Read Online Muriel's Reign by Susanna Johnston - Free Book Online
Authors: Susanna Johnston
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always believing herself to have invented them.
‘Then. She’s made one or two little mistakes. You have influence. If only she could come to us for pastoral advice. Letting that metal detector into the grounds …’
In the very early days Muriel had allowed a Salvation Army member to search for coins in a nearby field. It turned out that he was an unpopular figure in the neighbourhood and given to thieving. He’d had to be banned access.
Getting no reply this time, Delilah swivelled and asked Muriel, ‘Might it be
comme il bien
to present Her Majesty with some of Dawson’s home-brewed beer? I left a bottle of it in the hall so as to ask your advice first. We so love the thought of it being served at Clarence House.’
Not for the first time Muriel thought, Christ, what a pickle.
Marco bounced in – eager for happenings. ‘Flav’s at Dad’s place and Phyllis is having kittens; bathing Cleopatra as well as tarting up dinner for Dad. Peach blossom room fragrance and all.’
‘That’s gorgeous for your daddy,’ Delilah cried as Dawson ran through the mortar board anecdote – directing it at Peter. ‘Well. It was some time back. Her Majesty was collecting some doctorate or other. I take an interest in these things – being an academic.’
Delilah overheard and brightened at his words. ‘Yes. Dawson’s an academic. I’m just the rector’s wife.’
Lizzie, unnerved not to be the centre of attention, went close to Muriel and demanded, ‘Are the newspapers delivered tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow? Boxing Day. I rather doubt it.’
‘I must have the — (she mentioned the name of a right-wing daily paper). It has the best telly guide. Can you find out?’
Delilah swung round. ‘No papers on Boxing Day. Not delivered to the door at any rate. It could be that they are printed. The supermarket would be your best bet.’
‘Where is it? Will anyone be going past? Is it too far to walk?’
‘Four to five miles at a guess.’
‘Will someone be going in the morning?’
She inched closer to Muriel who was trying to synchronise her party and let thoughts of luncheon the following day attack her.
Hugh, Tommy Tiddler and the goosing judge invaded her brain. The royal ladies, it turned out, were scheduled to leave after lunch. They had to be at Windsor Castle in time for dinner but Lizzie had made no mention of her departure. Mambles lost her punchiness when Mummy was around and went into regression, occasionally sucking her thumb.
Mummy was more important; more in the public eye than herself. She had been ousted by the Queen’s children, their wives and descendants.
Delilah ran, backing as she left the room, to the hall, returning with the bottle of home-brewed beer that she presented to the seated Mummy.
When the party was over – when Dawson and Delilah had left, when Marco had hopped back to the squash court to help eat Phyllis’s quiche Lorraine and down wine from Muriel’s cellar – the ladies and Peter dined, not particularly merrily, in candlelight in the dining room.
Alone in her room with Peter, Muriel shrugged off the happenings of the day and opened an anthology of love poems that Peter had given her as a Christmas present.It excited her that Peter, in spite of blindness, organised matters such as presents.
The introduction thrilled and fascinated her. The author wrote of the altering complexities of love. ‘I love you. You love me. I used to love you. You don’t love me. I want to sleep with you. Here we are in bed together. I hate you. You’ve betrayed me. I want to kill you. Oh! No! I
have killed
you.’
She was in bed with Peter and loved him. He loved her. They wanted to be in bed together. Hugh had betrayed her. She wasn’t sure if she had betrayed him. She didn’t exactly want to kill him and sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t but she loathed having him in the squash court and was sickened each time he approached or attempted tenderness with her. Loathed it.
Chapter
‘Then. She’s made one or two little mistakes. You have influence. If only she could come to us for pastoral advice. Letting that metal detector into the grounds …’
In the very early days Muriel had allowed a Salvation Army member to search for coins in a nearby field. It turned out that he was an unpopular figure in the neighbourhood and given to thieving. He’d had to be banned access.
Getting no reply this time, Delilah swivelled and asked Muriel, ‘Might it be
comme il bien
to present Her Majesty with some of Dawson’s home-brewed beer? I left a bottle of it in the hall so as to ask your advice first. We so love the thought of it being served at Clarence House.’
Not for the first time Muriel thought, Christ, what a pickle.
Marco bounced in – eager for happenings. ‘Flav’s at Dad’s place and Phyllis is having kittens; bathing Cleopatra as well as tarting up dinner for Dad. Peach blossom room fragrance and all.’
‘That’s gorgeous for your daddy,’ Delilah cried as Dawson ran through the mortar board anecdote – directing it at Peter. ‘Well. It was some time back. Her Majesty was collecting some doctorate or other. I take an interest in these things – being an academic.’
Delilah overheard and brightened at his words. ‘Yes. Dawson’s an academic. I’m just the rector’s wife.’
Lizzie, unnerved not to be the centre of attention, went close to Muriel and demanded, ‘Are the newspapers delivered tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow? Boxing Day. I rather doubt it.’
‘I must have the — (she mentioned the name of a right-wing daily paper). It has the best telly guide. Can you find out?’
Delilah swung round. ‘No papers on Boxing Day. Not delivered to the door at any rate. It could be that they are printed. The supermarket would be your best bet.’
‘Where is it? Will anyone be going past? Is it too far to walk?’
‘Four to five miles at a guess.’
‘Will someone be going in the morning?’
She inched closer to Muriel who was trying to synchronise her party and let thoughts of luncheon the following day attack her.
Hugh, Tommy Tiddler and the goosing judge invaded her brain. The royal ladies, it turned out, were scheduled to leave after lunch. They had to be at Windsor Castle in time for dinner but Lizzie had made no mention of her departure. Mambles lost her punchiness when Mummy was around and went into regression, occasionally sucking her thumb.
Mummy was more important; more in the public eye than herself. She had been ousted by the Queen’s children, their wives and descendants.
Delilah ran, backing as she left the room, to the hall, returning with the bottle of home-brewed beer that she presented to the seated Mummy.
When the party was over – when Dawson and Delilah had left, when Marco had hopped back to the squash court to help eat Phyllis’s quiche Lorraine and down wine from Muriel’s cellar – the ladies and Peter dined, not particularly merrily, in candlelight in the dining room.
Alone in her room with Peter, Muriel shrugged off the happenings of the day and opened an anthology of love poems that Peter had given her as a Christmas present.It excited her that Peter, in spite of blindness, organised matters such as presents.
The introduction thrilled and fascinated her. The author wrote of the altering complexities of love. ‘I love you. You love me. I used to love you. You don’t love me. I want to sleep with you. Here we are in bed together. I hate you. You’ve betrayed me. I want to kill you. Oh! No! I
have killed
you.’
She was in bed with Peter and loved him. He loved her. They wanted to be in bed together. Hugh had betrayed her. She wasn’t sure if she had betrayed him. She didn’t exactly want to kill him and sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t but she loathed having him in the squash court and was sickened each time he approached or attempted tenderness with her. Loathed it.
Chapter
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