invitation. And belated thanks for saving me from death – should’ve said so before. Not known for my manners. Likely blokes are Richard (he was the one who came in the ambulance), and probably Stuart and Ted. But it could change. See you! ’
‘ Hi, Hetty. Larry here. Thanks for the invite. We’re overwhelmed at work, so please count us out. But we haven’t forgotten you’re coming to us. Be in touch. ’Bye …’
‘ Clarissa calling. How sweet – a flat-warming! Sadly, Robin is speaking at a weekend seminar and wants me with him, so no good for us. When are you coming to Lakeside? Give me a buzz …’
‘ Lovely idea. Thanks. Can I bring Thomas? D. Archibald. P.S. Do you need any help? I’ll come half an hour early .’
‘ Hello, Mum, Sally here. You’re branching out a bit, aren’t you? You’ve got me worried. Who’re you going to invite? You can’t just ask your old Dorset friends. D’you have anybody else? Anyway, I’ll support you. Ring if you need me .’
‘ Markus and Christian are honoured at your splendid invitation, and will be there on the dot. Is it bring-a-bottle? ’
Hetty calculated. That would produce a kitchenful of unmatched wine. She preferred to be the hostess: buying her own would give her some control over events. The Shiraz Cabernet had been delightful. So had the Moselle her mother had drunk at Bruce’s. That would do. A case of each, and a few spare.
‘ Hetty. Your mother. Terrific – I will delay my trip to Florida. Can’t imagine why I’m going, I hate mosquitoes. I may have an escort – nobody terribly grand, one of your father’s old cronies. Shall I suggest he bring somebody along for you, too? ’
Chapter Six
Having a Party
Would they come?
The flat was pristine; the heat had been on, then turned down in case it got too stuffy. Perfumed candles were lit on the mantelpiece, their flames flickering over the little ornaments. The Lladró statuette was adorned for the occasion with a blue ribbon around her neck. White wine was in the fridge, three bottles were uncorked on the table with the glasses, washed and wiped. Mrs A – Doris – was pottering in the kitchen. A bowl of hyacinths added to the fragrance. Thomas the cat had appropriated a chair and curled up to sleep; ginger hairs scattered with every breath. Hetty heard him purr.
The CD player murmured Enya: suitably anodyne, Hetty hoped. She dried her hands on a tea towel, checked around. The dim sum (if Markus had said spring rolls and bits, Hetty grumbled inwardly, she would not have balked) sat on baking trays ready to be popped into the oven, or on Pyrex dishes for the microwave. The house did not run to steaming bamboo baskets tonight.
Sally would come. Hetty wondered about the boyfriend. Her daughter was so cagey about Erik. He did exist: he was not a fantasy of Sally’s. Hetty had glimpsed airmail letters postmarked from various parts of the globe, and accepted that he was constrained by his career in the airline industry like Sally. But her daughter did not keep a framed photo by her bed, and never spoke of long-term plans.
‘He’s probably married, and stringing her along,’ was the main conclusion Hetty could arrive at, in the absence of further information. How little she knew of her daughter, of what inspired or drove her, if anything. The girl kept things close to her chest. That hurt.
An icy sliver of melancholy entered her soul. Peter was away, almost a grown man, and though dutiful – as his grandmother had remarked – was never likely to be a dear friend to his newly single mother. More tactful than his sister, he would avoid taking sides, and probably slide away from either parent. He would go his own way, as he had been brought up to do. Would that make him a selfish adult? His easy manners Hetty recognised: they might have been inherited from his father or herself, but they made him pliant, and thus not available. Sally was less sunny, more introverted. If additionally she was
‘ Hi, Hetty. Larry here. Thanks for the invite. We’re overwhelmed at work, so please count us out. But we haven’t forgotten you’re coming to us. Be in touch. ’Bye …’
‘ Clarissa calling. How sweet – a flat-warming! Sadly, Robin is speaking at a weekend seminar and wants me with him, so no good for us. When are you coming to Lakeside? Give me a buzz …’
‘ Lovely idea. Thanks. Can I bring Thomas? D. Archibald. P.S. Do you need any help? I’ll come half an hour early .’
‘ Hello, Mum, Sally here. You’re branching out a bit, aren’t you? You’ve got me worried. Who’re you going to invite? You can’t just ask your old Dorset friends. D’you have anybody else? Anyway, I’ll support you. Ring if you need me .’
‘ Markus and Christian are honoured at your splendid invitation, and will be there on the dot. Is it bring-a-bottle? ’
Hetty calculated. That would produce a kitchenful of unmatched wine. She preferred to be the hostess: buying her own would give her some control over events. The Shiraz Cabernet had been delightful. So had the Moselle her mother had drunk at Bruce’s. That would do. A case of each, and a few spare.
‘ Hetty. Your mother. Terrific – I will delay my trip to Florida. Can’t imagine why I’m going, I hate mosquitoes. I may have an escort – nobody terribly grand, one of your father’s old cronies. Shall I suggest he bring somebody along for you, too? ’
Chapter Six
Having a Party
Would they come?
The flat was pristine; the heat had been on, then turned down in case it got too stuffy. Perfumed candles were lit on the mantelpiece, their flames flickering over the little ornaments. The Lladró statuette was adorned for the occasion with a blue ribbon around her neck. White wine was in the fridge, three bottles were uncorked on the table with the glasses, washed and wiped. Mrs A – Doris – was pottering in the kitchen. A bowl of hyacinths added to the fragrance. Thomas the cat had appropriated a chair and curled up to sleep; ginger hairs scattered with every breath. Hetty heard him purr.
The CD player murmured Enya: suitably anodyne, Hetty hoped. She dried her hands on a tea towel, checked around. The dim sum (if Markus had said spring rolls and bits, Hetty grumbled inwardly, she would not have balked) sat on baking trays ready to be popped into the oven, or on Pyrex dishes for the microwave. The house did not run to steaming bamboo baskets tonight.
Sally would come. Hetty wondered about the boyfriend. Her daughter was so cagey about Erik. He did exist: he was not a fantasy of Sally’s. Hetty had glimpsed airmail letters postmarked from various parts of the globe, and accepted that he was constrained by his career in the airline industry like Sally. But her daughter did not keep a framed photo by her bed, and never spoke of long-term plans.
‘He’s probably married, and stringing her along,’ was the main conclusion Hetty could arrive at, in the absence of further information. How little she knew of her daughter, of what inspired or drove her, if anything. The girl kept things close to her chest. That hurt.
An icy sliver of melancholy entered her soul. Peter was away, almost a grown man, and though dutiful – as his grandmother had remarked – was never likely to be a dear friend to his newly single mother. More tactful than his sister, he would avoid taking sides, and probably slide away from either parent. He would go his own way, as he had been brought up to do. Would that make him a selfish adult? His easy manners Hetty recognised: they might have been inherited from his father or herself, but they made him pliant, and thus not available. Sally was less sunny, more introverted. If additionally she was
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