‘I’m so sorry about that. Mum can be a bit…’Intrusive? Pushy? Rude?‘…giddysometimes, and I get impatient with her. Please don’t be offended.’
‘Offended? By being talked about like an object behind my back? I can’t imagine why you think I might be. Anyway, I just came to say that we normally have drinks before dinner at seven, so we’ll meet in the Hall then.’
I started to say thank you, but he had already left, closing the door behind him with a sharp click. I threw myself down on the bed flat on my stomach and moaned into the pillow. Could there havebeena more cringe-making start to my stay here?
‘Fallon?’
I lifted my head from the bed to see Alexander standing in the doorway once again.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, just, er…’ I tailed off miserably and tried surreptitiously to wipe away a small dribble of drool from the corner of my mouth, which had escaped during my smothered wails.
‘Right. Well, I forgot to say that we don’t bother dressing for dinner, just in case you were wondering.’
I nodded, still prone on the bed, and he left the room again. I may well have cried, had a gentle, soft muzzle not pushed itself into my hand, and a warm, scraggly body pressed against my leg.
‘Oh, Runcible,’ I said with a sigh, ‘thank goodness you’re here.’
Tightly wound though I was, I managed to fall asleep for an hour, and woke feeling better. All right, so things hadn’t got off to a brilliant start, but there was plenty of time to redeem myself as the perfect house guest. Alexander had said that they didn’t ‘dress for dinner’, something that hadn’t even crossed my mind as a possibility, but nonetheless I could do with freshening up after the long car journey and nap. I gave Runcible her supper – boring-looking dry food, which the vet had recommended andshe always gobbled up – then went to the amazing bathroom and had a quick shower, gazing out into the darkness through the deep-set window. I got dressed in a pair of soft trousers and a cosy cashmere jumper, scooped up Runcible and entered the Hall just as the large clock on the mantelpiece struck seven, with a tasteful tinkling of bells. Punctual I may have been, but I was the only person there. I popped my little dog down, then wandered about marvelling at what I suppose an estate agent would describe as ‘original features’ but anyone else would consider museum pieces. I had come in through a sort of anteroom, with an ornately carved wooden wall separating it from the main room. Above this I could see a minstrels’ gallery. There was a second doorway in the wooden wall, covered by a curtain, and I poked my head around this to see some very old wooden stairs leading up. I was just debating whether or not to give them a go, when a voice behind me made me jump.
‘You can go up if you like.’
I turned around to see Alexander and Theo standing behind me, with matching amused smiles on their faces. I felt my cheeks flush pink and wished I’d been a few minutes later to come down.
‘Caught in the act of snooping. I’m sorry, it’s just so intriguing. I think the last time I saw a minstrels’ gallery was at Hampton Court. In my defence, part of my job is looking at amazing venues, so really, it’s work, kind of…’
‘It’s fine,’ said Alexander. ‘It is a wonderful house; we’re very lucky to live here – and we discover new things all the time, don’t we?’ He turned to his son, who had crouched down to pet Runcible, the dog bustling over to greet her new friend.
‘Yes, we do,’ Theo answered eagerly. ‘In the summer we found a weird little stone dish thing hidden behind a panel on the wall.’
‘That’s right,’ said his father. ‘It was an in-built holy water stoup that we think was hidden during the English Reformation. I’ll show it to you at some point, if you’re interested?’
I was about to reply when a quick clicking of heels announced my mother’s arrival, followed by Douglas. She had clearly decided to ignore the instruction not to dress for dinner and was wearing a burgundy silk tea dress with a cream mohair cardigan which was begging to be stroked, it looked so soft and cloudlike. It wasn’t my mother’s usual style, but she looked stunning. Maybe, I thought, glancing down at my own outfit, shehadn’tdressed for dinner, but, in fact, this was considered normal clothing, and it was I who needed to up my game?Eurgh. I shook the thought away and instead paid attention to Douglas, who was asking everyone what they wanted to drink. Given my exhausted state, I had decided alcohol was to be strictly limited, but as I saw Mum’s eyes raking my poorly dressed body, I cravenly asked for a gin and tonic and promised myself I’d try again tomorrow.Oh no, wait.Tomorrow was that blasted James Bond-themed welcome party. I wasn’t getting through that on mineral water. I’d try again…when I could. After a few minutes, Alexander and Theo disappeared.
‘They’re making the dinner tonight,’ said Douglas. ‘We usually have help in the house with cooking and cleaning and so on – a wonderful married couple who look after us all marvellously – but their daughter has just had her first baby, so they’ve gone on a sort of grandparental leave for a few weeks and we’re fending for ourselves.’
‘So generous of you, Dougie,’ said Mum, simpering at him in a way I had never seen before.
‘It was Alexander who suggested it,’ he replied. ‘He’s here all of the time so misses Stephen and Chrissie’s cooking the most, but he believes that family should come first for everyone, and it’s not like we can’t manage – we just lower our standardsdramatically.’ He smiled self-deprecatingly and I thought again how very nice he was. ‘We normally take it in turns to cook when they’re away,’ he continued. ‘So, prepare yourselves for my unrivalled pasta pesto on repeat.’
Oh God, if that was his signature, what on earth was I supposed to make?I didn’t want to make anything, actually, and felt a pang of longing to be at home and not having to make an effort to impress anyone.
I summoned up a smile, though, as Douglas was so well-meaning. ‘Sounds good to me, but you’ve stolen the main dish in my repertoire. I’ll have to Google something else. Or maybe I’ll just buy some Christmas puddings and dish those up – they’re usually filling enough not to need another course. What about you, Mum?’ I asked, naughtily, as I know my mother can’t make toast. To my surprise, she pulled what I can only describe as a comical face, and answered grandly:
‘Darlings, I shall do what all sensible people do. Order in!’
Douglas roared with laughter.
‘Now that, my darling, you are exceptionally good at!’
Self-deprecation had never been one of Mum’s acts; maybe Douglas would be good for her. She certainly seemed different around him – softer, I suppose. I was about to ask him about some of his Bond memorabilia, when Theo came back in, gleefully whacked the huge gong that stood at one end of the hall and announced:
‘Dinner is served!’
We followed him through to a strange, windowless room at the other end of the hall from the minstrels’ gallery and sat down at a large, simply laid table.
‘Welcome to your first meal at Blakeney Hall,’ said Alexander. ‘In case you’re wondering why we’re eating in a prison cell, this is the Buttery – the room where the butler would have kept the provisions, wine and so on.’
