top.
She didn’t say much, but it was comforting all the same, as were the two hot, buttered scones she insisted I eat.
It was quite a while later before the front door slammed and a woman’s voice shrilled, ‘Hello everybody!’
Silence answered her. Even the zooming noise of Gloria Mundi’s Hoover stilled momentarily.
‘That’s her – Jessica. Can’t hear the sprogs; perhaps they’re out for tea or something.’
A woman staggered in and dumped a couple of bulging carrier bags on the table with a sigh of relief. ‘There you are!’
She was fortyish, with a firmly repressed dark downiness and an aura of elegant sexuality – a sort of hungry look about the shadowed eyes. Her body was diet-victim skinny, and the rather bird-billed face perched on top made her look like a duck on a stick.
‘Hello. You must be Charlie?’ she said, smiling.
‘Charlie, Father’s tart – Father’s tart, Charlie,’ introduced Em.
‘Fiancée,’ Jessica said, her smile going a bit fixed. ‘Is that your sweet little dog? Is she all right? She isn’t moving, is she?’
‘She isn’t dead, if that’s what you mean. She’s a Cavalier Queen Charlotte. They go into suspended animation at regular intervals.’
‘King Charles?’
‘Not unless he was a bitch.’
‘Take this stuff off my table, Jessie,’ Em ordered. ‘I’m trying to get dinner ready.’
‘I thought we could have something a bit different tonight,’ Jessica said, with a sort of determined jolliness. ‘The girls don’t really like all this meat and stodge, and I’m sure it’s not healthy for a man of Ranulf’s age. And there
are
vegetables other than mushy peas, you know! So I’ve got some pasta, and sun-dried tomatoes and pesto—’
With one sweep of her muscular arm Em cleared the table, and Flossie found herself under a sudden rain of Cellophane packages. She sat up, looking vaguely surprised.
‘Sod off out of my kitchen,’ Em said. I was relieved she was taking it so well.
Jessica laughed and began to retrieve her goodies. ‘Now, Emily, I know your bark is worse than your bite, so—’
‘No it isn’t,’ I assured her earnestly. One of Em’s bites from a childhood disagreement we had still aches in cold weather, and I certainly don’t come between her and anything she wants, any more than I’d come between a hungry dog and a big, juicy bone.
‘Perhaps we could have pasta tomorrow?’ persisted Jessica. ‘I’ll just put everything in the cupboard, shall I?’
‘You can put it anywhere you like, as long as it isn’t in my kitchen,’ Em said.
‘I – I think I’ll go and see Ran,’ Jessica said, backing towards the door.
‘Do that,’ Em said, and added, ‘Frost’s behind you.’
The great grey lurcher had indeed silently approached up the hall, and was now looming with his sad yellow eyes fixed on her.
Jessica gave a squeak of terror and shot off into the study, slamming the door.
They didn’t emerge until dinner was ready, when Father looked excited and exhausted in equal measure, which I don’t think was caused by writing the book.
The giggly little twins, Chloe and Phoebe, were decanted by someone’s mother at seven. They looked about nine, and were attenuated versions of their mother, with legs like liquorice laces. The presence of Father and Em seemed to subdue them, but once they were sent off to bed they could be heard giggling for ages.
Gloria Mundi (whose only comment on seeing my shorn, silver locks had been: ‘Well, I’ll go to the foot of ower stairs!’) stayed for dinner, but Walter had eaten a coddled egg and several scones in the kitchen and gone off to the pub.
Gloria would generally have gone too, by now, but had stayed in order to make sure I ate enough for ten people, and went to bed early. But then, I always was her favourite – probably because I was the runt of the litter.
She sat opposite, smiling at me, her pale bright eyes glowing in her crumpled face like stars in a net. She
She didn’t say much, but it was comforting all the same, as were the two hot, buttered scones she insisted I eat.
It was quite a while later before the front door slammed and a woman’s voice shrilled, ‘Hello everybody!’
Silence answered her. Even the zooming noise of Gloria Mundi’s Hoover stilled momentarily.
‘That’s her – Jessica. Can’t hear the sprogs; perhaps they’re out for tea or something.’
A woman staggered in and dumped a couple of bulging carrier bags on the table with a sigh of relief. ‘There you are!’
She was fortyish, with a firmly repressed dark downiness and an aura of elegant sexuality – a sort of hungry look about the shadowed eyes. Her body was diet-victim skinny, and the rather bird-billed face perched on top made her look like a duck on a stick.
‘Hello. You must be Charlie?’ she said, smiling.
‘Charlie, Father’s tart – Father’s tart, Charlie,’ introduced Em.
‘Fiancée,’ Jessica said, her smile going a bit fixed. ‘Is that your sweet little dog? Is she all right? She isn’t moving, is she?’
‘She isn’t dead, if that’s what you mean. She’s a Cavalier Queen Charlotte. They go into suspended animation at regular intervals.’
‘King Charles?’
‘Not unless he was a bitch.’
‘Take this stuff off my table, Jessie,’ Em ordered. ‘I’m trying to get dinner ready.’
‘I thought we could have something a bit different tonight,’ Jessica said, with a sort of determined jolliness. ‘The girls don’t really like all this meat and stodge, and I’m sure it’s not healthy for a man of Ranulf’s age. And there
are
vegetables other than mushy peas, you know! So I’ve got some pasta, and sun-dried tomatoes and pesto—’
With one sweep of her muscular arm Em cleared the table, and Flossie found herself under a sudden rain of Cellophane packages. She sat up, looking vaguely surprised.
‘Sod off out of my kitchen,’ Em said. I was relieved she was taking it so well.
Jessica laughed and began to retrieve her goodies. ‘Now, Emily, I know your bark is worse than your bite, so—’
‘No it isn’t,’ I assured her earnestly. One of Em’s bites from a childhood disagreement we had still aches in cold weather, and I certainly don’t come between her and anything she wants, any more than I’d come between a hungry dog and a big, juicy bone.
‘Perhaps we could have pasta tomorrow?’ persisted Jessica. ‘I’ll just put everything in the cupboard, shall I?’
‘You can put it anywhere you like, as long as it isn’t in my kitchen,’ Em said.
‘I – I think I’ll go and see Ran,’ Jessica said, backing towards the door.
‘Do that,’ Em said, and added, ‘Frost’s behind you.’
The great grey lurcher had indeed silently approached up the hall, and was now looming with his sad yellow eyes fixed on her.
Jessica gave a squeak of terror and shot off into the study, slamming the door.
They didn’t emerge until dinner was ready, when Father looked excited and exhausted in equal measure, which I don’t think was caused by writing the book.
The giggly little twins, Chloe and Phoebe, were decanted by someone’s mother at seven. They looked about nine, and were attenuated versions of their mother, with legs like liquorice laces. The presence of Father and Em seemed to subdue them, but once they were sent off to bed they could be heard giggling for ages.
Gloria Mundi (whose only comment on seeing my shorn, silver locks had been: ‘Well, I’ll go to the foot of ower stairs!’) stayed for dinner, but Walter had eaten a coddled egg and several scones in the kitchen and gone off to the pub.
Gloria would generally have gone too, by now, but had stayed in order to make sure I ate enough for ten people, and went to bed early. But then, I always was her favourite – probably because I was the runt of the litter.
She sat opposite, smiling at me, her pale bright eyes glowing in her crumpled face like stars in a net. She
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