– the self-appointed autocrat of the walled garden – gave a flap of its wings and swooped down to the ground beneath the holly bush and pecked for fallen berries amongst the petrified leaves. From the stone bird bath, a robin watched the blackbird and, as if weighing up its chances, flew over to the holly bush to see what pickings he could find. But the blackbird was having none of it and shooed him off at once with a volley of vicious pecks.
Esme tutted. ‘Such wickedness. This cold weather really does bring out the dictator in that wretched bird.’
At her side and sitting on the dressing table, Euridice licked her paw, dabbed it delicately behind her ear, then yawned as though any uncivilised behaviour going on in the hurly-burly of the garden was quite beneath her.
Breakfast was always the same for Esme – tea and a slice of toast with marmalade followed by some fresh fruit, depending on what was in season. If she didn’t have any fresh fruit, she would have tinned; she was particularly fond of tinned pineapple. Today she took two clementines from the bowl on the dresser and sat at the table in one of the Windsor armchairs with Bach’s Sonata in G minor playing on Radio Three.
During lunch yesterday with Adam she had told him that having lived alone for so many years she was a fastidious creature of habit. In return he’d said that he never knew from one day to the next what he was going to do, that he thrived on the unpredictable nature of his work. How very alien her world here at Trinity House would be to him. Of course, it hadn’t always been like this, but as she had explained to him, gradually, with the passing of years, one adapts and learns to subsist on a sort of cheeseparing way of life, is even grateful for the solace it brings.
Breakfast eaten and tidied away, she went back upstairs to dress, thinking that as much as she relished the pleasantly ordered tranquillity of her routine, she did not find the disturbance to it since Friday evening’s twist of fate in any way disagreeable. It would naturally run its course and all would soon be just as it was before.
She opened the larger of the two mahogany wardrobes in her bedroom and pondered what to wear for her outing.
Just as Adam had suggested, she was going to pay a call on Floriana, but now that the time was upon her, she was suddenly tremendously occupied with the anxious hope that her visit would be well received. Adam, a most sincere and genuine young man, had been in no doubt that it would be, so she must try to allay her anxiety and put her trust in him. And in the gifts she would take with her: a pot of indoor cyclamen and a very small box of Champagne chocolate truffles, bought yesterday afternoon from Buddy Joe’s after Adam had left to go next door. Surely such offerings would prove her intentions were well meant?
But by the time she was dressed and had applied her make-up, her anxiety had multiplied – what if Floriana wasn’t at home? The thought of her short journey being a wasted one, of having to return to Trinity House with her gifts, pained her so abruptly, she lost her nerve and wondered if she shouldn’t forget the whole enterprise. Why not stay here and be content with her usual Sunday of listening to the radio while reading and maybe tidying the larder, a job which was long overdue? Why risk going out in the cold, especially as the pavements would probably still be covered in a treacherous layer of slippery frost just waiting to catch out a foolish old woman who should know better and stay inside?
Floriana had given herself a good talking to when she’d woken that morning. There would be no more lazing about the house in her jammies feeling sorry for herself. There would also be no more putting off a very important phone call.
Accordingly, she was now dragging herself out of bed and fully determined to tell her sister that she had her own plans for Christmas. She would tell Ann she was going to friends, not just for
Esme tutted. ‘Such wickedness. This cold weather really does bring out the dictator in that wretched bird.’
At her side and sitting on the dressing table, Euridice licked her paw, dabbed it delicately behind her ear, then yawned as though any uncivilised behaviour going on in the hurly-burly of the garden was quite beneath her.
Breakfast was always the same for Esme – tea and a slice of toast with marmalade followed by some fresh fruit, depending on what was in season. If she didn’t have any fresh fruit, she would have tinned; she was particularly fond of tinned pineapple. Today she took two clementines from the bowl on the dresser and sat at the table in one of the Windsor armchairs with Bach’s Sonata in G minor playing on Radio Three.
During lunch yesterday with Adam she had told him that having lived alone for so many years she was a fastidious creature of habit. In return he’d said that he never knew from one day to the next what he was going to do, that he thrived on the unpredictable nature of his work. How very alien her world here at Trinity House would be to him. Of course, it hadn’t always been like this, but as she had explained to him, gradually, with the passing of years, one adapts and learns to subsist on a sort of cheeseparing way of life, is even grateful for the solace it brings.
Breakfast eaten and tidied away, she went back upstairs to dress, thinking that as much as she relished the pleasantly ordered tranquillity of her routine, she did not find the disturbance to it since Friday evening’s twist of fate in any way disagreeable. It would naturally run its course and all would soon be just as it was before.
She opened the larger of the two mahogany wardrobes in her bedroom and pondered what to wear for her outing.
Just as Adam had suggested, she was going to pay a call on Floriana, but now that the time was upon her, she was suddenly tremendously occupied with the anxious hope that her visit would be well received. Adam, a most sincere and genuine young man, had been in no doubt that it would be, so she must try to allay her anxiety and put her trust in him. And in the gifts she would take with her: a pot of indoor cyclamen and a very small box of Champagne chocolate truffles, bought yesterday afternoon from Buddy Joe’s after Adam had left to go next door. Surely such offerings would prove her intentions were well meant?
But by the time she was dressed and had applied her make-up, her anxiety had multiplied – what if Floriana wasn’t at home? The thought of her short journey being a wasted one, of having to return to Trinity House with her gifts, pained her so abruptly, she lost her nerve and wondered if she shouldn’t forget the whole enterprise. Why not stay here and be content with her usual Sunday of listening to the radio while reading and maybe tidying the larder, a job which was long overdue? Why risk going out in the cold, especially as the pavements would probably still be covered in a treacherous layer of slippery frost just waiting to catch out a foolish old woman who should know better and stay inside?
Floriana had given herself a good talking to when she’d woken that morning. There would be no more lazing about the house in her jammies feeling sorry for herself. There would also be no more putting off a very important phone call.
Accordingly, she was now dragging herself out of bed and fully determined to tell her sister that she had her own plans for Christmas. She would tell Ann she was going to friends, not just for
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