Tall Poppies by Janet Woods Page B

that she was lovely.
    The major dropped the woman’s hand and moved to Mrs Mortimer’s side. ‘Brace up, Rosemary, old thing. I’m relying on you to get me through the day.’
    And Rosemary Mortimer, although already fully braced by the major’s arm sliding around her waist, fluttered her sweeping black eyelashes over her large grey eyes and simpered bravely up at him. ‘I feel so sad for you, Major. Margaret and I were such good friends. She always seemed like an older sister to me.’
    â€˜Lying hypocrite; I hope Mrs Sangster comes back to haunt her,’ Connie whispered, and Livia, who felt exactly the same, wanted to jump up and down on the spot and shout the lie out loud at the disgust she experienced.
    Then Dr Elliot – standing with his wife, a small, neat woman – caught her eye. He raised his eyebrow in a manner that said it all, and Livia gave a faint shrug. Getting indignant wouldn’t change things.
    Connie took her arm. ‘Come on, let’s get back. The wind is blowing up the legs of my drawers and my bottom is beginning to freeze.’
    Livia tried not to giggle as they hurried back to the house. It didn’t seem the right thing to do after a funeral.
    â€˜I’ll wager that Florence is having her fill of the food I prepared for the guests, too. She’ll be at the brandy bottle as well. I’ve smelled it on her breath once or twice.’
    Livia told her, ‘I like Florence. She does more than her share of the work, and she’s not frightened to cheek off Mrs Mortimer. I hope she’s allowed to stay on.’
    â€˜Not if Mrs Mortimer has her way. The only reason Florence is still here is because Doctor Elliot recommended her, and he’s acquainted with the major.’
    â€˜So it’s up to the major.’
    â€˜Mrs Mortimer has already got her claws into him. It’s not decent  . . . what with his wife hardly cold in her grave.’
    Livia only half-listened to Connie’s gossip, since it was really none of her business what people got up to, besides, she had troubles enough of her own. Despite the cold wind there was a restless feeling of spring in the air, though it was only halfway through March, and just a couple of weeks since a thin layer of snow had covered the ground.
    But the sap was rising. The buds on the hawthorn exposed a tender and secretive tracery of green, while the periwinkle embroidered a twisting curtain of blue and white through the hedgerows to hide the nests of song thrushes and their young. An occasional early daffodil spread its yellow bonnet to the wind.
    â€˜With a bit of luck she’ll go back to London with him.’
    Livia jerked back to the present. ‘What if the major decides to close the house up?’
    â€˜He won’t do that, not until Master Richard comes back from the war. The house belongs to the son under the Sinclair legacy, don’t forget, and he’ll need staff.’
    â€˜But what will happen if he doesn’t come back?’
    â€˜He will,’ Connie said fiercely. ‘He told me that army food was terrible, and the first thing he’d want when he got back was a good dinner. Nothing fancy mind, Connie, says he. I’ll have good old roast beef and potatoes, with Yorkshire pudding, peas and carrots and lashings of gravy.’ She gave a bit of a smile. ‘He wants apple pie and custard afterwards. He always liked his apple pie and custard, did young Richard.’
    They slipped in the back door, surprising Florence with her feet up in front of the fire sipping a glass of brandy.
    â€˜I knew I’d catch you at it one day,’ Connie said, the satisfaction she felt at the thought spreading over her face like a dollop of melting lard. ‘Mrs Mortimer will dismiss you for sure if she catches you with that,’ Connie told her.
    â€˜She’ll dismiss you and all if I tell her I got it from your pantry disguised as a bottle