to. And when my dolls go to a dance, I can pin it around like a dress, and flowers of white lace will hang down over all the ordinary day clothes and make this doll really beautiful so that everyone at the pretend ball will want to write their names in her dance card. Sheâll look like a princess.
âââ
Both Freud and Leonora would have a word or two to say, Rilla thought, about my love of kitchens. Here she was again, with the whole house to choose from and her pick of family members available to chat to, sitting at the beechwood table and watching Mary peeling carrots for tonightâs dinner. Her way with these unassuming vegetables was legendary, and by the time she finished with them, theyâd have turned into golden circles, glazed andsweet and delicious, and fragrant with a green sprinkling of fresh herbs.
âYour scones, Mary,â she said, adding home-made raspberry jam to a thick layer of butter, âare the eighth wonder of the world.â
Mary sniffed and got on with her work. Her silence wasnât unfriendly. She was simply a quiet sort of person, not given to gossip. Rilla didnât mind. Whenever she got a chance to sit about in the Willow Court kitchen, she felt as though she were on a stage set of some kind. It was Gwenâs doing, this rather clichéd prettiness. There was a Welsh dresser against one wall, predictably loaded with willow-pattern plates and plump teapots and flower-painted jugs. The walls were butter-coloured and there was a small sofa in one corner. The colour of the curtains picked out the swollen pink roses in the sofa fabric, a typical Gwen-ish touch. The working part of the kitchen was through an archway and down two small steps. When she was tiny, Rilla liked sitting on these and watching Cook at work. Nowadays the cooker was what was known as âstate of the artâ, but in those days it was an ancient, blackened range, like something out of
Hansel and Gretel
. There was one time when sheâd stayed away from the kitchen for about a week, after Gwen told her that yes, that oven was indeed the actual one from the fairy tale, transported magically to Wiltshire straight from the Witchâs cottage.
âI might have known youâd be here, Rilla,â someone said, and she turned round with a mouth full of scone to smile at Efe.
âYou are notâ, she said, when she could speak, âsupposed to be rude to your auntie, Efe. Come over here and give me a big kiss. Gosh, youâre gorgeous! I could eat you alive!â
âThat,â said Efe, hugging Rilla, âis what they all say.â
He sat down on the chair opposite her and smiled at Mary. âGot a scone for me, Mary?â
âYouâll spoil your supper, you know,â she answered, with a smile, getting a plate down from the rack and putting two scones on it for Efe. Even Mary unbends under his gaze, Rilla thought. Itâs amazing the effect he has on women. Dangerous, probably. He cut the scone neatly through the centre, and said, âYou cannot imagine what a relief it is to see someone tucking into food. Fiona is forever on some diet or another. Although now sheâs pregnant again, I expect sheâll lighten up on that. Hope so, anyway. Iâve given up wondering why women are so silly.â
Rilla bit back a sharp comment. The reason Efe found women silly was because he wasnât attracted to the sensible ones. She adored her nephew, but he definitely made a beeline for the puppyish kind of woman, the sort who, in return for even one word of kindness, tended to lie down and wave her legs in the air.
âI should go and get ready for dinner,â Rilla said. Efe looked up at her.
âGet your glad rags on,â he said. âAbsolutely. Actually, Rilla, can I have a quick word with you? Thereâs something I want to ask you. I want to raise something with Leonora but itâs a question of timing. Have you got a
âââ
Both Freud and Leonora would have a word or two to say, Rilla thought, about my love of kitchens. Here she was again, with the whole house to choose from and her pick of family members available to chat to, sitting at the beechwood table and watching Mary peeling carrots for tonightâs dinner. Her way with these unassuming vegetables was legendary, and by the time she finished with them, theyâd have turned into golden circles, glazed andsweet and delicious, and fragrant with a green sprinkling of fresh herbs.
âYour scones, Mary,â she said, adding home-made raspberry jam to a thick layer of butter, âare the eighth wonder of the world.â
Mary sniffed and got on with her work. Her silence wasnât unfriendly. She was simply a quiet sort of person, not given to gossip. Rilla didnât mind. Whenever she got a chance to sit about in the Willow Court kitchen, she felt as though she were on a stage set of some kind. It was Gwenâs doing, this rather clichéd prettiness. There was a Welsh dresser against one wall, predictably loaded with willow-pattern plates and plump teapots and flower-painted jugs. The walls were butter-coloured and there was a small sofa in one corner. The colour of the curtains picked out the swollen pink roses in the sofa fabric, a typical Gwen-ish touch. The working part of the kitchen was through an archway and down two small steps. When she was tiny, Rilla liked sitting on these and watching Cook at work. Nowadays the cooker was what was known as âstate of the artâ, but in those days it was an ancient, blackened range, like something out of
Hansel and Gretel
. There was one time when sheâd stayed away from the kitchen for about a week, after Gwen told her that yes, that oven was indeed the actual one from the fairy tale, transported magically to Wiltshire straight from the Witchâs cottage.
âI might have known youâd be here, Rilla,â someone said, and she turned round with a mouth full of scone to smile at Efe.
âYou are notâ, she said, when she could speak, âsupposed to be rude to your auntie, Efe. Come over here and give me a big kiss. Gosh, youâre gorgeous! I could eat you alive!â
âThat,â said Efe, hugging Rilla, âis what they all say.â
He sat down on the chair opposite her and smiled at Mary. âGot a scone for me, Mary?â
âYouâll spoil your supper, you know,â she answered, with a smile, getting a plate down from the rack and putting two scones on it for Efe. Even Mary unbends under his gaze, Rilla thought. Itâs amazing the effect he has on women. Dangerous, probably. He cut the scone neatly through the centre, and said, âYou cannot imagine what a relief it is to see someone tucking into food. Fiona is forever on some diet or another. Although now sheâs pregnant again, I expect sheâll lighten up on that. Hope so, anyway. Iâve given up wondering why women are so silly.â
Rilla bit back a sharp comment. The reason Efe found women silly was because he wasnât attracted to the sensible ones. She adored her nephew, but he definitely made a beeline for the puppyish kind of woman, the sort who, in return for even one word of kindness, tended to lie down and wave her legs in the air.
âI should go and get ready for dinner,â Rilla said. Efe looked up at her.
âGet your glad rags on,â he said. âAbsolutely. Actually, Rilla, can I have a quick word with you? Thereâs something I want to ask you. I want to raise something with Leonora but itâs a question of timing. Have you got a
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