said to his father as he handed him a mushroom on a stick. Muriel didn’t remember ever having felt so muddled.
Delilah’s voice overtopped the rest. ‘Gorgeous. Thank you. We mustn’t stay late.’ Alastair stood beside the effigy of Dame Edna; transfixed as his mother went on, ‘One or two parishioners always pass away at this time of year and Dawson’s lovely with the dying.’
Defying Delilah’s vocal effects, a weird noise obliterated all else.
Phyllis, thanks to Marco, having drunk as many glasses of 1929 Cheval Blanc as time had allowed, screamed at concert pitch.
For an instant Muriel, who turned in panic, thought that Phyllis was standing on her head. It was near to the ground; jerking on that of a tiger, and her legs kicked up and down; up and down like drummer’s sticks.
‘Who’d have been looking after the child, poor little bitch, if I hadn’t come to the rescue?’ Amorphous groans escaped from her mouth, her knee joints, her shoulders, her toes.
Hugh approached. ‘Ahem. Er, Phyllis. You’ve been great. Terrific.’
‘And now what? I’ll give you terrific. I knew that Mrs Lizzie had her eye on you. Not for the first time either.’
The room was silent but for Phyllis and all listened.
‘Not according to the bits and bobs I’ve picked up from Mr Hugh on the pillow.’ She reverted to formality as she kicked and sobbed into the tiger’s teeth.
Flavia was excited and pirouetted in her finery.
Delilah called for Dawson and pastoral care. ‘Come quickly, Dawson. She’s one of God’s creatures and she’s in need.’
Dulcie, keen for assault, brushed Delilah aside and grabbed Phyllis, picked her up and threw her over one shoulder. ‘Bloody little man-eating tart. That’s all she’s ever been after. Looking after the baby my eye. Just worming her way in with Grandpa.’
She stumped out into the icy night with Phyllis a furious captive on her back.
Flavia stopped pirouetting and started to cry. ‘What will we do? What about Cleopatra? Who’s going to look after her? Muriel’s a useless grandmother.’
Tommy Tiddler wrapped his poncho round her shoulder. ‘There. Dry those naughty little tears. One’s out of a job and would make a lovely nanny. Grey felt hat and all. Bound to be one in that attic. Treasure trove.’
‘Would you? Really?’
‘Nanny Tiddler at your service. One might have to take her to the
humble
for some of the sessions. One cooks at home for freezers. Quiche Lorraine’s and starters.’
Flavia viewed the future more hopefully. Anyone would do.
‘What about that poof poison he sprays himself with? Don’t want Cleopatra reeking of that.’ Marco shifted on his feet but rejoiced that help was at hand.
The party, such as it had been, began to subside.
Lizzie was twitchy and said, four times, ‘But Hugh. You said you’d told her,’ before trailing behind Muriel who hurried to relate all to Peter. She had barely taken in that Judge Jones had not put in an appearance. They left Hugh making a date to meet Melanie for lunch in London during his stay with Lizzie.
Tommy, very tipsy, chain-smoking and triumphant, asked if he might be permitted to touch up the pram. ‘Trellis-work or posies
appliquéd
to the hood. One can work wonders with spray paint.’
For once Peter went to bed before Muriel. She sat in his study and pondered – wishing that many things wereother than they were. She struggled to order her brain to dismiss glum thoughts and unsolvable problems. Her brain refused to obey her and, before lying down in bed beside Peter, she swallowed a strong sleeping pill. A box full of them had been procured for her by Mambles who gained perks and special benefits from a retired royal physician.
Chapter 18
After breakfast Peter sat in his armchair, shifting it to pull away from the heat of the fire from which his eyes saw no spark or flame, and tried to deny himself the indulgence of gloating over his brother’s plight and, instead, probed the poison
Delilah’s voice overtopped the rest. ‘Gorgeous. Thank you. We mustn’t stay late.’ Alastair stood beside the effigy of Dame Edna; transfixed as his mother went on, ‘One or two parishioners always pass away at this time of year and Dawson’s lovely with the dying.’
Defying Delilah’s vocal effects, a weird noise obliterated all else.
Phyllis, thanks to Marco, having drunk as many glasses of 1929 Cheval Blanc as time had allowed, screamed at concert pitch.
For an instant Muriel, who turned in panic, thought that Phyllis was standing on her head. It was near to the ground; jerking on that of a tiger, and her legs kicked up and down; up and down like drummer’s sticks.
‘Who’d have been looking after the child, poor little bitch, if I hadn’t come to the rescue?’ Amorphous groans escaped from her mouth, her knee joints, her shoulders, her toes.
Hugh approached. ‘Ahem. Er, Phyllis. You’ve been great. Terrific.’
‘And now what? I’ll give you terrific. I knew that Mrs Lizzie had her eye on you. Not for the first time either.’
The room was silent but for Phyllis and all listened.
‘Not according to the bits and bobs I’ve picked up from Mr Hugh on the pillow.’ She reverted to formality as she kicked and sobbed into the tiger’s teeth.
Flavia was excited and pirouetted in her finery.
Delilah called for Dawson and pastoral care. ‘Come quickly, Dawson. She’s one of God’s creatures and she’s in need.’
Dulcie, keen for assault, brushed Delilah aside and grabbed Phyllis, picked her up and threw her over one shoulder. ‘Bloody little man-eating tart. That’s all she’s ever been after. Looking after the baby my eye. Just worming her way in with Grandpa.’
She stumped out into the icy night with Phyllis a furious captive on her back.
Flavia stopped pirouetting and started to cry. ‘What will we do? What about Cleopatra? Who’s going to look after her? Muriel’s a useless grandmother.’
Tommy Tiddler wrapped his poncho round her shoulder. ‘There. Dry those naughty little tears. One’s out of a job and would make a lovely nanny. Grey felt hat and all. Bound to be one in that attic. Treasure trove.’
‘Would you? Really?’
‘Nanny Tiddler at your service. One might have to take her to the
humble
for some of the sessions. One cooks at home for freezers. Quiche Lorraine’s and starters.’
Flavia viewed the future more hopefully. Anyone would do.
‘What about that poof poison he sprays himself with? Don’t want Cleopatra reeking of that.’ Marco shifted on his feet but rejoiced that help was at hand.
The party, such as it had been, began to subside.
Lizzie was twitchy and said, four times, ‘But Hugh. You said you’d told her,’ before trailing behind Muriel who hurried to relate all to Peter. She had barely taken in that Judge Jones had not put in an appearance. They left Hugh making a date to meet Melanie for lunch in London during his stay with Lizzie.
Tommy, very tipsy, chain-smoking and triumphant, asked if he might be permitted to touch up the pram. ‘Trellis-work or posies
appliquéd
to the hood. One can work wonders with spray paint.’
For once Peter went to bed before Muriel. She sat in his study and pondered – wishing that many things wereother than they were. She struggled to order her brain to dismiss glum thoughts and unsolvable problems. Her brain refused to obey her and, before lying down in bed beside Peter, she swallowed a strong sleeping pill. A box full of them had been procured for her by Mambles who gained perks and special benefits from a retired royal physician.
Chapter 18
After breakfast Peter sat in his armchair, shifting it to pull away from the heat of the fire from which his eyes saw no spark or flame, and tried to deny himself the indulgence of gloating over his brother’s plight and, instead, probed the poison
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