A Fatal Attachment by Robert Barnard

out.” Dorothy said it very sincerely, but she was conscious she had made bloomers she had to atone for. “What plans do you have for them?”
    â€œNo plans at all, beyond what to give them for tonight’s dinner. To have plans is to invite disappointment. I shall watch and see how they develop. Oh—I do plan to leave them a little money. I’m stopping off at my solicitor’s in Halifax on the way home. Goodness, look at the time. We must rush. I’ve acres of things to get through and I really must finish by four fifteen. Heavens, what shall I give them for their dinner?”
    â€œThere’s a good butcher two or three doors down from here.”
    â€œIs there? Dotty, you are a treasure! What would I do without you?”
    She settled the bill, brushing aside Dorothy’s attempts to pay her share, and they picked up a couple of rump steaks before getting in Lydia’s car.
    â€œI’ll just have scrambled eggs,” said Lydia. “Two proper meals a day is too much for me. I think I’ll do chips for them. Children do love chips, don’t they? I’ll try to teach them about good food, but I’ll do it slowly. Looking at Maurice I wonder whether I should do it at all.”
    â€œIs that the one in television?”
    â€œThat’s right—Gavin’s brother. He called over the weekend. He was up visiting Thea. He is most definitely overweight. A man of thirty-odd should not be that shape.”
    â€œHow nice that he keeps in touch.”
    â€œHmmm. He’s married to the most appalling woman. An actress, for want of a better word. The sort of woman who uses four-letter words in public. I’m afraid Maurice is never going to come to anything.”
    â€œWhat a disappointment for you.”
    Lydia nodded and drove on. When they got back to the library she said “To work, to work!”, waved briefly to Dorothy and settled down at her desk. So absorbed did she become in the clericals and anti-clericals, going off on to an enticing by-way concerning Stendahl, that it was after half past four when Dorothy leaned over her shoulder and said:
    â€œI thought you were aiming to be off by a quarter past, Lydia.”
    â€œOh, my God! Why didn’t you—? Sorry, not your fault at all, Dorothy. Look, can this and this and this be kept for me for another week or ten days?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œYou’re a treasure. I must fly.”
    By the time Lydia had got to her car she had decided to give her solicitor a miss: she could go in at any time and sign the codicil. Much better to be home by the time she had told the boys she would be in. But when she got back to the cottage she found a note from Molly Kegan saying the boys had rung during their lunch-break to say they were going swimming after school, and wouldn’t be back at the cottage before six.
    Lydia was pleased they showed such signs of responsibility. She peeled potatoes and cut them up into chips, then got the grill ready for the steaks. She cracked eggs into a saucepan and added cream and butter, and put a slice of bread under the grill.
    The boys were boisterous and happy when they arrived. They had enjoyed their swim and were now ravenously hungry.
    â€œSteak and chips—super!” said Ted.
    â€œHow do you like your steak done?” asked Lydia.
    â€œProperly done,” said Colin.
    â€œNot red—yuck!” said Ted.
    â€œIn France,” said Lydia, when they were all sat down and eating, “they would just give the steak a quick burst of heat on both sides, and that would be it.”
    â€œWell, that’s France,” said Ted. “Just because the French do it one way doesn’t mean it’s the best, does it?”
    â€œThe French know an awful lot about cooking.”
    â€œI think you should have food as you like it,” said Colin, “not as someone else thinks you ought to like it.”
    â€œAnd if