In the Lion’s Den. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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Falconer to use. The breakfast room presents no problems, and the food goes up on the dumbwaiter as it does every day when the family is in residence.’
They stood talking to Mrs Holmes about the supper and Harry asked her permission to look at her beautiful copper pots, pans and moulds, admiring them as he did.
After leaving the kitchen, Esther took her sons and grandson to the breakfast room. They agreed that it was ideal for the family supper. The gas lamps were already glowing. The table looked inviting, with a bowl of fresh flowers in the centre.
When they returned to the conservatory, Rossi wanted to know where they had been and what they had been doing. ‘Uncle Harry needed to check the menu, no doubt,’ she said to her mother, grinning.
‘Not really,’ Harry answered. ‘Mrs Holmes is a great cook, as we all know. She has made some lovely dishes for tonight … favourites.’
‘I wanted to show the boys the back staircase,’ Esther cut in swiftly, needing to get the problem out of the way. ‘They agree with me it’s very steep.’ She stared at her husband and said to him, ‘We are having the supper in the breakfast room, which is on this floor—’
‘No, no, we can’t do that, you know the rules,’ Philip interrupted.
‘Yes, we can. I sent a telegram to Lady Agatha.’ Before he could object further, Esther took the telegram out of her skirt pocket and handed it to him.
Philip read it in silence and gave her a faint smile. ‘You win,’ he acknowledged. ‘And you’re right, actually. That staircase would be a problem for me in this plaster cast.’
Esther always enjoyed the Saturday night suppers and, on this particular evening, the gathering of their little clan over a meal was no exception.
As her eyes swept around the circular table in the breakfast room, she saw that everyone was enjoying themselves, and this pleased her.
She looked at her three sons, studying them one by one by one. They were rather handsome in their different ways, and certainly they were well put-together. All three were neat and tidy in their dark ready-made suits, with their discreet silk ties – gifts from her, in fact. Each of them wore a floppy silk handkerchief in the top pocket of their jackets as a finishing touch. There was a flutter of pride behind her smile.
They had done well in their chosen jobs, and because she and Philip had brought them up with high standards, they were decent men, honourable, loyal and full of integrity.
Oddly, they had been rather mischievous, sometimes even naughty boys. They had had their differences, which led to quarrels and rows, occasional fist-fights, as well as heated verbal battles. Their father and she had taught them to sort things out fairly and quietly, not at high voltage. Eventually they had learned to do this.
When they were still quite young, Esther had invented the Saturday night supper, a special meal where they were expected to be on their best behaviour. They enjoyed the delicious meals she concocted and made. It became a ritual the boys loved.
If they had misbehaved earlier in the week, they were banned. This rule brought them up short most of the time. It ensured a better attitude on their parts. None of them wanted to be excluded from the Saturday night get-together. It was a very special treat.
Her gaze settled on Maude, her daughter-in-law, wife to Matthew, mother of James, Rossi and Eddie. She and Philip loved this gentle and caring woman who had created a happy home for her husband and children. Very slender, more so than ever after a bad bout of flu some years before, Maude’s burnished brown hair was shot through with fine threads of silver now, but her deep brown eyes were as expressive as ever and her face as loving.
She welcomed the extra money earned from her clever sewing and had a kind word for everyone. We were lucky yet again, Esther thought, when Maude came strolling into Matthew’s life. She’s added so much love to the family.
If only Harry and George could find lovely women like her. Esther’s spirits dropped slightly when she thought of her two bachelor sons now sitting opposite her. It was her great hope this would soon happen, before they got too set in their ways. She didn’t want them to be lonely, especially in their old age.
It will happen, she decided, and when they least expect it. Some young woman from somewhere will appear, and perhaps they’ll fall in love. She sighed under her breath and pulled herself out of her reverie.
Now Kitty, the senior housemaid, was coming in with a tray which held three soufflés, followed by her two juniors, Fanny and Maureen, also carrying trays of soufflés.
‘Thank you, Kitty,’ Esther said, smiling at her and the other girls. ‘They look wonderful.’
‘Yes, they do indeed,’ Philip added, and the rest of the family nodded in agreement.
‘My mouth is really watering,’ Harry said, wondering what Cook’s secret was. The soufflés had not dropped, were still beautifully risen, even though they had been carried upstairs. Perhaps that was it. They had not been sent up in the dumbwaiter. Rushed up, no doubt, by the maids. Only in a very smart house like this with a cook as talented as Mrs Holmes would they taste something as fancy as a soufflé, and many complimentary comments were made as they ate them. When the roast beef arrived, served with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and Brussels sprouts, the men broke into quiet cheers.
Esther laughed. ‘I’m glad you’re happy,’ she said, looking at her three boys. ‘You all asked if we could have a Sunday lunch on a Saturday night. Cook has obliged.’
Alexis Malvern stood on the rise that looked down towards Romney Marsh. It was still shrouded in mist, images blurred, indistinct, but when she lifted her eyes and looked beyond, she saw the sea, and further still the faint outline of the French coast. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she recalled how Sebastian had liked to stand here at dusk, pointing out the lights of a foreign land just across the English Channel. This view at twilight had always delighted him.
For days Kent had been cloudy and wet, and Goldenhurst drenched, muddy underfoot in some areas, the last of the late-blooming flowers wilted and limp. Much of the gardens had suffered and been destroyed by the almost constant rainfall. Now, on this Friday afternoon in the first week of October, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, the colour of their bluebells in May, and a light breeze brought freshness to the air.
Turning, she walked across to the corner of the gardens where she and Sebastian had liked to sit in the arbour nestled there. In summer, masses of blue flowers filled this part of the gardens, and invariably she would silently thank Magdalena Ellis, the talented gardener, who had helped Sebastian to create this oasis of natural beauty.
Leaning back against the bench, she closed her eyes, her grief rising up again. He should have been here with her now, as her husband of one year. Perhaps a baby too. The anniversary of his death had brought it all back again, stronger than ever. Her fiancé had been older than her, with grown-up children of his own, but he had been in the prime of his life and no one had expected pneumonia to kill him.
Shaking her head, she attempted to turn her mind to her imminent guests. She couldn’t help wondering if it had been a mistake to invite Jane and Reggie to come for the weekend. There was no doubt in her mind that Jane would start lecturing her once again about why she was living down here in Kent. Or she would start wondering aloud if Alexis was ill and should revisit Doctor Freud in Vienna, asking if Alexis could be heading for another breakdown, perhaps?
A little shiver ran through Alexis at this thought, and she sat up with a jerk, glanced around, blinking.
I’ll have to keep them really busy, she decided, as she slumped back, forcing herself to relax. Two days ago she had written a note to Sebastian’s eldest daughter Claudia, with an invitation for her and her husband to come for the weekend, dispatching Gates, the new driver, to deliver it. He had returned with an acceptance, much to her relief.
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