until it gave her a headache.
Dulcie looked over Plod’s back and her shoulder towards the stream and beyond. ‘I daresay you are wondering about them trees.’
Behind the paddock was a copse where trees, bare in December, stood, spindly and spare. In their branches clustered great, dark bundles of densely packed twigs. A bit like herons’ nests but rounder and more solid. They differed in size from that of a small football to a giant balloon.
Dulcie followed Muriel’s eyes: ‘Those bundles of twigs are no more than malignant growths. If you’d got it into your head they were mistletoe you were completely wrong. Stuff and nonsense. Mistletoe and fairy lights. What is more the whole neighbourhood will be down with malignant growths if you don’t do bloody something about it.’
The foul form of Eric stole up beside them. ‘Don’t you listen. Cut those out and you’ll be upsetting the balance of nature.’
Malignant growths or the balance of nature.
Muriel returned to the house and the many quandaries that awaited her.
Chapter 11
Lizzie was down first in the early evening. Soon after came Muriel and Peter who prepared for Dawson and Delilah and their visit. Lizzie was short – not much above five feet. Her hairdresser-helped dark hair turned under, pageboy style, at the bottom of her neck. Her eyes were large and blue and, at times, almost vacant. Nose straight but wide of nostril. Mouth huge and inviting entertainment. She dressed well – draping scarves and bracelets. Lizzie’s appearance showed careful nonchalance but, when she spoke, the image changed to eagerness.
‘Are the royals going to be down in time for the rector?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Is Hugh, poor Hugh, invited for dinner this evening? I did suggest paying him a call but he was frightfully putting off.’
Lizzie could be astoundingly touchy. ‘Why? Why, do you think? We always got on tremendously well in the old days.’
Muriel, speaking quietly to temper crossness, said, ‘Of course he likes you. It’s just that he’s up to no good with Phyllis – my housekeeper.’
‘That fright in nylon? Poor Hugh.’ She sided with men. Muriel squirmed to be reminded of Hugh’s undignified position – although he’d certainly asked for it.
Monopoly, driven to distraction by the presence of the visiting dogs who gave themselves airs, kept mostly to the bedroom.
There came a loud ‘Cooee.’
Dawson and Delilah were dressed for a party and arrived many minutes earlier than expected. Dawson, in dog collar, asked for a gin and tonic while Delilah opted for champagne and Muriel hoped she wouldn’t get too silly before the visitors from upstairs condescended to appear.
Delilah told Lizzie that Dawson had a lovely story up his sleeve for them. Something to do with a cartoon in which the Queen Mother wore a gown and mortar board. There had been a caption saying ‘To crown it all’. Lizzie was jumpy with the prospect of solecisms. Peter hoped for them. Muriel was beyond caring. Nonetheless she was pleased by Dawson having an anecdote up his sleeve and Delilah, all curls and teeth, smiled having practised curtseys.
She could not count on the ladies coming down before supper was announced; particularly after Mummy’s experiences with the donkeys – not to mention Sonia and Sir Walter Raleigh.
But the miracle did happen. There was a hush as the door opened and Phyllis, having belted to and fro from the squash court, ushered the guests of honour into the drawing room. Delilah and Lizzie curtseyed. Peter, at a nudge from Lizzie, nodded his head and Muriel, unnerved, remained upright. Mambles darted her a critical look and Mummy beamed on all present.
Delilah tackled an obdurate Mambles. ‘We are all thrilled to have Muriel at the manor. Of course we are very broadminded people here in Bradstow but, well, what with her husband in the squash court and her, well …’
‘That’s the way the world goes round.’ Mambles loved ‘sayings’
Dulcie looked over Plod’s back and her shoulder towards the stream and beyond. ‘I daresay you are wondering about them trees.’
Behind the paddock was a copse where trees, bare in December, stood, spindly and spare. In their branches clustered great, dark bundles of densely packed twigs. A bit like herons’ nests but rounder and more solid. They differed in size from that of a small football to a giant balloon.
Dulcie followed Muriel’s eyes: ‘Those bundles of twigs are no more than malignant growths. If you’d got it into your head they were mistletoe you were completely wrong. Stuff and nonsense. Mistletoe and fairy lights. What is more the whole neighbourhood will be down with malignant growths if you don’t do bloody something about it.’
The foul form of Eric stole up beside them. ‘Don’t you listen. Cut those out and you’ll be upsetting the balance of nature.’
Malignant growths or the balance of nature.
Muriel returned to the house and the many quandaries that awaited her.
Chapter 11
Lizzie was down first in the early evening. Soon after came Muriel and Peter who prepared for Dawson and Delilah and their visit. Lizzie was short – not much above five feet. Her hairdresser-helped dark hair turned under, pageboy style, at the bottom of her neck. Her eyes were large and blue and, at times, almost vacant. Nose straight but wide of nostril. Mouth huge and inviting entertainment. She dressed well – draping scarves and bracelets. Lizzie’s appearance showed careful nonchalance but, when she spoke, the image changed to eagerness.
‘Are the royals going to be down in time for the rector?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Is Hugh, poor Hugh, invited for dinner this evening? I did suggest paying him a call but he was frightfully putting off.’
Lizzie could be astoundingly touchy. ‘Why? Why, do you think? We always got on tremendously well in the old days.’
Muriel, speaking quietly to temper crossness, said, ‘Of course he likes you. It’s just that he’s up to no good with Phyllis – my housekeeper.’
‘That fright in nylon? Poor Hugh.’ She sided with men. Muriel squirmed to be reminded of Hugh’s undignified position – although he’d certainly asked for it.
Monopoly, driven to distraction by the presence of the visiting dogs who gave themselves airs, kept mostly to the bedroom.
There came a loud ‘Cooee.’
Dawson and Delilah were dressed for a party and arrived many minutes earlier than expected. Dawson, in dog collar, asked for a gin and tonic while Delilah opted for champagne and Muriel hoped she wouldn’t get too silly before the visitors from upstairs condescended to appear.
Delilah told Lizzie that Dawson had a lovely story up his sleeve for them. Something to do with a cartoon in which the Queen Mother wore a gown and mortar board. There had been a caption saying ‘To crown it all’. Lizzie was jumpy with the prospect of solecisms. Peter hoped for them. Muriel was beyond caring. Nonetheless she was pleased by Dawson having an anecdote up his sleeve and Delilah, all curls and teeth, smiled having practised curtseys.
She could not count on the ladies coming down before supper was announced; particularly after Mummy’s experiences with the donkeys – not to mention Sonia and Sir Walter Raleigh.
But the miracle did happen. There was a hush as the door opened and Phyllis, having belted to and fro from the squash court, ushered the guests of honour into the drawing room. Delilah and Lizzie curtseyed. Peter, at a nudge from Lizzie, nodded his head and Muriel, unnerved, remained upright. Mambles darted her a critical look and Mummy beamed on all present.
Delilah tackled an obdurate Mambles. ‘We are all thrilled to have Muriel at the manor. Of course we are very broadminded people here in Bradstow but, well, what with her husband in the squash court and her, well …’
‘That’s the way the world goes round.’ Mambles loved ‘sayings’
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