struck the right wicker furniture. Well, we’d better go back for the mammoth lunch that was planned for Fran. Your father and mother are just setting out.’
‘Accompanied by Penny,’ said Prudence. ‘Oh, look, she’s lying flat on her stomach waiting to be carried. I always thought puppies were lively.’
‘She is lively – as long as she’s not expected to walk. Come on. Mother may have something that’ll spoil.’
Prue said, as they made their way down, ‘I never realised, until these holidays, just how marvellous Aunt May’s cooking is. I used to think she put on a special show whenever we Poor Clares came to a meal. But I know that the food’s at the same level all the time. I’m not sure I approve.’
‘Because of starving babies in India?’
‘Oh, not that – because the food wouldn’t go to the starving babies if we didn’t eat it. But taking a great interest in food is so elderly .’
‘I see what you mean. Still, I’m looking forward to my lunch.’
‘And don’t think I’m not,’ said Prue. ‘We’re late, let’s hurry.’
They were distinctly aggrieved when they found that the first course had been cancelled. It was to have been asparagus, fabulously early.
‘I must save it for Mother tomorrow,’ said May.
‘While we’re on our way back to frugality,’ said Dickon.
May looked worried. ‘You always say they feed you well at school.’
‘So they do, darling. But not on early asparagus.’
May relented. ‘All right. I’ll telephone for some more.’
After lunch Robert set off to see the chamber pots on the roof of the Hall, Baggy went to his room, and May told June her latest plans for the conservatory – ‘Though I still don’t feel sure I’ve got the right line on it.’ Prue said she must do her packing and Dickon said he would keep her company. His mother always did his packing. Prue considered her mother a very scatty packer and invariably declined her offer of help.
Dickon, on their way through the lilac grove to the cottage, said, ‘Rather a pity we shan’t see the lilac at its best. I suppose Hugh and Corinna will be wandering here hand in hand.’
‘I doubt if they get as far as even holding hands. Yet one never for a moment doubts that they love each other. There’s a… a sort of aura of love about them.’
Dickon said, after consideration, ‘I can’t make up my mind if an aura of love is pure woman’s magazine or a good description.’
‘Probably a bit of both.’
They continued to talk while Prue packed, but about school personalities, not about their families; it was as if the packing provided a halfway house to school. Indeed, by the time they returned to the Dower House the Easter holiday was virtually over for them and they were on their way back.
Still, they remembered their intention of being kind to their grandfather, and after dinner Dickon said, ‘May we come along for a last chat, Baggy?’ He half hoped that the phrase would leave Baggy with the impression that there had been earlier chats.
After a momentary hesitation due to sheer surprise Baggy said, ‘By all means,’ and led the way.
‘What a fine room this is,’ said Prue, following her grandfather in. ‘It would make a good studio.’
It would indeed, thought Dickon, as it had four north windows. By contrast with the sunset-flooded Long Room it was depressing. He would have expected his mother to give Baggy a sunny room – but women weren’t too bright about aspects. Best not draw attention to it, anyway.
‘How lovely the daffodils must have looked,’ said Prue, gazing out at the front lawn. At the moment they were looking anything but lovely as the faded heads and yellowing leaves were being left to die back. ‘You ought to have some flowers in here, Baggy. Tulips or something.’
‘So your Aunt May says. But I’ve never cared to have flowers in my bedroom. Your grandmother always said they must be put out at night.’
‘Like the cat,’ said Dickon and
‘Accompanied by Penny,’ said Prudence. ‘Oh, look, she’s lying flat on her stomach waiting to be carried. I always thought puppies were lively.’
‘She is lively – as long as she’s not expected to walk. Come on. Mother may have something that’ll spoil.’
Prue said, as they made their way down, ‘I never realised, until these holidays, just how marvellous Aunt May’s cooking is. I used to think she put on a special show whenever we Poor Clares came to a meal. But I know that the food’s at the same level all the time. I’m not sure I approve.’
‘Because of starving babies in India?’
‘Oh, not that – because the food wouldn’t go to the starving babies if we didn’t eat it. But taking a great interest in food is so elderly .’
‘I see what you mean. Still, I’m looking forward to my lunch.’
‘And don’t think I’m not,’ said Prue. ‘We’re late, let’s hurry.’
They were distinctly aggrieved when they found that the first course had been cancelled. It was to have been asparagus, fabulously early.
‘I must save it for Mother tomorrow,’ said May.
‘While we’re on our way back to frugality,’ said Dickon.
May looked worried. ‘You always say they feed you well at school.’
‘So they do, darling. But not on early asparagus.’
May relented. ‘All right. I’ll telephone for some more.’
After lunch Robert set off to see the chamber pots on the roof of the Hall, Baggy went to his room, and May told June her latest plans for the conservatory – ‘Though I still don’t feel sure I’ve got the right line on it.’ Prue said she must do her packing and Dickon said he would keep her company. His mother always did his packing. Prue considered her mother a very scatty packer and invariably declined her offer of help.
Dickon, on their way through the lilac grove to the cottage, said, ‘Rather a pity we shan’t see the lilac at its best. I suppose Hugh and Corinna will be wandering here hand in hand.’
‘I doubt if they get as far as even holding hands. Yet one never for a moment doubts that they love each other. There’s a… a sort of aura of love about them.’
Dickon said, after consideration, ‘I can’t make up my mind if an aura of love is pure woman’s magazine or a good description.’
‘Probably a bit of both.’
They continued to talk while Prue packed, but about school personalities, not about their families; it was as if the packing provided a halfway house to school. Indeed, by the time they returned to the Dower House the Easter holiday was virtually over for them and they were on their way back.
Still, they remembered their intention of being kind to their grandfather, and after dinner Dickon said, ‘May we come along for a last chat, Baggy?’ He half hoped that the phrase would leave Baggy with the impression that there had been earlier chats.
After a momentary hesitation due to sheer surprise Baggy said, ‘By all means,’ and led the way.
‘What a fine room this is,’ said Prue, following her grandfather in. ‘It would make a good studio.’
It would indeed, thought Dickon, as it had four north windows. By contrast with the sunset-flooded Long Room it was depressing. He would have expected his mother to give Baggy a sunny room – but women weren’t too bright about aspects. Best not draw attention to it, anyway.
‘How lovely the daffodils must have looked,’ said Prue, gazing out at the front lawn. At the moment they were looking anything but lovely as the faded heads and yellowing leaves were being left to die back. ‘You ought to have some flowers in here, Baggy. Tulips or something.’
‘So your Aunt May says. But I’ve never cared to have flowers in my bedroom. Your grandmother always said they must be put out at night.’
‘Like the cat,’ said Dickon and
Similar Books
