I find it difficult to be waited on, and I hesitated, not sure whether or not it would be rude to demur. Pilar didn’t give me time.
‘Come along,’ she said firmly. ‘You need a good breakfast to run after those children all day. What will you have? I have everything.’
I could well believe it, so I meekly requested porridge and tea, which was my favourite, anyway, and went into the living room, which was solely occupied by William, in the same dressing gown as last night but with some colourful paisley pyjamas showing at the ankles and cuffs. He put down the enormous broadsheet he was reading, raised himself slightly out of his chair and greeted me warmly.
‘Penny! Good morning. You slept well, I trust? You look marvellous.’
‘Oh, thank you. Yes, I slept very well. And you?’
‘Ah, plagued as ever by dreams of what could be in this life, but fine, fine. Now, it looks as if no one has yet explained breakfast to you.’
‘Er, no. No one has said anything—’
‘Well, breakfast here is a very relaxed, one might almost say louche, affair. Lando always hated table breakfasts as a child, making idle chit-chat over the marmalade when all one really wants to do is eat porridge in peace and read the paper. So, his house, his rules, we have breakfast in pyjamas, and all do our own thing, always in the living room and never the dining room. Feels a bit odd at first, but you get used to it quickly.’
I looked down at my jeans and jumper.
‘I didn’t realise. Should I go and get changed?’
‘No, no, find something to read, sit down and enjoy your food.’
He waved his hand towards a table groaning with magazines and newspapers. I had been thinking that I would have to go back upstairs and retrieve my book, but there was no need. I went over and rifled through everything until I found a copy ofGood Housekeeping. I like to think I’m still too young to read it, but it’s so full of interesting articles and easy recipes that I can never resist. The only parts I skip are the fashion, which always strikes me as very complicated, lots of scarves and buckles and things that need ironing, and articles about the menopause. It wouldn’t be long before I’d be reading them, I knew, but why upset myself when there was still a glimmer of fecundity left? As I sat down and started reading about what to do with any unwanted Christmas presents, Pilar came in and handed me a steaming bowl of porridge topped with dried fruits, and a large mug of tea.I could get used to this, I thought, as I snuggled deeper into the plump armchair and turned a page. Next to drift in was Bunny, in a long, peach silk dressing gown worn over bright orange silk pyjamas covered in pictures of zebras wearing purple trilbies. My own sleepwear – white and red plaid – was going to look rather dull tomorrow morning.
‘Hello, William, hello, Pixie darling.’
‘Hello, Bunny, you look well this morning.’
It was true. The colour had returned to her cheeks and her energy was back.
‘Thank you, I am. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to have you to sort everything out yesterday. I justknewyou would be worth your weight in gold, you heavenly creature.’
I beamed. I had never been so rapturously appreciated, and it felt good.
‘I’m so glad I can help, and Phina and Caspy are gorgeous. But I’m not surprised you’re exhausted, with the pressures of work too. How are the paintings going?’
‘Oh fine, fine.’ She selected aVoguefrom the table and curled up in the corner of a sofa, looking tiny. ‘I say every year that I won’t carry on with private commissions, but they are worth it in the end. The picture I’m working on today is going to auction for a children’s hospice near us in London, so it’s extra special. Poor William, you must get fed up with having an extra artist in the house at Christmas. Lando is stressed enough for all of us.’
‘Not at all, I appreciate the artistic temperament, although I was surprised when Lando took it up. Suits him, though,’ he mused, peeling a banana.
I waited to see if there was going to be any more information forthcoming about the handsome lord of the manor, when the door opened and in he walked, Hepburn and Garbo alongside him. It felt intimate to see him in nightwear and gave me something of a jolt, particularly as he managed to look gorgeous even in his pale blue pyjamas and soft navy dressing gown. He muttered a general ‘good morning’, then came over to me.
‘Hi there, look, I’m sorry for being rude yesterday. I’m trying to finish a commission for the church, and it has to be done by Christmas Eve, so I’m under pressure. And I’m not good with that. I’m glad you’ve come. It’s a great help to Bunny.’
With this, he departed abruptly and picked up a newspaper, behind which he promptly disappeared. Bunny raised her eyebrows at me.
‘Wonders will never cease,’ she said in a loud stage whisper. ‘Lando apologising! Maybe Santawilldrop down the chimney this year, after all.’
Without moving his paper, Lando lobbed a cushion at her, and caught her neatly on the shoulder. She shrieked, then laughed and returned to her magazine, as did I. My awkwardness was wearing off, and I was beginning to think that Lando had got the breakfast thing right. My parents would certainly approve – they spent half their time in pyjamas, being comfortable, but always looked stylish. I wondered if I had become a bit inflexible after all those years with Timothy, worrying too much about being seen to do the right thing, rather than simply being at ease. I stared unseeingly at some pictures of winter borders I knew I would never plant and remembered the times I had been to stay with Timothy’s parents.
They lived in a small, modern, semi-detached house in Luton (although he never mentioned the name of the town if people asked where he was from, merely said ‘Bedfordshire’ and hoped not to be probed) which was as neat as a pin. Everything was immaculate and much of it brand-new as things were replaced as soon as they were even slightly worn or faded. The cushions were plumped and karate-chopped to within an inch of their lives, matching mugs stood in serried ranks on the spotless glass shelves and even the flowers in the pots on the patio outside were fake so that they could never brown and let the side down. His parents were cautiously welcoming, but I always felt uncomfortable there, worried I might inadvertently shock them by using the wrong knife or putting the loo roll on the holder the common way round.
The Lords couldn’t have given a hoot about knives, and although the house had been beautifully decorated, it had an air of comfort about it, as if no one could care less about the cushions; in fact, Garbo had now curled up on the watered silk one Lando had thrown at Bunny, which still lay where it had fallen, and all anyone had done was to give her an affectionate glance. It was all a vast improvement on the faux elegant performance of Timothy’s parents, which was nerve-wracking and exhausting.
Pilar came in to bring Bunny and Lando their breakfast. He had a hearty plate: buttered toast and scrambled eggs as well as a bowl of porridge piled with fruit. Bunny, however, restricted herself to a dry brioche roll and some herbal tea. I barely knew her, but I was concerned, both about her exhaustion and now, this meagre diet. She must have caught the look on my face.
‘Pixie, are you upset about something?’
Embarrassed, I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to look nosy, or as if I was checking up on her, both of which I suppose were true.
