there are so many more important things to do now?’
‘You are supposed to be resting, sweetheart,’ Guy added gently.
‘I haven’t forgotten, but if Poppy is prepared to let me help her, I’ll be glad to spend some time with her.’
‘Do you hear that, Poppy?’ Edwin said sternly. ‘Will you be guided by Amy and do just as she tells you?’
‘I’ll do anything she says, sir. She looks like an angel.’
‘She is an angel, kid,’ Guy said, smiling. ‘And if you play her up or tire her out you’ll have me to answer to.’
The awkward silence that followed was broken by a squawk of protest from Rupert who began to wriggle violently in his mother’s arms. ‘I’m taking Rupert back to London with me,’ Pamela said, setting him down on the carpet. ‘I’ve changed my mind about leaving him here. I’d sooner risk the bombs, Mummy.’
‘Quite right, my dear,’ Hector said, eyeing his son, who was trying to climb up his pinstripe trouser leg. ‘Perhaps someone should ring for Violet to take him back to the nursery. Has the boy been fed?’
‘He’s eating with us, darling. It’s Sunday.’ Pamela tucked her hand in the crook of Hector’s arm. ‘And Rupert hasn’t seen his father for almost a fortnight.’
Olive poked her head round the door, peering in nervously as if she expected to find that the invasion had begun and the room was filled with German soldiers. ‘Luncheon is served, ma’am.’ She retreated hastily, closing the door behind her with a dull thud.
‘You’d better return to the nursery, Poppy,’ Marina said, rising from her chair. ‘Violet will bring you your lunch on a tray.’
Poppy made a move to leave but Amy had her firmly by the hand. ‘If you wouldn’t mind too much, Mrs Carroll, I think it would be a nice gesture to allow Poppy to eat lunch with us today.’
Marina looked as if she was about to argue, but Guy forestalled her. ‘It’s not every day we declare war on Germany, Mother. I’m sure that the kitchen is in such an uproar that the poor child wouldn’t get fed if she had to rely on Violet.’
‘The damned Germans have a lot to answer for already,’ Marina said bitterly. ‘Come along, Edwin. The rest of you can do what you like.’ She stalked out of the room followed by her husband.
The rest of the family filed out of the drawing room in a respectful crocodile, which reminded Poppy of the animals going into the ark two by two. She was considering this when Amy took her by the hand.
‘Come along, Poppy. You shall sit next to me.’
‘Thank you, miss.’
‘You call me either Amy or Miss Fenton-Jones, but as I call you Poppy, which is a very pretty name by the way, I think it only fair you should call me Amy.’
Poppy felt oppressed by the Carrolls’ formal dining room. The vast mahogany table seemed to stretch into eternity. The cutlery was confusing and she watched Amy carefully to see which spoon she used for the soup and which knife and fork was right for the fish course. By the time the roast lamb was served, accompanied by an astonishing array of vegetables, Poppy was feeling more at ease, although she had never seen anything as grand as the feast set before her. She memorised each small detail, from the cut crystal wine glasses which she was not allowed to use, and had to make do with a beaker of water, to the delicately patterned bone china dinner service, which must have cost an arm and a leg. She would write about it in her next letter to Mum and Gran.
After lunch Poppy would have been quite glad to slink away to the nursery but Amy insisted that they go for a walk as the doctors had stressed that she needed plenty of fresh air and exercise. Poppy plucked up courage to ask if they could post her letter and Amy not only agreed wholeheartedly but also persuaded Mr Carroll to donate a postage stamp. Amy and Guy walked hand in hand with Poppy following a discreet distance behind them, clutching the envelope in her hand. She could not hear
‘You are supposed to be resting, sweetheart,’ Guy added gently.
‘I haven’t forgotten, but if Poppy is prepared to let me help her, I’ll be glad to spend some time with her.’
‘Do you hear that, Poppy?’ Edwin said sternly. ‘Will you be guided by Amy and do just as she tells you?’
‘I’ll do anything she says, sir. She looks like an angel.’
‘She is an angel, kid,’ Guy said, smiling. ‘And if you play her up or tire her out you’ll have me to answer to.’
The awkward silence that followed was broken by a squawk of protest from Rupert who began to wriggle violently in his mother’s arms. ‘I’m taking Rupert back to London with me,’ Pamela said, setting him down on the carpet. ‘I’ve changed my mind about leaving him here. I’d sooner risk the bombs, Mummy.’
‘Quite right, my dear,’ Hector said, eyeing his son, who was trying to climb up his pinstripe trouser leg. ‘Perhaps someone should ring for Violet to take him back to the nursery. Has the boy been fed?’
‘He’s eating with us, darling. It’s Sunday.’ Pamela tucked her hand in the crook of Hector’s arm. ‘And Rupert hasn’t seen his father for almost a fortnight.’
Olive poked her head round the door, peering in nervously as if she expected to find that the invasion had begun and the room was filled with German soldiers. ‘Luncheon is served, ma’am.’ She retreated hastily, closing the door behind her with a dull thud.
‘You’d better return to the nursery, Poppy,’ Marina said, rising from her chair. ‘Violet will bring you your lunch on a tray.’
Poppy made a move to leave but Amy had her firmly by the hand. ‘If you wouldn’t mind too much, Mrs Carroll, I think it would be a nice gesture to allow Poppy to eat lunch with us today.’
Marina looked as if she was about to argue, but Guy forestalled her. ‘It’s not every day we declare war on Germany, Mother. I’m sure that the kitchen is in such an uproar that the poor child wouldn’t get fed if she had to rely on Violet.’
‘The damned Germans have a lot to answer for already,’ Marina said bitterly. ‘Come along, Edwin. The rest of you can do what you like.’ She stalked out of the room followed by her husband.
The rest of the family filed out of the drawing room in a respectful crocodile, which reminded Poppy of the animals going into the ark two by two. She was considering this when Amy took her by the hand.
‘Come along, Poppy. You shall sit next to me.’
‘Thank you, miss.’
‘You call me either Amy or Miss Fenton-Jones, but as I call you Poppy, which is a very pretty name by the way, I think it only fair you should call me Amy.’
Poppy felt oppressed by the Carrolls’ formal dining room. The vast mahogany table seemed to stretch into eternity. The cutlery was confusing and she watched Amy carefully to see which spoon she used for the soup and which knife and fork was right for the fish course. By the time the roast lamb was served, accompanied by an astonishing array of vegetables, Poppy was feeling more at ease, although she had never seen anything as grand as the feast set before her. She memorised each small detail, from the cut crystal wine glasses which she was not allowed to use, and had to make do with a beaker of water, to the delicately patterned bone china dinner service, which must have cost an arm and a leg. She would write about it in her next letter to Mum and Gran.
After lunch Poppy would have been quite glad to slink away to the nursery but Amy insisted that they go for a walk as the doctors had stressed that she needed plenty of fresh air and exercise. Poppy plucked up courage to ask if they could post her letter and Amy not only agreed wholeheartedly but also persuaded Mr Carroll to donate a postage stamp. Amy and Guy walked hand in hand with Poppy following a discreet distance behind them, clutching the envelope in her hand. She could not hear
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