fact that she was not legally Mrs Royce at all. She always found it better to adapt facts to her audience.
“Andrew is terribly good with her, of course, but he doesn’t like to be put out in the way children can’t help doing; you know what men are!”
Letty went away thinking that of course as Harriet was not Dr Royce’s child, it must make it difficult sometimes for poor Mrs Royce. She had not taken to Andrew much, a bit superior and standoffish, she thought him. She decided to have the tree all the same. She felt sure that there had always been a Christmas tree at the Lotus House in the old days, though she had never been privileged to see it, and she was determined that the house should have its tree once more, and that it should have real candles on it and not the dead garish brilliance of those horrid coloured electric bulbs. It took her a long while to track down clip-on holders for the candles, but she found some at last. She also bought crackers and presents and ordered a special Christmas cake from the Honey Pot who were doing the catering for her. The cake was to have “Welcome to the Lotus House” written on it in silver balls. “Everyone is a child at heart at Christmas,” Letty told herself delusively. She had worked hard and while she sat awaiting her guests, she looked round with satisfied delight. The room, she thought, looked charming — a well-shaped tree all ready to belit up, her father’s silver branched candlesticks on either side of the cake in the centre of the table which was decorated with the prettiest candles she had been able to find, a bowl of white chrysanthemums and scarlet-berried holly on the mantelpiece above the lively fragrant log fire and a fine piece of mistletoe suspended above the door. Everything, like herself, was waiting expectantly for the curtain to go up and the fun to begin.
There is nothing quite so flat and dreary as a party that never takes off and it is even more distressing when this happens at times that demand a specially festive spirit.
“Laugh, damn you, laugh,” swore Mr Donovan inwardly, as the guests pulled their crackers and donned their paper hats almost in silence. He had just read out one of those sublimely silly cracker jokes, but it had perished in mid-air.
Mr Donovan had been invited to the party by his old client and had come purely out of the kindness of his heart, but he did not like parties. That was the trouble, they none of them did. Aubrey and Andrew thought them a tiresome waste of time, Miss Cook distrusted them because her mother had, especially the parties in Albert Street. “You never know who you might meet there,” she used to say. Of course Miss Cook did know who she was going to meet at this particular party, but she did not particularly want to meet any of them. In Margot’s eyes this boring childish gathering hardly qualified as a party at all. Nonetheless, she could not help saving it from total failure. She sparkled at Mr Donovan, admired Miss Cook’s unbecoming dress and to Letty she cried, “Mrs Sanderson, you’re a magician, I haven’t seen a tree with candles since Christmas at my old country home, my father’s place in Dorset, where did you find them?”
The candles, indeed, provided the only real glory of Letty’s party, and as she extinguished them she acknowledged ruefully that it certainly had not achieved itspurpose. The mistletoe mocked her. “How stupid of me to put it up.” The scarcely-touched cake reproached her. “Nobody really wanted me,” it seemed to say, and indeed no one but Andrew had eaten much of the lavish meal. He had set about it with his usual whole-hearted concentration on the business in hand.
“How you could eat at that ungodly hour I can’t imagine,” said Margot (the party had been fixed early to suit Mr Donovan, who did not wish to be late home). She tossed the embroidered linen handkerchiefs that Letty had chosen for her into her “bring and buy” drawer — she never
“Andrew is terribly good with her, of course, but he doesn’t like to be put out in the way children can’t help doing; you know what men are!”
Letty went away thinking that of course as Harriet was not Dr Royce’s child, it must make it difficult sometimes for poor Mrs Royce. She had not taken to Andrew much, a bit superior and standoffish, she thought him. She decided to have the tree all the same. She felt sure that there had always been a Christmas tree at the Lotus House in the old days, though she had never been privileged to see it, and she was determined that the house should have its tree once more, and that it should have real candles on it and not the dead garish brilliance of those horrid coloured electric bulbs. It took her a long while to track down clip-on holders for the candles, but she found some at last. She also bought crackers and presents and ordered a special Christmas cake from the Honey Pot who were doing the catering for her. The cake was to have “Welcome to the Lotus House” written on it in silver balls. “Everyone is a child at heart at Christmas,” Letty told herself delusively. She had worked hard and while she sat awaiting her guests, she looked round with satisfied delight. The room, she thought, looked charming — a well-shaped tree all ready to belit up, her father’s silver branched candlesticks on either side of the cake in the centre of the table which was decorated with the prettiest candles she had been able to find, a bowl of white chrysanthemums and scarlet-berried holly on the mantelpiece above the lively fragrant log fire and a fine piece of mistletoe suspended above the door. Everything, like herself, was waiting expectantly for the curtain to go up and the fun to begin.
There is nothing quite so flat and dreary as a party that never takes off and it is even more distressing when this happens at times that demand a specially festive spirit.
“Laugh, damn you, laugh,” swore Mr Donovan inwardly, as the guests pulled their crackers and donned their paper hats almost in silence. He had just read out one of those sublimely silly cracker jokes, but it had perished in mid-air.
Mr Donovan had been invited to the party by his old client and had come purely out of the kindness of his heart, but he did not like parties. That was the trouble, they none of them did. Aubrey and Andrew thought them a tiresome waste of time, Miss Cook distrusted them because her mother had, especially the parties in Albert Street. “You never know who you might meet there,” she used to say. Of course Miss Cook did know who she was going to meet at this particular party, but she did not particularly want to meet any of them. In Margot’s eyes this boring childish gathering hardly qualified as a party at all. Nonetheless, she could not help saving it from total failure. She sparkled at Mr Donovan, admired Miss Cook’s unbecoming dress and to Letty she cried, “Mrs Sanderson, you’re a magician, I haven’t seen a tree with candles since Christmas at my old country home, my father’s place in Dorset, where did you find them?”
The candles, indeed, provided the only real glory of Letty’s party, and as she extinguished them she acknowledged ruefully that it certainly had not achieved itspurpose. The mistletoe mocked her. “How stupid of me to put it up.” The scarcely-touched cake reproached her. “Nobody really wanted me,” it seemed to say, and indeed no one but Andrew had eaten much of the lavish meal. He had set about it with his usual whole-hearted concentration on the business in hand.
“How you could eat at that ungodly hour I can’t imagine,” said Margot (the party had been fixed early to suit Mr Donovan, who did not wish to be late home). She tossed the embroidered linen handkerchiefs that Letty had chosen for her into her “bring and buy” drawer — she never
Similar Books
