One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [8]
‘Or I thought the kitchen,’ she said eagerly, ‘because that’s the sort of thing you do so well, isn’t it?’
Basic, functional, utilitarian rooms: yes, we did, I thought, heroically holding my tongue and trying not to think about the elegant drawing room we’d just done in Chester Square, or the morning room in Wiltshire, or indeed the entire house in Streatham.
‘In fact, tell you what. Why don’t we leave the others to get a drink and I’ll show you what I mean?’
I knew, though, because I knew her kitchen. It was the only room I rated. In the old days, when Cecily and Lionel were away, we’d creep around the house together, feeling slightly treacherous – reorganizing, giggling, making plans – and I’d praised the kitchen’s simplicity, its integrity, said I wouldn’t touch it. It was with a sinking heart, therefore, that I obediently followed her through the great domed hall, which managed to be both huge yet claustrophobic – busy Victorian floor tiles and oppressive oak panelling – mentally painting it a pale mouse colour and picking out the beading in something slightly stronger – down towards the back corridor.
‘Hughie, darling,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘will you get everyone a drink? I’m just going to show Hattie the kitchen.’
The look of panic that crossed Hugh’s face, as he stopped en route to the drawing room with the rest of the crew, told me this was not going to plan.
‘Oh, I think Hattie would like a glass of wine too, after her long drive, wouldn’t you, Hatts? Why don’t we all have a drink, and then do the house together?’
There was a silence. Laura swallowed. ‘All right, darling.’
She about-turned and we all trooped into the shabby drawing room – one or two good pieces but far too much furniture, every available surface crammed with doodahs and whatnots. All eyes were firmly on the threadbare Persian carpet. Laura and Hugh went into a furious whispered huddle over by the fireplace, Kit suavely engaged Maggie in conversation and escorted her to the window to show her the view, whilst Mum held my arm.
‘Don’t get involved,’ she said in a low, portentous voice.
‘I’m not getting involved.’
‘Yes, but you’re here to quote.’
‘Because Hugh asked me!’
Mum made her famous face: the one that suggested I’d overstepped the mark. I counted to ten.
‘This is something they have to sort out for themselves,’ she went on in the same, gravitas-laden manner. ‘And poor Laura is terribly upset and emotional at the moment.’
‘Yes, but why?’
Another well-known expression: the one with pursed lips. ‘Personally I think it’s hormonal.’ Mum’s answer to most things. She drew herself up importantly. ‘Speaking of which,’ she peered at me critically, ‘when did you last have a Well Woman?’
‘I’ve never had a woman, well or otherwise,’ I quipped feebly.
‘Don’t be fresh, young lady, you know I mean – a gynae.’
He-lp. I looked around desperately, but everyone else was occupied.
‘You have got a good man, haven’t you, darling? You’re not still trotting down to that heaving surgery on the North End Road with the rest of south London?’
‘Er, well, you know. Now and then.’ I sank into the glass of wine Hugh had handed me. I wasn’t going to tell her I let years go by, ignored countless reminders for check-ups; let them gather dust.
‘It’s about time you saw my man Stirrup. I’ll give you his number. Oh, do stop smirking, Hattie. It really is time you grew up and stopped giggling at names. He’s quite the best.’
‘Right.’ Hugh was upon us now, beaming nervously, rubbing his hands. ‘That’s decided then. Laura’s going to take Hattie and Maggie to the kitchen. Apparently she wants you to see it in natural light, Hatts, before it gets dark. That’s why she headed off there in the first place. The rest of us can stay here and chew the fat.’
Natural light my foot. He’d capitulated. Maggie and I obediently took our glasses and fell in behind Laura, who led us, pink-cheeked, head held high, out across the hall, then down the long passage