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‘How is the old battleaxe, by the way?’ he asks as he takes off his coat and drapes it over the bannister.
‘She… ah…’ I falter, unable to hide my surprise and amusement.
He laughs and takes my elbow in a friendly gesture. ‘I won’t be long. You can wait here and take a breather.’
For which I’m grateful. The last thing I need is another mouthful or task from the great Lady Heatherton-Smythe. So, unsure what to do, I sit on the first step, my chin resting on my fist, trying not to nod off during my very narrow window of freedom. How much longer can I last like this? Perhaps I could sneak up to my room for a quick nap…
The telephone in the hall startles me awake and I jump as fast as my muscles will let me.
‘Hello? Heatherton Hall,’ I croak, sounding like the old battleaxe herself.
‘Hi, Emmie, it’s Rosie. How’s your grandmother?’
At last, a friendly voice!
‘Rosie, it’s so good to hear from you. She’s fine, thank you.’
‘You sound exhausted.’
‘I’m OK, thanks.’
‘Listen, would you like to hook up with my Coastal Girls? They really want to meet you.’
The sole idea of speaking to someone friendly besides Calvin makes my heart sing.
‘I’d so love to, Rosie, but Grandma’s got me running on a schedule here. And now she’s even asked me to decorate the house for Christmas.’
‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ she says, disappointed. ‘Hey! I’ve an idea.’
‘What’s that?’ Anything, anything at all, at this point, would be better than this purgatory.
‘It’ll be a surprise,’ she says. ‘See you in an hour.’
‘A surprise? Oh, I don’t know. My grandmother doesn’t like surprises… Rosie?’ I call, but the line is dead.
‘Your grandmother is going to live to be over a hundred,’ Doctor Martin Miller assures me as he comes down the stairs.
‘Yay me,’ I can’t help but blurt, and he grins.
‘Chin up, Emmie. It’ll be Christmas soon enough.’
‘Not that you’d be able to tell in this mausoleum,’ I quip.
‘You think it’s quiet now? You should have seen it when you weren’t here. As silent as a tomb. Lady Heatherton does like her silence.’
‘You’re telling me. But now she wants the house to be decorated and in no time.’
He dips his head. ‘That could be a sign that she wants to get on with life.’
‘Or that she wants me under her feet,’ I say with a laugh. ‘If it weren’t for your visits and the errands I run, I’d have become a hermit by now.’
‘It’ll get better, I promise,’ he says as he pulls out his car keys. ‘Gotta run. My patients aren’t the most… patient, you know?’
‘That’s the oldest, and corniest, joke ever.’
‘And yet, you smiled,’ he replies. ‘I’ll see you next week, Emmie. Hang in there.’
‘You too, Dr Miller!’ I answer as I show him out.
