In truth, she had been out of tune with almost every aspect of the sixties. Drug-taking, mini-skirts, sexual licence, student protests and the hippy quest for freedom – all went
‘Far from it. Chloe said she can’t wait to meet you. She’s pregnant too, you see, and madly jealous because she’s going bananas trying to find a nanny – or at least one who won’t break the bank or run off with Nicholas! But if she tries to poach you, beware, Mum!
She’s
expecting twins. And, by the way—’
She broke off as her mobile rang. ‘Stephen? … it’s OK, I can talk…. Oh, I see. I’m extremely sorry to hear that.’
Having seen Amy’s look of despondency, Maria prayed that nothing dire had happened. She wasn’t to know, however, since her daughter told the caller that she was moving to another room, to ensure total privacy. And, as she made her way towards her mini-office, Hugo drifted in, looking equally snazzy in a striped silk dressing gown.
‘Morning,’ he yawned, pouring himself some orange juice, before filling the coffee percolator.
Maria itched to do it for him, but that, too, might be classed as ‘fussing’. Besides, she always felt slightly daunted by her son-in-law. When Amy first announced she was in love with an engineer, Maria had imagined a down-to -earth mechanic and was thus unprepared for the suave, well-spoken Cambridge graduate, already working as project manager on a huge, upmarket shopping mall. Even now, she hardly knew him, apart from his outward shell. His confidence and competence were so different from her own self-doubt; his unqualified success a reproach to her hapless early life.
Apart from his one-word greeting, he hadn’t spoken another syllable and she feared he might resent her presence in the house, especially on his precious Sunday off. Yet it was he, in fact, who had phoned her after Amy’s mini-crisis and begged her to come immediately. Like Amy, he was busy, though, and, indeed his mobile was now shrilling, too, so she tactfully retreated to what Amy called ‘the granny-flat’. If she had nothing else to do, at least she could pass the time trying to find a suitable outfit for a stylish London lunch party.
‘Delicious chicken,’ Maria enthused. ‘You must let me have the recipe.’
‘Ask Waitrose,’ Chloe laughed. ‘I never cook – can’t see the point, with their “Gourmet Entertaining” range. All you have to do is heat it up – which even I can manage!’
‘So that paté wasn’t yours?’
‘God, no! I wouldn’t have a clue as to how to make a paté. All three courses are courtesy of Waitrose. Though I sometimes ring the changes by buying M&S. They’re pretty good as well.’
Good, maybe, Maria thought, but much more economical to buy a whole chicken, make the casserole from scratch – and several other meals as well – and have the liver, giblets and carcass to use for a nourishing soup.
‘So how does it feel,’ asked Julian, the tall, distinguished-looking barrister, sitting on her right, ‘to be here in the capital, rather than in a village in the wilds?’
‘Well, I haven’t seen much of it yet – although we came here today on the underground and I was amazed by how crowded it was. When I lived in London in the sixties, the tube was almost empty on a Sunday. I was also struck by all the different nationalities and hearing every language under the sun. That’s another big change from forty years ago.’
‘Still, I envy you being around then,’ Deborah chipped in – an elegant and ultra-skinny female, who looked as if she might snap in half. ‘Or weren’t the Swinging Sixties quite as swinging as they say?’
‘I think it depended on who and where you were. I happened to be at art school, so my friends were pretty bohemian.’ She wouldn’t admit what an outsider she had felt – a devout Catholic and a country cousin, with only mediocre talent and none of her fellow students’ vaunting ambition and self-belief. In truth, she had been out of tune with almost every aspect of the sixties. Drug-taking, mini-skirts, sexual licence, student protests and the hippy quest for freedom – all went
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