the Eisenkopp duplex.
Bunty Cole’s employers had thirty-two rooms in that block, and a roofgarden.
To get there, I had to pass a doorman, a speaking tube and a closed circuit television, all of which filled me with envy. Then I got out of the lift at the Eisenkopp residence and was rendered practically speechless.
Bunty shared with the family’s grandfather the whole upper floor of the duplex. Bunty had a bedroom, a bathroom, a sitting-room with colour TV and a night nursery off with Sukey in it. Beyond was a day nursery, a smart room for Grover, a laundry and a miniature kitchen. The furniture was as in Abitare, and you got tired lifting your feet through the carpet.
Bunty showed me round. In the laundry was the automatic washing machine, the tumble-drier, the ironing board and the warming-cupboard full of clean diapers. In the kitchen was the cooker, the infra-red grill, the dish-washing machine, the sink with the waste-disposal unit, the electric mixer, mincer and bottle warmer, the deep freeze, and the fridge.
On the shelves were cans and cans of babyfood, instant potato, maple syrup, cereals, eggs, bread and chewable vitamins inanimal shapes. In the deep freeze was a stack of frozen fruit juice, waffles, pancakes, fish fingers, and whole frozen meals packed on TV trays. In the refrigerator were ice cubes, butter, beer, soda- water, 7-Up, Coca-Cola and a few lonely bottles of milk.
I said when I could speak, ‘Well, at least they’ve left you room for the milk. My lot keep the fridge full of beer packs.’
‘That’s what Charlotte said,’ said Bunty placidly. ‘I used to share kitchens once, but you do get in a mess.’
In other words, all the hard work was done by the Italian couple and the help in the family kitchen below. The hand-trimmed voile and lace ruffles on Sukey’s cot were fresh as tomorrow.
I said, ‘Before you ask, I have one room with Benedict next to it, and there is a Brazilian daily.’ I had been given a gin and orange. I suppose all the world makes gin and orange with child’s high-vitamin juice, but not everyone also heaps it with cut peaches and nectarines from a crate in the corner. I said, ‘What in God’s name does Comer Eisenkopp do? Deliver doggie bags to Fort Knox?’
‘He runs a business,’ said Bunty vaguely. Sukey, not yet unpacked from her walk, bumped the plastic butterflies bracing the hood of her pram and they revolved. Her eyes rolled together like marbles.
I said, following Charlotte’s advice, ‘Honestly, you’ll make her squint if you string things so close to her face . . . Who was the super man who kissed you as we came upstairs then?’
‘With the moustache?’ said Bunty, as if the crowd had been overwhelming. ‘Hugo Panadek, love: Father Eisenkopp’s Design Director. He lives here half the time. That’s who I keep the vodka for.’
If that left it an open question on the matter of the other eleven bottles of spirits, I didn’t pursue it. Grover, without a dummy but still wearing his lumberjack’s hat, came in from the day nursery and said, ‘Hugo was a good boy and Bunty kissed him.’ He produced, absent-mindedly, a number of hacking coughs.
I had a London bus in my pocket. I said, ‘Grover. Look what I’ve got.’ He came over. Sukey, bored with butterflies, let out a series of squeals. With a sigh, Bunty put down her gin and orange and, rising, disentangled the baby from her bedding and deposited her on the floor where she lay, her hat over her eyes. She had on an embroidered matinee jacket and a long fine wool nightdress with lace, faintly tinged with orange in the nappy area.
Bunty said, ‘It’s a lottery, ain’t it? If you look after bleedin’ infants you’re too fagged for a love life; and if you get them able to talk then they fink on you. Grover, don’t do that.’
Grover had flung the London bus at Sukey, but missed. Sukey, breathing heavily through her hat, paid no attention. I said, ‘That’s a bad cough, Grover.
Bunty Cole’s employers had thirty-two rooms in that block, and a roofgarden.
To get there, I had to pass a doorman, a speaking tube and a closed circuit television, all of which filled me with envy. Then I got out of the lift at the Eisenkopp residence and was rendered practically speechless.
Bunty shared with the family’s grandfather the whole upper floor of the duplex. Bunty had a bedroom, a bathroom, a sitting-room with colour TV and a night nursery off with Sukey in it. Beyond was a day nursery, a smart room for Grover, a laundry and a miniature kitchen. The furniture was as in Abitare, and you got tired lifting your feet through the carpet.
Bunty showed me round. In the laundry was the automatic washing machine, the tumble-drier, the ironing board and the warming-cupboard full of clean diapers. In the kitchen was the cooker, the infra-red grill, the dish-washing machine, the sink with the waste-disposal unit, the electric mixer, mincer and bottle warmer, the deep freeze, and the fridge.
On the shelves were cans and cans of babyfood, instant potato, maple syrup, cereals, eggs, bread and chewable vitamins inanimal shapes. In the deep freeze was a stack of frozen fruit juice, waffles, pancakes, fish fingers, and whole frozen meals packed on TV trays. In the refrigerator were ice cubes, butter, beer, soda- water, 7-Up, Coca-Cola and a few lonely bottles of milk.
I said when I could speak, ‘Well, at least they’ve left you room for the milk. My lot keep the fridge full of beer packs.’
‘That’s what Charlotte said,’ said Bunty placidly. ‘I used to share kitchens once, but you do get in a mess.’
In other words, all the hard work was done by the Italian couple and the help in the family kitchen below. The hand-trimmed voile and lace ruffles on Sukey’s cot were fresh as tomorrow.
I said, ‘Before you ask, I have one room with Benedict next to it, and there is a Brazilian daily.’ I had been given a gin and orange. I suppose all the world makes gin and orange with child’s high-vitamin juice, but not everyone also heaps it with cut peaches and nectarines from a crate in the corner. I said, ‘What in God’s name does Comer Eisenkopp do? Deliver doggie bags to Fort Knox?’
‘He runs a business,’ said Bunty vaguely. Sukey, not yet unpacked from her walk, bumped the plastic butterflies bracing the hood of her pram and they revolved. Her eyes rolled together like marbles.
I said, following Charlotte’s advice, ‘Honestly, you’ll make her squint if you string things so close to her face . . . Who was the super man who kissed you as we came upstairs then?’
‘With the moustache?’ said Bunty, as if the crowd had been overwhelming. ‘Hugo Panadek, love: Father Eisenkopp’s Design Director. He lives here half the time. That’s who I keep the vodka for.’
If that left it an open question on the matter of the other eleven bottles of spirits, I didn’t pursue it. Grover, without a dummy but still wearing his lumberjack’s hat, came in from the day nursery and said, ‘Hugo was a good boy and Bunty kissed him.’ He produced, absent-mindedly, a number of hacking coughs.
I had a London bus in my pocket. I said, ‘Grover. Look what I’ve got.’ He came over. Sukey, bored with butterflies, let out a series of squeals. With a sigh, Bunty put down her gin and orange and, rising, disentangled the baby from her bedding and deposited her on the floor where she lay, her hat over her eyes. She had on an embroidered matinee jacket and a long fine wool nightdress with lace, faintly tinged with orange in the nappy area.
Bunty said, ‘It’s a lottery, ain’t it? If you look after bleedin’ infants you’re too fagged for a love life; and if you get them able to talk then they fink on you. Grover, don’t do that.’
Grover had flung the London bus at Sukey, but missed. Sukey, breathing heavily through her hat, paid no attention. I said, ‘That’s a bad cough, Grover.
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